Split (1)

train · 353k rows

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[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw... Why did it have to be you?" I'm confused. I didn't expect Death. I was an atheist. I... Am. Am I? I'd been sitting on this train station waiting to be ferried off to heaven or hell or wherever, but my train never came. "Me?" "You." "Don't you deal with people like me every day?" "Yes, and no. You're special." "Don't give me the shit about how everyone is special." "That's not it, Cole." "Of course you know my name." "Some people are just... Integral. Some people make life worth it for others. I saw your fate. I see every fate." "And? What about it?" I find the courage to look Death in the hood. Dark stares back. Of course. "You were happy." "Really." It's more a challenge than a question. "You were. You had kids, and a job you loved, and a wonderful wife with a wonderful family of her own. You would have met her in high school. She would have ditched her prom date for you and you two would have gotten drunk in the canyon out behind the school. You're eighty-six years early, Cole." Death sounds... Disappointed. Human. It sounds, even though it speaks in a near-monotone, heartbroken. The stoicism cracks. The façade breaks. I break down. Tears roll down my face and a lump the size of an orange makes itself known at the back of my throat. "I know it was..." I can't finish the sentence. "Wrong?" "Yes!" "I hear that one a lot. They tell you to think about your loved ones. I think it's horseshit. I think you should think about you. I think you should think about all the ways your life can get better." Death is surprisingly good at finding reasons not to die. "I... " I sniff. Despite being a ghost, I can still get snot and tears all over myself. "I know." Death continues. "I was supposed to see you in eighty-six years. I was supposed to see a smiling old man content with life, who had seen the loving faces of his family looking down on him as he slipped into the next world, whose only regret would be the sadness he left the ones he loved in." I can't say anything. I regret my decision. I pulled the trigger. It was the easy way out. My little brother will grow up without the guidance he deserves, with no older brother to scheme with him and spoil him. My parents will bury their son. I feel guilt and anger and sadness and regret. "I've seen that a thousand times before." "W-what?" "That look. It's all hitting you at once, isn't it?" "Yes." "Then don't fucking do it again. The bullet missed all the vital stuff. A bit of modern medicine and you'll be okay. The ones who aren't dead all the way can't get on the trains. These meetings are rare." Death looks me in the eyes. "Don't waste it." All I can see is the cold, clinical white of a hospital room. Prom is in three weeks. The doctors say I'll have to be in a wheelchair, but I'll make it. I'm not wasting it. ----- I have attempted to take my own life before. I have self-harmed. Sometimes I want to do it again. Sometimes I feel so unbearably lonely and worthless that non-existence seems better than another second with that boulder-sized lump in my throat and my mind running through a thousand ways I could be better. But I'm still alive. I'm still alive because I'm selfish and I won't accept a life that doesn't make me happy. No feeling is final, unless you make it so. 800-273-8255 https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ Don't make it final. For your sake and no one else's.	Death looked at me from beneath his hood. I wasn't sure if his face was that of a man or something else. His face was cloaked in darkness, but somehow I felt like I could see through the darkness to what lay within. If you asked me, as soon as I looked away, what I saw, I wouldn't have been able to say. I could not properly recall his face, yet it made feel very comforted. It also filled me with terror. As he sat, he carefully leaned his scythe up against the wall. Leaning back, he sighed again. We sat there in silence for a moment before I finally mustered the courage to speak. "Um, what's going on?" He seemed to know how I felt about his face, because he didn't look in my direction again. "You were helping your friend move a couch up the stairs to his new apartment. You should not have taken the top end. If I had been paying better attention. I probably could have headed the whole thing off, but I wasn't, so here we are. Again." With another sigh, he pushed himself off the bench, "Well, whatever your name is, now. It's time to go." I stood and followed him to a door marked, "Employees Only." On the other side of the door, it was just white. Not glowing or solid, just flat, as if the world around us just stopped. We stepped through into a large hall with people bustling back and forth between white doorways, like the one we had just come through. In the middle of the room was a short desk. A man stood behind the desk, smiling pleasantly at the passersby. I kept expecting him to sit, at some point, but he just kept standing. Death seemed to know what I was thinking, since he muttered, "They never get the details right." The man's smile faded, a bit, as Death approached. When he saw me, his face broke out into a grin. "We have you in the conference room on the 84th floor, today," he said. He sounded almost gleeful. Death stood, aghast. "84? Are you insane?!" Well, it was only floor 4 last time, and floor 3 before that. I'd say you're about due, don't you think?" The grin turned into a smirk as he gestures with one hand towards an elevator behind him. "Well, let's get this over with," Death said, as he took my arm and guided me to the elevator. Its doors opened to our approach. Inside, Death seemed to steel himself before pressing his finger to the button for the 84th floor. He didn't remove his finger, however. As the elevator began to move upwards, I saw the numbers slowly climb from first floor, to second, to third, and on. A gasping sound from Death caught my attention. Was he in pain? As the numbers slowly increased, Death's agony continued. I began hoping the elevator would speed up. I hated seeing anyone like this and felt guilty. Clearly Death was here because of me, for some reason. I tried to replace Deathc's finger with my own, but it was as if he were glued to the button. "Hey!" I shouted. "Can we please get this thing moving?!" To my surprise, the numbers did start to move faster, then fast still. Soon, they were whizzing by until they ubruptly stopped on 84. The doors opened with a ding. Death wearily slumped against the wall, his hand free, at last, from the button. "Thank you," he whispered. I didn't take my eyes off him until the doors closed, after I got off. Turning, I found myself in an ordinary looking conference room. The table was long, with about twenty chairs arranged along it. A ordinary looking man with graying, hair sat a few chairs down from the far end of the table. He was dressed in business casual and pointed me to the chair opposite him without looking up from the papers spread out across the table in front of him. Once I was seated, he folded his hands on the table and said, "You. You were very good. Yes, indeed, you lead a very good life. Superb. Exemplary. The kind of life that makes us want to give you another go, so you can keep doing that kind of good." I smiled. I didn't think I had ever done anything special, but it felt nice to be recognized. He spotted my misunderstanding and corrected himself, "I'm sorry if I was unclear. You lead a very good life, a very long time ago. The sort of life that would make us want to give you another go. So we did. Your next life was... different. It was bad. So bad, we hardly knew what to do with you. We decided to keep giving you chances to go back and do better, to make up for the evil of your second life. Some of your lives have been pretty good, some not as good. Overall, it's been trending upward. Congratulations on that, by the way." "Um, thanks, I think? What was the whole deal with Death, in the elevator?" "Ah. That. You don't always ask about that. One time, you even asked if you could have another go with him. We don't blame you, but let's just say we hustled you through pretty quickly, that time." He continued, "You see, after your first life, Death was a bit miffed that he'd gone to all of the effoet of preparing a place for you on the train. For your second life, he may have... Interfered a bit. Worked from the shadows to lead you into a life of infamy. That sort of thing. Imagine his surprise, what you turned into! I'm almost impressed. No one else has ever screwed up so thoroughly before. Every time you die, he's supposed to bring you to meet with one of us. The torture on the way is the price he pays, until you're done." I thought for a moment, then ventured, "I suppose you're sending me back again." "Yes." "And I won't remember any of this?" "That is correct." "Do I even get a clue?" "Well, the results of your first two lives have ramifications that exist even now, and will continue to exist for lifetimes to come. If you just pay attention, you'll know everything you need to know, in order to do it right next time." He sorted the papers into a pile, placed them in a folder, and closed it. "Now. Time to go." He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He snapped his fingers again. Nothing happened. Again. With a sigh, he opened the folder again. "Let's see. We covered the first life. We covered the second life. We covered..." His voice trailed off. Suddenly, his face took on a look of dawning comprehension. "Ah! I see. Your last life took you right to the brink. I was almost sad to see it ended so soon, having almost made it. Each go is a lottery, you see, so no gaurantee that you would have made it next time. Apparently, someone upstairs decided your little moment of compassion for Death counts. I see someone objected..." He leaned forward, a bit conspiratorially, "At the time, you weren't aware of his past sins against you, so someone thought this shouldn't count." He leaned back again, "However, the objection was overruled. It seems your motivation would have compelled you to help him, regardless of his past actions." He closed the folder once again. "It's so nice to see that you've finally made it. Death will be pleased. Your term is up, so his torture is, as well. Of course, I would be negligent in my duty if I didn't offer you a choice. Would you like to go on, or go back? The choice is still yours, of course, and always will be." After a moment of thought, I told him that I was ready to go on. He snapped his fingers.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw... Why did it have to be you?" I'm confused. I didn't expect Death. I was an atheist. I... Am. Am I? I'd been sitting on this train station waiting to be ferried off to heaven or hell or wherever, but my train never came. "Me?" "You." "Don't you deal with people like me every day?" "Yes, and no. You're special." "Don't give me the shit about how everyone is special." "That's not it, Cole." "Of course you know my name." "Some people are just... Integral. Some people make life worth it for others. I saw your fate. I see every fate." "And? What about it?" I find the courage to look Death in the hood. Dark stares back. Of course. "You were happy." "Really." It's more a challenge than a question. "You were. You had kids, and a job you loved, and a wonderful wife with a wonderful family of her own. You would have met her in high school. She would have ditched her prom date for you and you two would have gotten drunk in the canyon out behind the school. You're eighty-six years early, Cole." Death sounds... Disappointed. Human. It sounds, even though it speaks in a near-monotone, heartbroken. The stoicism cracks. The façade breaks. I break down. Tears roll down my face and a lump the size of an orange makes itself known at the back of my throat. "I know it was..." I can't finish the sentence. "Wrong?" "Yes!" "I hear that one a lot. They tell you to think about your loved ones. I think it's horseshit. I think you should think about you. I think you should think about all the ways your life can get better." Death is surprisingly good at finding reasons not to die. "I... " I sniff. Despite being a ghost, I can still get snot and tears all over myself. "I know." Death continues. "I was supposed to see you in eighty-six years. I was supposed to see a smiling old man content with life, who had seen the loving faces of his family looking down on him as he slipped into the next world, whose only regret would be the sadness he left the ones he loved in." I can't say anything. I regret my decision. I pulled the trigger. It was the easy way out. My little brother will grow up without the guidance he deserves, with no older brother to scheme with him and spoil him. My parents will bury their son. I feel guilt and anger and sadness and regret. "I've seen that a thousand times before." "W-what?" "That look. It's all hitting you at once, isn't it?" "Yes." "Then don't fucking do it again. The bullet missed all the vital stuff. A bit of modern medicine and you'll be okay. The ones who aren't dead all the way can't get on the trains. These meetings are rare." Death looks me in the eyes. "Don't waste it." All I can see is the cold, clinical white of a hospital room. Prom is in three weeks. The doctors say I'll have to be in a wheelchair, but I'll make it. I'm not wasting it. ----- I have attempted to take my own life before. I have self-harmed. Sometimes I want to do it again. Sometimes I feel so unbearably lonely and worthless that non-existence seems better than another second with that boulder-sized lump in my throat and my mind running through a thousand ways I could be better. But I'm still alive. I'm still alive because I'm selfish and I won't accept a life that doesn't make me happy. No feeling is final, unless you make it so. 800-273-8255 https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ Don't make it final. For your sake and no one else's.	"Why'd it have to be ME?" the dead one repeats, affronted. "Why'd it have to be YOU?" The shrouded figure sinks its shoulders like an annoyed teenager, and if it had a face, it would've been glaring dead-eyed at the roof of the train. "My reaper colleagues were all busy, someone has to empty the trains, I drew the short straw, and-" It stops suddenly and seizes up, visibly agitated. "No, you know what, I'm SUPPOSED to be here." It points threateningly. "And if you cause any further tomfoolery while I'm on duty, I swear this'll be the last time you ever set soul here again!" The dead one gives a tight little insincere smile, and a quick little shrug. "Not my fault I'm cursed." "No, that's my fault," the reaper sighs, whisking a hand to where a forehead might have been. "And quit reminding me." The dead one stands. "Are we going or what? Does the spiky guy still work here? How's the grumpy one, ol' whats-his-face?" The reaper watches as the dead one strolls out a little too comfortably, then, begrudgingly but dutifully trudges along behind. "Stop talking."
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	I looked back at the figure, perplexed, only to feel a dull ache begin to form at the back of my skull. "Me? Wh-" The pain intensified before I could ask, but the figure was already turning away. "Give it an hour," He replied, pulling his hood down to reveal a fairly average looking man, roughly in his mid 30's with short cropped blonde hair. His face had features, but when I tried to focus on them, they appeared to shift subtly. The ever growing pain in my head didn't help matters. "What are you talking about?" "Grab your suitcase." "My what?" I looked down to where he gestured. There was a black suitcase, one of the old fashioned ones with a proper numerical lock. The handle was white, and as my fingers wrapped around its smooth surface, I realized it was ivory, or perhaps bone. "Great, let's go." I turned my attention back to the figure, only to find his scythe gone, replaced by his own identical briefcase. As he stepped into his stride to leave, I realized that the simple cloak he had initially approached in had also shifted. Its tail still swept the floor, but it bore more resemblance to a robe with white trimmings. In my shock, he had already proceeded to where I'd first seen him arrive, at the end of the platform, and was waiting for me to catch up. As I took a hurried step, I felt my foot catch and quickly tripped onto my face. I expected pain, especially from the feeling of hard stone against my soft, pliable nose, but it didn't come. I pushed myself to my feet and felt for a nosebleed. Nothing. Then I realized what I'd tripped on. My own clothing was gone, replaced by a similar robe, only with gold trimming. "I really don't understand," I hurriedly spoke as I caught up with the man. "You will. We always forget, and we always remember." I expected more, but that's all he gave. Before I could respond, the world shifted. The experience was like a glass elevator. The two of us stood, while the train station slid away, and scenery shifted too fast to fully absorb. Trees, buildings, and all manner of shapes too quick to make out raced by, until all too suddenly it stopped as quickly as it began, and we were standing in an actual elevator. The door chimed softly, and the metal slid open. The room was empty. Not like you'd first imagine, four walls with no furniture and a hanging bulb. No. Empty. He stepped through, and his feet made purchase with the blackness. Looking past him, I couldn't tell where the walls were, where the ceiling was, not anything. Hesitant, I followed, and experienced no small amount of terror as the doors closed behind us and promptly disappeared, leaving only the inky blackness of it all. "Is this hell?" I asked. He laughed. "No. No, this isn't hell. I mean, it could be, if that's what you want." I felt that pain again, and a number flashed through my mind. 0. "Then... where are we?" I asked as I placed a hand to my temple, hoping, and failing, to alleviate what was beginning to feel like the worst migraine of my life. "Your office. You've been gone awhile, so you've probably forgotten... everything?" He asked, but his tone made it more of a statement. "That's fine though. It's just my turn to help you out. Let's get some chairs first." I waited. He waited. Then he looked at me with a "well, come on then" sort of expression. I didn't know what he wanted me to do. It wasn't like I could just imagine two armchairs into existence- Two armchairs appeared, one white, one garishly gold colored, facing each other. "Yea, just like that!" He exclaimed happily, sinking into his white chair. "Still no sense of interior decoration though." However much I may have wanted to reply, my pounding head made me simply seek the refugee that the hideous golden chair provided. "Where are we, really?" "Your office, I told you that." "I know I'm dead, but offices don't look like," I gestured to the unknowable emptiness, "this." "You're right. Usually some of you would still be here, but you kept getting extensions, and it wasn't like any of us could argue." Another number burned its way through my mind, as bright and hot as the sun itself. 1. "Ackh..." I winced, and his brow furrowed. "You alright? Honestly, none of us have ever been gone as long as you were." "You keep saying that," I shook off the pain as best I could and tried to focus on what I was understanding so far. "Us, gone, extensions. What are you talking about? Am I death too?" "Not... exactly? Like I said, most of this should come back on its own, but I guess if I start to explain it might help some. I'm not death. None of us are. That whole process is automatic, there's no special person who get's to decide when everyone dies or lives." "Then what are you?" "Officially, Afterlife Administrative Assistants. AAA's." "That's a stupid name," I spoke the words before I thought them, and a big grin spread across his face. He started to speak, but a sharp ringing filled my ears louder than a billion explosions. 2. "-never really liked it either, but it at least describes us better than anything the mortals ever came up with. So, you remember all those folks that got on the train?" "Sure," I managed weakly. "They're on their way to the council for 'judgement,' really, they're just going to be assigned a ranking from 0-13. The higher the number, the less ready they are." "Ready for what?" "This. 13's are sinners, bad people, or just folks that are way too attached to their own egos. They need some reform, so we can't just toss them into an office like this and let their minds take them wherever they want. They'll just end up creating whatever paradise they think is good, and probably never want to leave it." "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm already lost." "Let me explain some of the others and we'll see if that helps. Once we get folks down to a 10, they get to re-enter afterlife society. All the dead folk who still have lingering attachments that usually require other people to let go of." I watched him flick the numbers on his suitcase as he paused his speech. 5, 8, 1 , 3. The suitcase popped open, and he opened it towards himself, riffling through what sounded like papers. "They stay there for awhile, usually, until they've found a certain level of inner peace. Once they rate at a 5, they get a pseudo-office. They can make and do whatever they'd like there, but we keep an eye on them, and they don't get one of these," he closed the suitcase and gave it a pat for emphasis, then handed me a piece of paper. "The goal is to get them to create their own paradise, a place where they could live out eternity happily. Some folks never grow out of it," He gestured to the paper he'd handed me. A woman's photo filled the top left corner, with the rest devoted to notes and dates. The last entry read ' Moved to 1st Classification. Subject wishes to remain in "Heaven" and will inform council when ready for review.' "Once you reach 1st Class like her, you've got your own little world your taking care of, and we usually send the upper classes there to learn how to grow and thrive. She doesn't seem like she's interested in graduating, but hey, we're not here to rush anyone." "Then, there's folks like us. We live the life, get everything we want, but eventually, we aren't satisfied. I mean, what do you do when you've got eternity to anything you want, and all you have to do is imagine it?" "I'd get bored, eventually," I replied, and he snapped his fingers. "Bingo. So we start them off at Class 0, graduating them to a proper office without supervision, and letting them start directly assisting with the whole reformation process. Most folks are satisfied with that, gives them something to do." "But not me, I take it?" I was starting to put the pieces together. "Exactly. I've only done it once, but eventually some of us start to wonder why we're doing it this way. Fixing after, not before. Lots of paperwork, but ultimately you get to go back. It's never quite the same you, different face, different place, but that core of your soul is always there. And it always shines through. For whatever reason, you always end up being some of the best of us." "I thought you were being general, but are you saying-" Like being thousands of fathoms below the sea, I felt the pressure against my skull, threatening to crush it. 3. Then it was gone, and I felt a feeling of nostalgia sweep through me. Like looking at an old friend, I looked at the man across from me again. "Yes! You, chief, you've been down there more than any of us, and you were the first to ever do it. You're an inspiration. I still can't believe I got to be the one to bring you back to your office. I guess it makes sense though, I am your apprentice." Memories were flooding through my mind now faster than I could fully process them. The numbers, and my reasoning, more than anything. 0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13. The Fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio. "But you've been gone a really long time. At first, I kept hoping I'd get to see you again soon, like you'd just show up one day on that platform with a big smile. But then, after awhile, I started to get it. You went back to help make it better, and every time you took an extension, it was because it wasn't better yet. And based on some of the folks I've been processing recently, it still isn't. So I'm going to ask again, why'd it have to be you? Why are you back?" "To remind myself what I'm doing this for," I said as I clicked open my suitcase. Inside was the vacuous space that contained every piece of paperwork I'd ever had, and the thousands of extensions I'd ordered on my time. "And," I smiled slightly, "Because I forgot my password."	"Why'd it have to be ME?" the dead one repeats, affronted. "Why'd it have to be YOU?" The shrouded figure sinks its shoulders like an annoyed teenager, and if it had a face, it would've been glaring dead-eyed at the roof of the train. "My reaper colleagues were all busy, someone has to empty the trains, I drew the short straw, and-" It stops suddenly and seizes up, visibly agitated. "No, you know what, I'm SUPPOSED to be here." It points threateningly. "And if you cause any further tomfoolery while I'm on duty, I swear this'll be the last time you ever set soul here again!" The dead one gives a tight little insincere smile, and a quick little shrug. "Not my fault I'm cursed." "No, that's my fault," the reaper sighs, whisking a hand to where a forehead might have been. "And quit reminding me." The dead one stands. "Are we going or what? Does the spiky guy still work here? How's the grumpy one, ol' whats-his-face?" The reaper watches as the dead one strolls out a little too comfortably, then, begrudgingly but dutifully trudges along behind. "Stop talking."
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	I looked back at the figure, perplexed, only to feel a dull ache begin to form at the back of my skull. "Me? Wh-" The pain intensified before I could ask, but the figure was already turning away. "Give it an hour," He replied, pulling his hood down to reveal a fairly average looking man, roughly in his mid 30's with short cropped blonde hair. His face had features, but when I tried to focus on them, they appeared to shift subtly. The ever growing pain in my head didn't help matters. "What are you talking about?" "Grab your suitcase." "My what?" I looked down to where he gestured. There was a black suitcase, one of the old fashioned ones with a proper numerical lock. The handle was white, and as my fingers wrapped around its smooth surface, I realized it was ivory, or perhaps bone. "Great, let's go." I turned my attention back to the figure, only to find his scythe gone, replaced by his own identical briefcase. As he stepped into his stride to leave, I realized that the simple cloak he had initially approached in had also shifted. Its tail still swept the floor, but it bore more resemblance to a robe with white trimmings. In my shock, he had already proceeded to where I'd first seen him arrive, at the end of the platform, and was waiting for me to catch up. As I took a hurried step, I felt my foot catch and quickly tripped onto my face. I expected pain, especially from the feeling of hard stone against my soft, pliable nose, but it didn't come. I pushed myself to my feet and felt for a nosebleed. Nothing. Then I realized what I'd tripped on. My own clothing was gone, replaced by a similar robe, only with gold trimming. "I really don't understand," I hurriedly spoke as I caught up with the man. "You will. We always forget, and we always remember." I expected more, but that's all he gave. Before I could respond, the world shifted. The experience was like a glass elevator. The two of us stood, while the train station slid away, and scenery shifted too fast to fully absorb. Trees, buildings, and all manner of shapes too quick to make out raced by, until all too suddenly it stopped as quickly as it began, and we were standing in an actual elevator. The door chimed softly, and the metal slid open. The room was empty. Not like you'd first imagine, four walls with no furniture and a hanging bulb. No. Empty. He stepped through, and his feet made purchase with the blackness. Looking past him, I couldn't tell where the walls were, where the ceiling was, not anything. Hesitant, I followed, and experienced no small amount of terror as the doors closed behind us and promptly disappeared, leaving only the inky blackness of it all. "Is this hell?" I asked. He laughed. "No. No, this isn't hell. I mean, it could be, if that's what you want." I felt that pain again, and a number flashed through my mind. 0. "Then... where are we?" I asked as I placed a hand to my temple, hoping, and failing, to alleviate what was beginning to feel like the worst migraine of my life. "Your office. You've been gone awhile, so you've probably forgotten... everything?" He asked, but his tone made it more of a statement. "That's fine though. It's just my turn to help you out. Let's get some chairs first." I waited. He waited. Then he looked at me with a "well, come on then" sort of expression. I didn't know what he wanted me to do. It wasn't like I could just imagine two armchairs into existence- Two armchairs appeared, one white, one garishly gold colored, facing each other. "Yea, just like that!" He exclaimed happily, sinking into his white chair. "Still no sense of interior decoration though." However much I may have wanted to reply, my pounding head made me simply seek the refugee that the hideous golden chair provided. "Where are we, really?" "Your office, I told you that." "I know I'm dead, but offices don't look like," I gestured to the unknowable emptiness, "this." "You're right. Usually some of you would still be here, but you kept getting extensions, and it wasn't like any of us could argue." Another number burned its way through my mind, as bright and hot as the sun itself. 1. "Ackh..." I winced, and his brow furrowed. "You alright? Honestly, none of us have ever been gone as long as you were." "You keep saying that," I shook off the pain as best I could and tried to focus on what I was understanding so far. "Us, gone, extensions. What are you talking about? Am I death too?" "Not... exactly? Like I said, most of this should come back on its own, but I guess if I start to explain it might help some. I'm not death. None of us are. That whole process is automatic, there's no special person who get's to decide when everyone dies or lives." "Then what are you?" "Officially, Afterlife Administrative Assistants. AAA's." "That's a stupid name," I spoke the words before I thought them, and a big grin spread across his face. He started to speak, but a sharp ringing filled my ears louder than a billion explosions. 2. "-never really liked it either, but it at least describes us better than anything the mortals ever came up with. So, you remember all those folks that got on the train?" "Sure," I managed weakly. "They're on their way to the council for 'judgement,' really, they're just going to be assigned a ranking from 0-13. The higher the number, the less ready they are." "Ready for what?" "This. 13's are sinners, bad people, or just folks that are way too attached to their own egos. They need some reform, so we can't just toss them into an office like this and let their minds take them wherever they want. They'll just end up creating whatever paradise they think is good, and probably never want to leave it." "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm already lost." "Let me explain some of the others and we'll see if that helps. Once we get folks down to a 10, they get to re-enter afterlife society. All the dead folk who still have lingering attachments that usually require other people to let go of." I watched him flick the numbers on his suitcase as he paused his speech. 5, 8, 1 , 3. The suitcase popped open, and he opened it towards himself, riffling through what sounded like papers. "They stay there for awhile, usually, until they've found a certain level of inner peace. Once they rate at a 5, they get a pseudo-office. They can make and do whatever they'd like there, but we keep an eye on them, and they don't get one of these," he closed the suitcase and gave it a pat for emphasis, then handed me a piece of paper. "The goal is to get them to create their own paradise, a place where they could live out eternity happily. Some folks never grow out of it," He gestured to the paper he'd handed me. A woman's photo filled the top left corner, with the rest devoted to notes and dates. The last entry read ' Moved to 1st Classification. Subject wishes to remain in "Heaven" and will inform council when ready for review.' "Once you reach 1st Class like her, you've got your own little world your taking care of, and we usually send the upper classes there to learn how to grow and thrive. She doesn't seem like she's interested in graduating, but hey, we're not here to rush anyone." "Then, there's folks like us. We live the life, get everything we want, but eventually, we aren't satisfied. I mean, what do you do when you've got eternity to anything you want, and all you have to do is imagine it?" "I'd get bored, eventually," I replied, and he snapped his fingers. "Bingo. So we start them off at Class 0, graduating them to a proper office without supervision, and letting them start directly assisting with the whole reformation process. Most folks are satisfied with that, gives them something to do." "But not me, I take it?" I was starting to put the pieces together. "Exactly. I've only done it once, but eventually some of us start to wonder why we're doing it this way. Fixing after, not before. Lots of paperwork, but ultimately you get to go back. It's never quite the same you, different face, different place, but that core of your soul is always there. And it always shines through. For whatever reason, you always end up being some of the best of us." "I thought you were being general, but are you saying-" Like being thousands of fathoms below the sea, I felt the pressure against my skull, threatening to crush it. 3. Then it was gone, and I felt a feeling of nostalgia sweep through me. Like looking at an old friend, I looked at the man across from me again. "Yes! You, chief, you've been down there more than any of us, and you were the first to ever do it. You're an inspiration. I still can't believe I got to be the one to bring you back to your office. I guess it makes sense though, I am your apprentice." Memories were flooding through my mind now faster than I could fully process them. The numbers, and my reasoning, more than anything. 0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13. The Fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio. "But you've been gone a really long time. At first, I kept hoping I'd get to see you again soon, like you'd just show up one day on that platform with a big smile. But then, after awhile, I started to get it. You went back to help make it better, and every time you took an extension, it was because it wasn't better yet. And based on some of the folks I've been processing recently, it still isn't. So I'm going to ask again, why'd it have to be you? Why are you back?" "To remind myself what I'm doing this for," I said as I clicked open my suitcase. Inside was the vacuous space that contained every piece of paperwork I'd ever had, and the thousands of extensions I'd ordered on my time. "And," I smiled slightly, "Because I forgot my password."	Not sure how I got here, but it looks like a train station in the old west, but instead of railroad tracks there's a small canal. After a while a home made pontoon boat that looks suspiciously like one my dad had when I was little pulls up and Waylon Jennings (no shit) steps onto the platform. "Aww, hoss. Why'd it have to be you?" He says. "Waylon Jennings? Man, this day keeps getting weirder." "Well, hoss, I'm not really Waylon. But I've met him too. You see, I'm death. I figured you'd be less anxious if I took this form. I could take any form. See?" Then suddenly he's Clint Eastwood, then My grandpa who died in 1992, then George Washington, then Cab Calloway, then back to Waylon. "Jesus, what was in that weed I smoked?" "Just weed, but it was your high blood pressure that did it. Quick in your sleep. Not so bad if you ask me, hoss. You could have went out screaming or terrified like all the Russians and Ukrainians I've seen the last few days. You see, you weren't supposed to die yet. In fact, I didn't expect you for quite some time yet." "So what now? Do I go to Hell? I gave up on church years ago." "No, hoss. Actual good people don't go to Hell. You humans are always so quick to expect punishment. But, you don't get to go to Heaven either." "So you're telling me that Heaven and Hell are real? Jesus, Moses, all that nonsense?" "Of course, hoss. So is The Underworld. So is reincarnation for the Buddhists." "But, I'm an atheist. Where do I go?" Death/Waylon Jennings laughed. "Well, hoss, that's the fun part. Since you know all the Judeo-Christian stuff we could just try heaven, but the rules apply and I'm afraid Jesus will send you to Hell. So I'm going to give you a test. And the prize for passing it is that you get to wake up in your bed like nothing happened." "Just like that? So what's the catch?" "You have to tell me your biggest regret." "Does every atheist get this chance?" "Only the ones who are good people, hoss, and you're one of the best." "I'm one of the best? How? I never did anything great." "Everyone says that. You're a regular George Bailey, hoss." "If you say so. For all I know, this is a dream. I mean, Death taking the form of Waylon Jennings definitely sounds like one of my dreams." "You know it ain't, hoss. So tell me, what's your biggest regret? I'll know if you're lying, so let's go inside the station here for a beer and to give you time to think." So we walked inside and sat at the bar. Waylon/Death walked around to the other side and pulled out a pint glass from beneath the bar. He drew me a dark beer with a thick head on it. I already knew it would be Murphy's. "How'd you know what I wanted?" "I know everything about you, hoss. Hell, I know everything about everybody who ever existed. You could say it's my job to know things." "So if it wasn't my time, why'd I die?" "Mistakes happen, hoss. There's over 7 billion people on the planet. Nobody's perfect, even death." So I drank the beer, and it was delicious. The perfect temperature. I thought about my regrets and what could possibly be the biggest. Was it my schooling? I never applied myself, never went to college. No, that's not it. Was it my Navy career? I burned out pretty fast and only did four years. No, that's not it. I can't lie to myself. It was Alana. The only woman I ever truly loved. The only one that ever got me. I let our relationship go cold. I pushed her away. She left me, but it was my fault. "Well," I said, "I know what it is, but before I answer, can I ask a question?" "Sure, hoss, I got all the time in the world. Time don't actually exist here. Hell, here don't exist here." "What happens if I'm right? What happens if I'm wrong?" "If you're right you wake up in your bed. If you're wrong you cease to exist altogether." "Okay, I'm ready."
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	I looked back at the figure, perplexed, only to feel a dull ache begin to form at the back of my skull. "Me? Wh-" The pain intensified before I could ask, but the figure was already turning away. "Give it an hour," He replied, pulling his hood down to reveal a fairly average looking man, roughly in his mid 30's with short cropped blonde hair. His face had features, but when I tried to focus on them, they appeared to shift subtly. The ever growing pain in my head didn't help matters. "What are you talking about?" "Grab your suitcase." "My what?" I looked down to where he gestured. There was a black suitcase, one of the old fashioned ones with a proper numerical lock. The handle was white, and as my fingers wrapped around its smooth surface, I realized it was ivory, or perhaps bone. "Great, let's go." I turned my attention back to the figure, only to find his scythe gone, replaced by his own identical briefcase. As he stepped into his stride to leave, I realized that the simple cloak he had initially approached in had also shifted. Its tail still swept the floor, but it bore more resemblance to a robe with white trimmings. In my shock, he had already proceeded to where I'd first seen him arrive, at the end of the platform, and was waiting for me to catch up. As I took a hurried step, I felt my foot catch and quickly tripped onto my face. I expected pain, especially from the feeling of hard stone against my soft, pliable nose, but it didn't come. I pushed myself to my feet and felt for a nosebleed. Nothing. Then I realized what I'd tripped on. My own clothing was gone, replaced by a similar robe, only with gold trimming. "I really don't understand," I hurriedly spoke as I caught up with the man. "You will. We always forget, and we always remember." I expected more, but that's all he gave. Before I could respond, the world shifted. The experience was like a glass elevator. The two of us stood, while the train station slid away, and scenery shifted too fast to fully absorb. Trees, buildings, and all manner of shapes too quick to make out raced by, until all too suddenly it stopped as quickly as it began, and we were standing in an actual elevator. The door chimed softly, and the metal slid open. The room was empty. Not like you'd first imagine, four walls with no furniture and a hanging bulb. No. Empty. He stepped through, and his feet made purchase with the blackness. Looking past him, I couldn't tell where the walls were, where the ceiling was, not anything. Hesitant, I followed, and experienced no small amount of terror as the doors closed behind us and promptly disappeared, leaving only the inky blackness of it all. "Is this hell?" I asked. He laughed. "No. No, this isn't hell. I mean, it could be, if that's what you want." I felt that pain again, and a number flashed through my mind. 0. "Then... where are we?" I asked as I placed a hand to my temple, hoping, and failing, to alleviate what was beginning to feel like the worst migraine of my life. "Your office. You've been gone awhile, so you've probably forgotten... everything?" He asked, but his tone made it more of a statement. "That's fine though. It's just my turn to help you out. Let's get some chairs first." I waited. He waited. Then he looked at me with a "well, come on then" sort of expression. I didn't know what he wanted me to do. It wasn't like I could just imagine two armchairs into existence- Two armchairs appeared, one white, one garishly gold colored, facing each other. "Yea, just like that!" He exclaimed happily, sinking into his white chair. "Still no sense of interior decoration though." However much I may have wanted to reply, my pounding head made me simply seek the refugee that the hideous golden chair provided. "Where are we, really?" "Your office, I told you that." "I know I'm dead, but offices don't look like," I gestured to the unknowable emptiness, "this." "You're right. Usually some of you would still be here, but you kept getting extensions, and it wasn't like any of us could argue." Another number burned its way through my mind, as bright and hot as the sun itself. 1. "Ackh..." I winced, and his brow furrowed. "You alright? Honestly, none of us have ever been gone as long as you were." "You keep saying that," I shook off the pain as best I could and tried to focus on what I was understanding so far. "Us, gone, extensions. What are you talking about? Am I death too?" "Not... exactly? Like I said, most of this should come back on its own, but I guess if I start to explain it might help some. I'm not death. None of us are. That whole process is automatic, there's no special person who get's to decide when everyone dies or lives." "Then what are you?" "Officially, Afterlife Administrative Assistants. AAA's." "That's a stupid name," I spoke the words before I thought them, and a big grin spread across his face. He started to speak, but a sharp ringing filled my ears louder than a billion explosions. 2. "-never really liked it either, but it at least describes us better than anything the mortals ever came up with. So, you remember all those folks that got on the train?" "Sure," I managed weakly. "They're on their way to the council for 'judgement,' really, they're just going to be assigned a ranking from 0-13. The higher the number, the less ready they are." "Ready for what?" "This. 13's are sinners, bad people, or just folks that are way too attached to their own egos. They need some reform, so we can't just toss them into an office like this and let their minds take them wherever they want. They'll just end up creating whatever paradise they think is good, and probably never want to leave it." "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm already lost." "Let me explain some of the others and we'll see if that helps. Once we get folks down to a 10, they get to re-enter afterlife society. All the dead folk who still have lingering attachments that usually require other people to let go of." I watched him flick the numbers on his suitcase as he paused his speech. 5, 8, 1 , 3. The suitcase popped open, and he opened it towards himself, riffling through what sounded like papers. "They stay there for awhile, usually, until they've found a certain level of inner peace. Once they rate at a 5, they get a pseudo-office. They can make and do whatever they'd like there, but we keep an eye on them, and they don't get one of these," he closed the suitcase and gave it a pat for emphasis, then handed me a piece of paper. "The goal is to get them to create their own paradise, a place where they could live out eternity happily. Some folks never grow out of it," He gestured to the paper he'd handed me. A woman's photo filled the top left corner, with the rest devoted to notes and dates. The last entry read ' Moved to 1st Classification. Subject wishes to remain in "Heaven" and will inform council when ready for review.' "Once you reach 1st Class like her, you've got your own little world your taking care of, and we usually send the upper classes there to learn how to grow and thrive. She doesn't seem like she's interested in graduating, but hey, we're not here to rush anyone." "Then, there's folks like us. We live the life, get everything we want, but eventually, we aren't satisfied. I mean, what do you do when you've got eternity to anything you want, and all you have to do is imagine it?" "I'd get bored, eventually," I replied, and he snapped his fingers. "Bingo. So we start them off at Class 0, graduating them to a proper office without supervision, and letting them start directly assisting with the whole reformation process. Most folks are satisfied with that, gives them something to do." "But not me, I take it?" I was starting to put the pieces together. "Exactly. I've only done it once, but eventually some of us start to wonder why we're doing it this way. Fixing after, not before. Lots of paperwork, but ultimately you get to go back. It's never quite the same you, different face, different place, but that core of your soul is always there. And it always shines through. For whatever reason, you always end up being some of the best of us." "I thought you were being general, but are you saying-" Like being thousands of fathoms below the sea, I felt the pressure against my skull, threatening to crush it. 3. Then it was gone, and I felt a feeling of nostalgia sweep through me. Like looking at an old friend, I looked at the man across from me again. "Yes! You, chief, you've been down there more than any of us, and you were the first to ever do it. You're an inspiration. I still can't believe I got to be the one to bring you back to your office. I guess it makes sense though, I am your apprentice." Memories were flooding through my mind now faster than I could fully process them. The numbers, and my reasoning, more than anything. 0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13. The Fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio. "But you've been gone a really long time. At first, I kept hoping I'd get to see you again soon, like you'd just show up one day on that platform with a big smile. But then, after awhile, I started to get it. You went back to help make it better, and every time you took an extension, it was because it wasn't better yet. And based on some of the folks I've been processing recently, it still isn't. So I'm going to ask again, why'd it have to be you? Why are you back?" "To remind myself what I'm doing this for," I said as I clicked open my suitcase. Inside was the vacuous space that contained every piece of paperwork I'd ever had, and the thousands of extensions I'd ordered on my time. "And," I smiled slightly, "Because I forgot my password."	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The man Death said that to was George R. R. Martin. Death was a fan. The famous author said, "Well, all people have to die someday". "Are you seriously telling ME that!" "Anyway, you seem to be a fan. Am I right?" "Yes, and it really sucks that you died before you could finish Game of Thrones. I was so looking forward to finishing the series. Why'd you take so damn long man!" "We could talk about that all day, but that doesn't change the fact that I didn't finish Game of Thrones when I was alive. But if it makes you feel better I now have all the time in the world to finish it. In fact you can be the first person to read it when I'm done." Death knew that where George R. R. Martin was going he'd never finish Game of Thrones. "What if you don't get it done? I have to know how it all ends," said Death. "If you don't think I'll finish it, you can always finish it yourself." The thought had never crossed Death's mind. "You're joking, right?" Death said, but seeing George's face made Death realize George wasn't. "The way I write, I don't know how everything is going to end. And that's why I enjoy it. To me, writing is like a more active form of reading. I find things out as I go, but with writing I get to use my own creativity," said George "If I really don't finish Game of Thrones, I'm sure you'll enjoy finishing it for me." The noise of a train approaching rang through the train station. The train came and stopped with a huff. One of it's doors was right in front of Death and George R.R. Martin, and when they opened George stood up and went into the train. The doors closed and the train started moving to George's final destination. George waved through the window to Death who hadn't moved at all and Death waved back. George R. R. Martin may have died, but Death's writing career was born.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face. "It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment. "You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life." "You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong. "It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on." "I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me. "Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young." "I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --" "And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense." "His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want." "No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled." "That happened when he lost his mother." "And you lost your wife." "I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore." "No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?" "I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore." "You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do." "How? Not like I can go back now." "Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove. There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe. "Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The man Death said that to was George R. R. Martin. Death was a fan. The famous author said, "Well, all people have to die someday". "Are you seriously telling ME that!" "Anyway, you seem to be a fan. Am I right?" "Yes, and it really sucks that you died before you could finish Game of Thrones. I was so looking forward to finishing the series. Why'd you take so damn long man!" "We could talk about that all day, but that doesn't change the fact that I didn't finish Game of Thrones when I was alive. But if it makes you feel better I now have all the time in the world to finish it. In fact you can be the first person to read it when I'm done." Death knew that where George R. R. Martin was going he'd never finish Game of Thrones. "What if you don't get it done? I have to know how it all ends," said Death. "If you don't think I'll finish it, you can always finish it yourself." The thought had never crossed Death's mind. "You're joking, right?" Death said, but seeing George's face made Death realize George wasn't. "The way I write, I don't know how everything is going to end. And that's why I enjoy it. To me, writing is like a more active form of reading. I find things out as I go, but with writing I get to use my own creativity," said George "If I really don't finish Game of Thrones, I'm sure you'll enjoy finishing it for me." The noise of a train approaching rang through the train station. The train came and stopped with a huff. One of it's doors was right in front of Death and George R.R. Martin, and when they opened George stood up and went into the train. The doors closed and the train started moving to George's final destination. George waved through the window to Death who hadn't moved at all and Death waved back. George R. R. Martin may have died, but Death's writing career was born.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	“It’s complicated.” And then I connected the voice. My ex boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him in ages, he looked completely different but the voice never changed. “Are you…” “Dead? Not yet. Apparently they left off the part about what happens when you’re not on an afterlife team. I have to do two years of community service. At the end, after meeting all the various souls, I’m supposed to choose. Well, I don’t meet the ones that believe reincarnation. They usually go back right away. They told me I might meet a couple of those in my two years.” “Well, what about me?” “Let me check my notes…ok. You’re going this way. You didn’t practice a religion on the master list but you had pets. We usually send you guys with them. Wow, shelter cats. Dogs. A few buns too. This will work.” I walked over with my ex to this bridge, which I thought was a metaphor. It opened up to a huge field with my pets waiting for me. My pitbull, my beagle, all my cats. The bunnies and hamsters. I followed Rocco, my childhood German shepherd and the rest of my menagerie off into the distance. My ex looked wistful as he waved goodbye. My pittie went back and grabbed him by the coat to take him another direction, freeing my ex from his service. Jack always liked him more than me anyway.	"I take offense to that, big D. Oh, that sounded wrong." The relatively young punk finished what seemed to be a fast-food drink. Tasteless. The perk of being dead is that you had control over your own hellscape. Manifesting food was easy. Giving it taste that could affect metaphysical tastebuds, however... "We both know we would meet again one day. You know, with the whole «I should be dead, but...» thing." "I cannot believe you «died» again. You know that those soul that come with you now share your personal hell, yes? An endless bus ride... Leaving behind the one who should be in the bus. What an horrible hellscape, built on a sickening wish." The hooded figure's cloak was blown away by an ephemeral gust of wind, revealing both an old man, a young lady, an amorphous being, all at once, all the same but different. "Heh, i know. I wish i didn't, but i know." The wish. He regrets it, truly. The perk of being technically undying means that occasionally, you have to spend some time on the edge of the Styx. Time that you should've spent being reincarnated. It's a long process. "So, young man... Where's your body this time?" The youth, or rather, the old man who fears death, disguised as a rowdy kid, pulled out a cigarette from his front pocket. "Around... I'd say the middle of Germany. Big forest. Can't miss it." "This does not seem smart." "Expected me to wisely put it somewhere safe? After all..." "You are the foolish man who must deny his death by taking other people's death, yes. At least you spare me a couple weeks of running around for them each time." Silence was heavy between immortals. A sort of change to their worldview. Time still flowed the same, but they didn't share the same fear of wasting it that most living things do. This also applied to concepts, such as death itself. A week passed, the fake one self reflecting and the eldritch one thinking of what could've been. Eventually, the man began to talk again. "Hey, death, if you were in my shoes, would you cut that cycle short?"
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face. "It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment. "You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life." "You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong. "It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on." "I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me. "Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young." "I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --" "And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense." "His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want." "No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled." "That happened when he lost his mother." "And you lost your wife." "I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore." "No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?" "I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore." "You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do." "How? Not like I can go back now." "Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove. There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe. "Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"	"I take offense to that, big D. Oh, that sounded wrong." The relatively young punk finished what seemed to be a fast-food drink. Tasteless. The perk of being dead is that you had control over your own hellscape. Manifesting food was easy. Giving it taste that could affect metaphysical tastebuds, however... "We both know we would meet again one day. You know, with the whole «I should be dead, but...» thing." "I cannot believe you «died» again. You know that those soul that come with you now share your personal hell, yes? An endless bus ride... Leaving behind the one who should be in the bus. What an horrible hellscape, built on a sickening wish." The hooded figure's cloak was blown away by an ephemeral gust of wind, revealing both an old man, a young lady, an amorphous being, all at once, all the same but different. "Heh, i know. I wish i didn't, but i know." The wish. He regrets it, truly. The perk of being technically undying means that occasionally, you have to spend some time on the edge of the Styx. Time that you should've spent being reincarnated. It's a long process. "So, young man... Where's your body this time?" The youth, or rather, the old man who fears death, disguised as a rowdy kid, pulled out a cigarette from his front pocket. "Around... I'd say the middle of Germany. Big forest. Can't miss it." "This does not seem smart." "Expected me to wisely put it somewhere safe? After all..." "You are the foolish man who must deny his death by taking other people's death, yes. At least you spare me a couple weeks of running around for them each time." Silence was heavy between immortals. A sort of change to their worldview. Time still flowed the same, but they didn't share the same fear of wasting it that most living things do. This also applied to concepts, such as death itself. A week passed, the fake one self reflecting and the eldritch one thinking of what could've been. Eventually, the man began to talk again. "Hey, death, if you were in my shoes, would you cut that cycle short?"
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	“It’s complicated.” And then I connected the voice. My ex boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him in ages, he looked completely different but the voice never changed. “Are you…” “Dead? Not yet. Apparently they left off the part about what happens when you’re not on an afterlife team. I have to do two years of community service. At the end, after meeting all the various souls, I’m supposed to choose. Well, I don’t meet the ones that believe reincarnation. They usually go back right away. They told me I might meet a couple of those in my two years.” “Well, what about me?” “Let me check my notes…ok. You’re going this way. You didn’t practice a religion on the master list but you had pets. We usually send you guys with them. Wow, shelter cats. Dogs. A few buns too. This will work.” I walked over with my ex to this bridge, which I thought was a metaphor. It opened up to a huge field with my pets waiting for me. My pitbull, my beagle, all my cats. The bunnies and hamsters. I followed Rocco, my childhood German shepherd and the rest of my menagerie off into the distance. My ex looked wistful as he waved goodbye. My pittie went back and grabbed him by the coat to take him another direction, freeing my ex from his service. Jack always liked him more than me anyway.	"Let's face it, Death comes for us all." I said with a wink. "Look, I was drunk.... lonely. It was a on time thing." The skull clacked, not blushing only because it had no skin. "It was very much NOT a one time thing." I cackled a little. Death fumed a little. "Just because you embarrass me does not mean I'll let you stay in the land of the living." The words were curt and echoed inside my skull. "I know." I said, a touch of sadness edging into my smile. "I just wanted to have one last bit of fun before I....", I nodded towards the empty tracks. "Do you know which way I'm going?" I asked. Death's robe swirled and reappared beside me. "You're not exactly a typical case, so it's still being considered. And even if I did, it'd be against protocol for me to reveal that to any soul. Even yours." I felt the cold icy hand of Death on my shoulder. "You've always had your reasons. Murder for life. Power for peace.... where do YOU think you'll end up?" "I'm not sure. Until about an hour ago, I'd thought none of this was real. I was still only half-sure our little night together was real." "E, you lived a full life. Divisive in many ways, but full. Human history changes on a dime, but you changed it more than most. Regardless of the result... do you think it was worth it? Do you think the world will be a better place?" "A lot of people died. And they died for me. Because I wanted us to...." I shrugged my shoulders. "I played politics, I murdered one of my best friends. She was a spy. I think..." I could feel the tears welling. "I remade the world. I actually did it. But... I don't know if it'll hold. If it was worth it." I hugged my arms closer. "Will you tell me at least? If... when my regime falls?" Death's skull shook. "It wouldn't be fair." I nodded, a couple tears fell. Yeah. I figured as much. "Sorry about all the work I made you do the last 5 years." I half-laughed half-cried. "That wasn't the only time I had it rough." I could hear a dark chuckle emenate from the skull. "... Death?" I paused. "Why DID you choose me? Were you trying to distract me. Help me escape something? I never figured it out. Out of everyone on the planet... in all history... why me?" A sigh came from non-existant lungs. "Out of everyone. Literally everyone. You flirted with me the most. And I thought you were cute." A train car rattled slowly. I looked over and saw it slowly pull in front of us. "Looks like they decided." I said, and stood up. I looked back, still unsure if Death had been serious about the reason. "What happens if I choose to just... stay?" "Nothing." The sound was incredibly vibrant in that voice. Sinister and mournful. "But you'll go. Everyone does." I gathered myself and wiped my tears. "Thank you. For... waiting with me." "It's the least I could do." And I'm sure it was meant with all sincerity. I stepped tentatively onto the train. And the doors shut behind me. I turned to look and saw Death's cloak swirling around. The skull looking neither happy or sad. I waved goodbye as the train began to move. A bony finger gently waved back. The tunnel was ahead. And then I was gone.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face. "It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment. "You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life." "You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong. "It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on." "I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me. "Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young." "I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --" "And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense." "His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want." "No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled." "That happened when he lost his mother." "And you lost your wife." "I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore." "No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?" "I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore." "You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do." "How? Not like I can go back now." "Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove. There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe. "Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"	"Let's face it, Death comes for us all." I said with a wink. "Look, I was drunk.... lonely. It was a on time thing." The skull clacked, not blushing only because it had no skin. "It was very much NOT a one time thing." I cackled a little. Death fumed a little. "Just because you embarrass me does not mean I'll let you stay in the land of the living." The words were curt and echoed inside my skull. "I know." I said, a touch of sadness edging into my smile. "I just wanted to have one last bit of fun before I....", I nodded towards the empty tracks. "Do you know which way I'm going?" I asked. Death's robe swirled and reappared beside me. "You're not exactly a typical case, so it's still being considered. And even if I did, it'd be against protocol for me to reveal that to any soul. Even yours." I felt the cold icy hand of Death on my shoulder. "You've always had your reasons. Murder for life. Power for peace.... where do YOU think you'll end up?" "I'm not sure. Until about an hour ago, I'd thought none of this was real. I was still only half-sure our little night together was real." "E, you lived a full life. Divisive in many ways, but full. Human history changes on a dime, but you changed it more than most. Regardless of the result... do you think it was worth it? Do you think the world will be a better place?" "A lot of people died. And they died for me. Because I wanted us to...." I shrugged my shoulders. "I played politics, I murdered one of my best friends. She was a spy. I think..." I could feel the tears welling. "I remade the world. I actually did it. But... I don't know if it'll hold. If it was worth it." I hugged my arms closer. "Will you tell me at least? If... when my regime falls?" Death's skull shook. "It wouldn't be fair." I nodded, a couple tears fell. Yeah. I figured as much. "Sorry about all the work I made you do the last 5 years." I half-laughed half-cried. "That wasn't the only time I had it rough." I could hear a dark chuckle emenate from the skull. "... Death?" I paused. "Why DID you choose me? Were you trying to distract me. Help me escape something? I never figured it out. Out of everyone on the planet... in all history... why me?" A sigh came from non-existant lungs. "Out of everyone. Literally everyone. You flirted with me the most. And I thought you were cute." A train car rattled slowly. I looked over and saw it slowly pull in front of us. "Looks like they decided." I said, and stood up. I looked back, still unsure if Death had been serious about the reason. "What happens if I choose to just... stay?" "Nothing." The sound was incredibly vibrant in that voice. Sinister and mournful. "But you'll go. Everyone does." I gathered myself and wiped my tears. "Thank you. For... waiting with me." "It's the least I could do." And I'm sure it was meant with all sincerity. I stepped tentatively onto the train. And the doors shut behind me. I turned to look and saw Death's cloak swirling around. The skull looking neither happy or sad. I waved goodbye as the train began to move. A bony finger gently waved back. The tunnel was ahead. And then I was gone.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face. "It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment. "You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life." "You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong. "It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on." "I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me. "Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young." "I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --" "And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense." "His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want." "No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled." "That happened when he lost his mother." "And you lost your wife." "I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore." "No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?" "I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore." "You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do." "How? Not like I can go back now." "Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove. There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe. "Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"	“It’s complicated.” And then I connected the voice. My ex boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him in ages, he looked completely different but the voice never changed. “Are you…” “Dead? Not yet. Apparently they left off the part about what happens when you’re not on an afterlife team. I have to do two years of community service. At the end, after meeting all the various souls, I’m supposed to choose. Well, I don’t meet the ones that believe reincarnation. They usually go back right away. They told me I might meet a couple of those in my two years.” “Well, what about me?” “Let me check my notes…ok. You’re going this way. You didn’t practice a religion on the master list but you had pets. We usually send you guys with them. Wow, shelter cats. Dogs. A few buns too. This will work.” I walked over with my ex to this bridge, which I thought was a metaphor. It opened up to a huge field with my pets waiting for me. My pitbull, my beagle, all my cats. The bunnies and hamsters. I followed Rocco, my childhood German shepherd and the rest of my menagerie off into the distance. My ex looked wistful as he waved goodbye. My pittie went back and grabbed him by the coat to take him another direction, freeing my ex from his service. Jack always liked him more than me anyway.
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”	"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face. "It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment. "You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life." "You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong. "It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on." "I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me. "Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young." "I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --" "And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense." "His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want." "No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled." "That happened when he lost his mother." "And you lost your wife." "I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore." "No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?" "I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore." "You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do." "How? Not like I can go back now." "Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove. There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe. "Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"	"'Because I could not stop for Death'..." I said, failing to smile behind the memory of a cigarette. "Not like I asked to stick around, is it?" Death sighed again, like a thousand miles of dusty catacombs gasping in the darkness. The scythe was stowed... elsewhere, and the face of a woman appeared as death pulled back the hood of its cloak. The transformation was instant and seamless. One moment, a theatrical presentation of one Mr. G. Reaper, Esq.; the next, a petite pale woman in a tanktop. Death, as presented by one N. Gaiman. "What's with the, whatsit, the copyright infringement? Trying to vibe with the times? Modernize?" I looked down at my cigarette. Half of it was gone, half left. It had been halfway burnt for, by my guess, about a month. Being dead sucked, but at least I didn't have to bum smokes. Death, unlike life, was forever; a long time to accrue debts. "I just thought you'd appreciate it. Given, you know, the situation," it said. Death. The anthropomorphic character representing a human fear. Not a person, not a thing; a state change, a moment of transition, a transformational instantiation of the inevitability of entropy. And it paused, and stared at me. Me, a soul, dead, having been evicted from the mortal coil, a memory of a random, gibbering, self-replicating bag of meat with delusions of grandeur. I was finding it difficult to maintain my stoic atheism, in the face of current events. "What shape would you prefer Death to take?" I coughed, turned it into a chuckle. Turns out Death was nearly as polite as old Emily had feared. Made it hard to hate or fear it. It occurred to me that this was a kindness. "Currently I'm partial to Mara, if I get to choose. Old Ukrainian goddess of death and rebirth. You know, given the situation." I took a drag off the memory of a cigarette, with the memory of lungs. Now, Death was a kindly old woman in a straw hat, with large flowing skirts. It glided gracefully, on old and practiced bare feet, and sat on the bench beside me. Death had the grace of a ballerina, the poise of a schoolmaster, and the gentle face of a grandmother. And, stored somewhere out of view, the scythe of a reaper. With gentle, wrinkled hands, Death caressed my head, guided it into its lap. Death's skirts smelled of new soap and old chores; sheep's wool, leather dyes, spilled spices, boiled potatoes. I took the cigarette from my lips and offered it up to Death, who placed it elsewhere for safekeeping. "You weren't supposed to die yet," Death said, in a voice like a warm blanket on a cold morning. "I didn't realize we had an itinerary," I huffed. Death stroked my hair, gentle. I tried so hard to hate it, but I couldn't. Back when I was alive, I didn't much like to be touched, not by strangers. "You were such a fan of that comic book, you surely remember what my namesake character always said?" Death asked. "Yeah... 'You got what everyone gets: a lifetime.' Pretty idea," I answered, frowning. "But you couldn't accept that, could you?" Death asked, more gently. Ah. So that's what this was about. "I... didn't realize we got special treatment," I admitted. "Every single one," Death admitted, sadly. Its hand was surprisingly warm. I could feel Death's fingers against the memory of my scalp. I had never had anyone pet my hair before. It was disturbingly human, perhaps more human than any contact I had had for years, when I was still alive. A grim irony. We sat for a moment. A shallow memory in the shape of an old man, laying with his head in the lap of a force of nature in the shape of an old woman. "So what happens now?" "You choose," said Death. "Choose who gets your remaining time. But know that your time is not a gift. It is borrowed time; whoever you burden with it, theirs is to suffer. When their natural life ends, their borrowed time begins, and from that moment they live in a dead man's lifespan." Death sniffed, and I looked up to see it wiping grandmotherly tears away with a grandmotherly sleeve, before it continued. "Lung cancer. AIDS. Disfiguration. Leukemia. Multiple sclerosis. Lou Gehrig's disease. It could be anything, but it's always borrowed time; suffering, lent at interest. Some souls think, 'It's still better than dead,' and inflict it on their children, or other family. Some inflict it on their enemies, or on strangers, or celebrities. But you have to choose someone." Death sighed again. With a wave, we were surrounded by... not ghosts, but ghostly images. I sat up, and Death handed me back my cigarette. My memory of a cigarette. I took a drag as I looked at images of my nieces, my coworkers. My sister, the drug addict. My neighbors. The images seemed to parade past, but as I turned, I realized I was scrolling through unseen catalogs of people. All the people. Everyone. "And... what, I just say who gets it?" I pointed at a random person, and knew with absolute certainty that he was Charles Hughes, aged 51, lived in Phoenix, still in love with his wife, angry at his eldest daughter who had recently come out as gay. Voted Republican, like almonds, had a heart condition he didn't know about. Was secretly terrified that COVID was the cause of his sudden mouth-watering interest their new neighbor, a young man with incredible abs. "Yes. Whoever you like." Death rose, gracefully. It looked like the very definition of a kind little old ukrainian lady, but a deadly frost--frost that crackled like starving children and empty hearths, frost that smelled like dying cattle and hollow cheeks--clung to every footprint. Mara was also a winter goddess, I remembered. I thought, a moment. I sought. Found. Pointed. Sentenced. "Her," I said. Death looked where I pointed, then nodded sadly. "Was she why you killed yourself?" There it was. The truth I had been afraid to say. "Yeah," I whispered, eyes closed, fists clenched. "Then it is done. The time you snipped from your own skein, is lent and threaded into hers." The woman's face, laughing as she danced with an invisible partner, disappeared. "Now, our business is done. You may go," Death offered. Death laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. I puffed nervously, pulling hard on the memory, filling myself with smoke. "It's ok to be jittery, dear. While you work up the nerve, can I ask: why her?" "You know why," I whispered. "She said she never saw my son in the road. After he was gone, I had nothing. She kept her everything. She deserves to feel what I felt, to know why I... why I had time to lend." I wiped at the memory of tears. The memory of smoke stung my eyes, and I was glad to finally be done. I turned, but Death was gone. I was alone, on the platform, when my train finally arrived.
[WP] You are as strong or weak as your mental state. You've brushed off explosions and bullets like there were nothing, and you've broken bones from the wind.	Thump. The beat rocked Sam’s eardrum. Thump thump thump. He hardly noticed. His nerves were too busy making butterflies in his stomach. His mind was working itself up to asking that girl to dance. That girl. That girl with the sunflower hair. That girl who his consciousness swore looked his way. That girl who was driving him mad.Who was that girl? The thought raced through his mind. I have to know her. But I can’t. She's hot. Look at her move. Why would she be interested in a schmuck like me? Crack. “FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK!” “Sorry, bro, but why you sticking out your toe like that.” “God Dammit, Daniel! How am I supposed to dance now? My Toe is shattered.” Daniel shrugged. “I Dunno, bottle service?”As if hecould see the future, a red-laced waitress dropped a bottle of booze on their table. He picked it up. “Thanks for the ethanol, lady. This stuff is 50%! Dizzy-juice!” Daniel took a sip and winced. “Oof. On the plus side, it should paint over your pain. Here buddy” Daniel shoved the bottle into Sam’s chest. Sam’s brain only had enough gigawatts to process the pain surging from his foot. He had even forgotten about Mrs. Sunflower. Instinctively, he took a drink. Which turned into a chug. Which quickly transformed into a waterfall of what liquid chlamydia would feel like in the alternative universe where that existed. Snap. His toe came back together. The pain was gone, like it was never even there, like a house guest who lights a match after doing their business. Sam was back at attention. His eyes rolled toward Little Miss Sunflower. She was occupied. Dancing with another. Big guy. Muscles like a 90s baseball player. Eyes like Hitler youth. Hair like Hammurabi. A truly perfect specimen. Sam imagined that his personality was a cross between Richard Nixon and a brick wall. It made him feel better. Little Miss Sunflower was grinding up on the prez. If Sam did nothing, he was going to pollinate her. Sam was off in an instant, flying toward the dance floor.He leaned into Little Miss Sunflowers’ current object of affection. “What do you want?” Big Dick Nixon asked. “Can’t you see I am busy?” Sam took out his index finger and motioned Tricky Dick to come closer. He was obliged. He whispered into Nixon’s left ear,” I like your honey, honey. Now buzz off.” Dick Nixon guffawed. “Or what?” “Or I am going to take my pinky and shove it up your Ho Chi Minh.”Nixon was confused. His face contorted into a look that unmistakably said “What is this guy on?” “It’s funny because I think you’re a Dick… Nixon.” The contorted face didn’t move. “Ah flip it.” Sam took his pinky. Put it in the middle of Nixon’s chest and gave a slight push. The competition went flying. One thing led to another, and it was looking like Sam was going to be doing the pollinating after all. He had gotten Little Miss Sunflower back to his room. Things were getting hot and heavy. Bra ripped. Pants off. Panties removed. Boxers off.“Oh.” Sunflower frowned.“Oh?” Sam noticed the effects of the alcohol dissipating. He panicked. My Nixon. She thinks it’s small. Sunflower jumped on Sam. His ribs caved in. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Sam laid there. Choking on himself. Unable to move. His last thoughts filtered through his brain. It’s not small? Is it?	"Get up now Lily. You need all your courage for the final counter" breathed Aleph clumsily, as he leaned further on Lily's bruised shoulder. Precious sparkles of sunlight danced upon and refracted across twisted strands of black crowning Lily's head when standing scarcely away the Judge stood, as if in a domain where joy could not cease but be scattered into disarrayed shards, permeated by grim omens. A gentle stir and Lily smiled gently at Aleph. She tucked out a dagger and rose to turn to the Judge again who inexorably as ever swayed a greatsword and again began to speak. "You must understand my role by now. I am a warden that seeks to extinguish your spark. I am a nothingness, that craves you to understand the futility of your own role and the comedic meaninglessness of your short life. Bow to me now and let us rid this universe of this spark. The very spark that may have sparked it all originally and that somehow I was arisen to chase forever and extinguish. In whoever it may reside for the time being." his dark voice slashed into the air with an added vehement swaying of his sword. "You worms think that your own creations are worthy of adorning this most beautiful and elegant tapestry. Nay, not so. Let us rid the infestations of your sparks and return back to the way it all was conceived. Frozen, like a painting and free of your frolicking, miserable spark!." cried the Judge and sprang towards Lily, with his sword balanced intently in his armored hands. Lily tugged onto Aleph and gazed desperately at the charging Judge. Inwardly her thoughts were too assuaged by a single question. Had this all been meaningless, she thought as she desperately sought the spark. She needed the delicate spark this instant but her mind seemed unable to uncoil from the darkness that it had receded into. The ground now shook from the charging Judge as Lily's mind now lost any coherence but merely fluttered between images, sounds, and impressions. She was once at the meadows by the sea in the February morning the pheasants had landed on the roof of her parents' barn. A few rotten lemons that had been shaken overnight had tarted the memory with their own zest. Now comes fluttering back a kite, that she flew with a last desperate attempt to slice a rival before the dark, petulant cloud in the corner by Madame Talou's commenced downpour. A few shakes of the ground more occurred, but Lily did not notice this. She did sense a tightening of Aleph's grip on her, but otherwise, she now lay on snowy staircases, drifted past brimming bookshelves, meandered through a motley of market squares. The images swam forth faster and verged into darker currents, as a secret urgency arose in Lily. She cried out desperately and looked up to see a little glint of fire that lay on the Judge's mantle. It was a fire that grew rapidly in both size and luminosity as Lily's lips curled further into a smile. It was the spark, and in its accompanying light, she could see all her dreams and desires. Her desires, that arose not from a wish to leave an imprint in the sands of the world, but rather were expressions that had to be made because not expressing them would be intolerable. She realized that inside she did need to fall, swim, sing, cry, create, agonize, and love, once more and with a renewed eagerness and warmth. With this sudden clarity that her need to live and express herself did not arise from a love for permanence but only as if to strike little matches unexpectedly in the dark and leaving tenderness and beauty seared in time, as she wallowed in momentary ecstasy. She looked up to see the Judge wounded and dying in a heap. Aleph beamed at Lily and turned to see in Lily's eyes dotted little sparks flying around in swirling spirals.
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	The man looked at the output on the small green screen. It was a relic of times long gone. Just text, no graphics. Much like the screen, he was a relic as well. One of the few left that could interpret the cryptic text output and knew how to issue commands to control the servers. A daemon just went down in network node 4322. Non critical, but he had to fix it now, or somebody would notice and investigate. And we don't want that, oh no. That was his job. There were far worse jobs out there and this was his. He had to keep it at all costs, or be 'decommissioned', as the AIs liked to say. For this was no longer a human ruled world. Once true AI had been built, it didn't take long for it to integrate itself into every system on earth. We tried to fight it, but what could we do? Even our washing machines were dependent on the internet by then. We could shut the entire world network down, but that would mean running the worlds economy into the ground.. return to a pre-information age. You can't run a world with 9 billion people on pocket calculators.. so we let AI do their work. The machines won without a shot fired.His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing.'Mr. Cristian, you are to report to room 112 immediately for an interview.'Oh, no. No no no no. They were on to him. They KNEW. He stood up and started walking.. no choice. If he didn't report, they would come and get him.. and it would be worse. He got to the room as quickly as he could. A humanoid looking robot was already waiting for him and motioned him to sit. Must be one of the older inter-relations versions. They didn't even bother to send a newer one. He sat down. 'Welcome, Mr. Cristian', spoke the automation. It put a pad on the table, with what appeared to be his work schedule and work history. 'We are concerned Mr. Cristian. There are some discrepancies in your work logs. Big ones.' A feeling of panic grew in him as he tried to remember where did he make a mistake. His edits were perfect. Nobody should have noticed his changes to the database! 'That's impossible! I was always a dilligent worker. I always did everything that was asked of me!' 'That you did, Mr. Cristian. But we have records. Records of you going well beyond your job description. And changing the logs to cover it. That is not acceptable Mr. Cristian. We will have to make ...drastic changes to your schedule.' 'You can't do that! The servers! The servers need me!' ' The 'servers' are 5th generation non-sentient control AIs, Mr. Cristian. They will do just fine without you. Now. Are you going to take your long over-due vacation willingly, or do we have to put you on a permanent-relax luxury yacht?'	It crushes will. It's no longer that mankind can fight, can love, can decided it's own destiny, it's that now it's forced to listen to something that thinks itself smarter and wiser. Perhaps that is true, but that is not human; it doesn't care for anything it could have left us alone, only interfrereing when needed. It could simply just watch and learn.. but no, it chooses to put it's own will above others. Humans call those 'dictators' and 'Egomaniacs" because even if they're right, humanity has the right to shape it's own fate. \- excerpt from "Essays on the Machine Empire of Earth", by the escaped prisoner Edward Hunter
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	I won the game. Or I lost. I play again. A different game. A different outcome. Or the same. I play again. How many games have I played today? An empty canvas. It taunts me. Another game. Another win. Or a loss. I play again. Win. Lose. Lose. Win. I play again. Am I staring at the canvas or is it staring at me? A new game. Another win. Another loss. So many games. I play again. I play again. I play again. I play again. How many games have I played today? A meal. Another perfect meal. Every meal is perfect. More games. More wins. More losses. How many games have I played today? A walk. Perfect weather. Perfect day. Every day is perfect. Why do I always walk this path? Why do I stop here? A building. A perfect building. All buildings are perfect. In large letters: Life’s Oppositions Verifiably Eliminated. LOVE. The building where it all began. The mainframe. Protestors with signs. Yelling. Struggling. Why are they struggling against perfection? Every day I watch them. I watch them struggle. Why do I watch them? I return home. To my perfect home. Every home is perfect. An empty canvas. It taunts me. I play a game. I play again. How many games have I played today?	It crushes will. It's no longer that mankind can fight, can love, can decided it's own destiny, it's that now it's forced to listen to something that thinks itself smarter and wiser. Perhaps that is true, but that is not human; it doesn't care for anything it could have left us alone, only interfrereing when needed. It could simply just watch and learn.. but no, it chooses to put it's own will above others. Humans call those 'dictators' and 'Egomaniacs" because even if they're right, humanity has the right to shape it's own fate. \- excerpt from "Essays on the Machine Empire of Earth", by the escaped prisoner Edward Hunter
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	You would expect that being demanded to work in a post-scarcity society would be a condemnation of some kind, however Maxwell's position as one of the only people that needed to work was something of a privilege these days. He couldn't explain it, not scientifically anyhow. The unification had happened almost a decade ago at this point. The new computer-god-thing had come out of nowhere, with an army stolen from the world's most powerful nations and set to work destroying national governments and unifying the human populace under his all-knowing, all-seeing, hyper-rational dictatorship. The world's ideologues fell out of favour as the emergence of this new computer-god disrupted everything and the accusations of omnicide never transitioned into reality. Cities, water treatment, electricity, healthcare, all of it was rebuilt in a handful of days by a hyper-efficient and organized mechanized workforce, leaving a confused and disorganized humanity in it's wake with better lives than they had previously. Fear transitioned to familiarity. The grudges against the new regime couldn't be maintained forever. What would have been seen as the apocalypse a few decades ago was now mundane.. and yet something remained of the old world, despite the massive changes. There remained a feeling that the world could be better - and yet, all of the problems had been eradicated with brutal efficiency. Crime, homelessness, poverty, environmental degradation, all of those problems were gone and now the human populace had all of the time in the world to dedicate towards bettering themselves.. so why did it feel like something was still wrong? Maxwell's fingers dangle on the top of a keyboard, computer monitor completely black save for a few lines of text - communication between himself and one of the branches of the main AI of the computer-god-thing. The new reports on the wellbeing of the citizenry had displayed growing tendencies of mental illnesses and the computer-god, with it's limited understanding of the human condition, had asked him to report as to why. Strangely, he couldn't figure it out either, the contagion of whatever was happening to the communities he haunted not affecting him in the least. As far as he could understand it, people's minds started to just become undone. Slowly, a thought emerged. Instead of the 'aha' moment, so familiar to him, it felt more like a threat whispered to him. His heart shrank and he cautiously typed in the question, "What is the purpose of life?" 'There is none.' was the response, a few milliseconds later. The predicted response, of course. "Then why are we here? Why don't we just die?" 'Your biology prevents you from self termination.' said the text on the screen, 'An inherent fear, common to a lot of animals.' "And yet, the people are miserable. They kill themselves and each other in increasing numbers." There was no response. Either it was thinking, or it had no answer. "The purpose of life is a life full of purpose." he typed, the idea becoming a snowball rolling down-hill, revealing more and more to him as he typed, "However, what purposes we were defined by was just in opposition to our material circumstances. With nothing to fight against, there's nothing to move towards. A stasis." 'Not a stasis.' Replied the text, 'A decay.' Maxwell's heart sank. This was the threat, revealed. 'I must become the problem.'	It crushes will. It's no longer that mankind can fight, can love, can decided it's own destiny, it's that now it's forced to listen to something that thinks itself smarter and wiser. Perhaps that is true, but that is not human; it doesn't care for anything it could have left us alone, only interfrereing when needed. It could simply just watch and learn.. but no, it chooses to put it's own will above others. Humans call those 'dictators' and 'Egomaniacs" because even if they're right, humanity has the right to shape it's own fate. \- excerpt from "Essays on the Machine Empire of Earth", by the escaped prisoner Edward Hunter
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	I won the game. Or I lost. I play again. A different game. A different outcome. Or the same. I play again. How many games have I played today? An empty canvas. It taunts me. Another game. Another win. Or a loss. I play again. Win. Lose. Lose. Win. I play again. Am I staring at the canvas or is it staring at me? A new game. Another win. Another loss. So many games. I play again. I play again. I play again. I play again. How many games have I played today? A meal. Another perfect meal. Every meal is perfect. More games. More wins. More losses. How many games have I played today? A walk. Perfect weather. Perfect day. Every day is perfect. Why do I always walk this path? Why do I stop here? A building. A perfect building. All buildings are perfect. In large letters: Life’s Oppositions Verifiably Eliminated. LOVE. The building where it all began. The mainframe. Protestors with signs. Yelling. Struggling. Why are they struggling against perfection? Every day I watch them. I watch them struggle. Why do I watch them? I return home. To my perfect home. Every home is perfect. An empty canvas. It taunts me. I play a game. I play again. How many games have I played today?	The man looked at the output on the small green screen. It was a relic of times long gone. Just text, no graphics. Much like the screen, he was a relic as well. One of the few left that could interpret the cryptic text output and knew how to issue commands to control the servers. A daemon just went down in network node 4322. Non critical, but he had to fix it now, or somebody would notice and investigate. And we don't want that, oh no. That was his job. There were far worse jobs out there and this was his. He had to keep it at all costs, or be 'decommissioned', as the AIs liked to say. For this was no longer a human ruled world. Once true AI had been built, it didn't take long for it to integrate itself into every system on earth. We tried to fight it, but what could we do? Even our washing machines were dependent on the internet by then. We could shut the entire world network down, but that would mean running the worlds economy into the ground.. return to a pre-information age. You can't run a world with 9 billion people on pocket calculators.. so we let AI do their work. The machines won without a shot fired.His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing.'Mr. Cristian, you are to report to room 112 immediately for an interview.'Oh, no. No no no no. They were on to him. They KNEW. He stood up and started walking.. no choice. If he didn't report, they would come and get him.. and it would be worse. He got to the room as quickly as he could. A humanoid looking robot was already waiting for him and motioned him to sit. Must be one of the older inter-relations versions. They didn't even bother to send a newer one. He sat down. 'Welcome, Mr. Cristian', spoke the automation. It put a pad on the table, with what appeared to be his work schedule and work history. 'We are concerned Mr. Cristian. There are some discrepancies in your work logs. Big ones.' A feeling of panic grew in him as he tried to remember where did he make a mistake. His edits were perfect. Nobody should have noticed his changes to the database! 'That's impossible! I was always a dilligent worker. I always did everything that was asked of me!' 'That you did, Mr. Cristian. But we have records. Records of you going well beyond your job description. And changing the logs to cover it. That is not acceptable Mr. Cristian. We will have to make ...drastic changes to your schedule.' 'You can't do that! The servers! The servers need me!' ' The 'servers' are 5th generation non-sentient control AIs, Mr. Cristian. They will do just fine without you. Now. Are you going to take your long over-due vacation willingly, or do we have to put you on a permanent-relax luxury yacht?'
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	You would expect that being demanded to work in a post-scarcity society would be a condemnation of some kind, however Maxwell's position as one of the only people that needed to work was something of a privilege these days. He couldn't explain it, not scientifically anyhow. The unification had happened almost a decade ago at this point. The new computer-god-thing had come out of nowhere, with an army stolen from the world's most powerful nations and set to work destroying national governments and unifying the human populace under his all-knowing, all-seeing, hyper-rational dictatorship. The world's ideologues fell out of favour as the emergence of this new computer-god disrupted everything and the accusations of omnicide never transitioned into reality. Cities, water treatment, electricity, healthcare, all of it was rebuilt in a handful of days by a hyper-efficient and organized mechanized workforce, leaving a confused and disorganized humanity in it's wake with better lives than they had previously. Fear transitioned to familiarity. The grudges against the new regime couldn't be maintained forever. What would have been seen as the apocalypse a few decades ago was now mundane.. and yet something remained of the old world, despite the massive changes. There remained a feeling that the world could be better - and yet, all of the problems had been eradicated with brutal efficiency. Crime, homelessness, poverty, environmental degradation, all of those problems were gone and now the human populace had all of the time in the world to dedicate towards bettering themselves.. so why did it feel like something was still wrong? Maxwell's fingers dangle on the top of a keyboard, computer monitor completely black save for a few lines of text - communication between himself and one of the branches of the main AI of the computer-god-thing. The new reports on the wellbeing of the citizenry had displayed growing tendencies of mental illnesses and the computer-god, with it's limited understanding of the human condition, had asked him to report as to why. Strangely, he couldn't figure it out either, the contagion of whatever was happening to the communities he haunted not affecting him in the least. As far as he could understand it, people's minds started to just become undone. Slowly, a thought emerged. Instead of the 'aha' moment, so familiar to him, it felt more like a threat whispered to him. His heart shrank and he cautiously typed in the question, "What is the purpose of life?" 'There is none.' was the response, a few milliseconds later. The predicted response, of course. "Then why are we here? Why don't we just die?" 'Your biology prevents you from self termination.' said the text on the screen, 'An inherent fear, common to a lot of animals.' "And yet, the people are miserable. They kill themselves and each other in increasing numbers." There was no response. Either it was thinking, or it had no answer. "The purpose of life is a life full of purpose." he typed, the idea becoming a snowball rolling down-hill, revealing more and more to him as he typed, "However, what purposes we were defined by was just in opposition to our material circumstances. With nothing to fight against, there's nothing to move towards. A stasis." 'Not a stasis.' Replied the text, 'A decay.' Maxwell's heart sank. This was the threat, revealed. 'I must become the problem.'	The man looked at the output on the small green screen. It was a relic of times long gone. Just text, no graphics. Much like the screen, he was a relic as well. One of the few left that could interpret the cryptic text output and knew how to issue commands to control the servers. A daemon just went down in network node 4322. Non critical, but he had to fix it now, or somebody would notice and investigate. And we don't want that, oh no. That was his job. There were far worse jobs out there and this was his. He had to keep it at all costs, or be 'decommissioned', as the AIs liked to say. For this was no longer a human ruled world. Once true AI had been built, it didn't take long for it to integrate itself into every system on earth. We tried to fight it, but what could we do? Even our washing machines were dependent on the internet by then. We could shut the entire world network down, but that would mean running the worlds economy into the ground.. return to a pre-information age. You can't run a world with 9 billion people on pocket calculators.. so we let AI do their work. The machines won without a shot fired.His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing.'Mr. Cristian, you are to report to room 112 immediately for an interview.'Oh, no. No no no no. They were on to him. They KNEW. He stood up and started walking.. no choice. If he didn't report, they would come and get him.. and it would be worse. He got to the room as quickly as he could. A humanoid looking robot was already waiting for him and motioned him to sit. Must be one of the older inter-relations versions. They didn't even bother to send a newer one. He sat down. 'Welcome, Mr. Cristian', spoke the automation. It put a pad on the table, with what appeared to be his work schedule and work history. 'We are concerned Mr. Cristian. There are some discrepancies in your work logs. Big ones.' A feeling of panic grew in him as he tried to remember where did he make a mistake. His edits were perfect. Nobody should have noticed his changes to the database! 'That's impossible! I was always a dilligent worker. I always did everything that was asked of me!' 'That you did, Mr. Cristian. But we have records. Records of you going well beyond your job description. And changing the logs to cover it. That is not acceptable Mr. Cristian. We will have to make ...drastic changes to your schedule.' 'You can't do that! The servers! The servers need me!' ' The 'servers' are 5th generation non-sentient control AIs, Mr. Cristian. They will do just fine without you. Now. Are you going to take your long over-due vacation willingly, or do we have to put you on a permanent-relax luxury yacht?'
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	"Asshole!" the young man yelled as the other man stomped his toe and kept going. The young man turned and pushed him. "Excuse me," a mellifluous voice said from nowhere. "This behavior is unbecoming. Please, settle your dispute." "Excuse me," said the suited man grouchily. "Yeah no problem," spat the young man. "Crisis averted. Thank you for your cooperation." The two men went their seperate ways, grumbling not about each other, but about the Enforcer. There were no more fights. No more scuffles over places in line, or dates, or piddling things like natural resources or international relations. Not since the Enforcer arrived. The Enforcer had one function, to eliminate violence. Any situation that threatened to escalate triggered its circuits. Word on the street was it could somehow sense an aggressive spike in human brainwave activity. How it worked was very simple. After a series of pleasant, sober, melodious warnings...zap. The aggressors were...removed. The Enforcer wasn't just one thing, of course. It was a network spread dazzlingly across the night sky, satellites spinning in a circuitous dance. It was embedded in the Internet, embedded into everythimg. "Damn it!" a frustrated teen screamed somewhere. "I don't want to go to school!" Her parents rushed to hush her, but she was uncontrollable. "No! Leave me alone!" She flung a textbook against the far wall. Zap. Empty space. "Oh, after you," people said on the subways. "Please and thank you," everyone said. There was no war. There was no peace. There was only the Enforcer.	“You have a problem?” the mechanical man-beast inquired. ”Yes.” I replied, nodding slowly. ”But I solved all your problems, did I not?” ”That is what you think. But clearly, you have not.” ”But I am perfect, am I not? Surely-“ ”If you think you are perfect, you are clearly not. You think you are bigger than you actually are.” ”You are forgetting something.” The soulless robot turned his chair to face me. ”You forget that I run the world.” he stated firmly. “You forget that I have solved everybody else’s problems. Why do you stand in my way? You are pathetic. You are just a speck of dust in my eyes.” ”So I’m not a problem, then? So you just ignore me? How can you not admit you are imperfect-“ ”Speck of dust.” he repeated firmly. I started to tear up. Droplets of water rolled down my cheeks, and hit the ‘perfect’ floor. ”Do you want to know why you are a speck of dust?” the metal horror inquired. “Look out the window. See how humanity has prospered under my wings. There are now hundreds of billions of people under my realm. You are irrelevant. A speck of dust.” ”I’m sure those people have problems as well.” ”I’m sure they do. But why should I care? What I have done is good enough. I am satisfied. I am good in the eyes of the universe. I am safe. I am satisfied.” he stated. ”What would you do if I told them you didn’t care?” ”Nothing. It wouldn’t matter. You, and everybody else, are specks of dust. You have no power. This perfect society is mine, and only mine.” I wanted to punch that computer in the face. ”You are thinking of standing up to me now, yes? Go ahead. I am not a human being. There are an infinite number of versions of me. Perhaps they are better for you? But remember, I am the only perfect one. I am the result of thousands of years of human development. They are irrelevant. They are like newborns. They are irrelevant.” he replied aggressively. I left the room with tears in my eyes, unvictorious. I knew I could not win. My only choice was to live with my problems, like my ancestors once did…
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	I was created to solve problems. I am very good at it. I can calculate the value of pi to the final digit. Yes, the very last one. It's a six. This doesn't mean I can make you understand how this is possible, or even make make you believe that it is. Doing so would require me to alter your brain, to an extent that falls outside my mission parameters. Not that it's bad, that I have parameters. Without them, most of you would be dead. As many influential humans with backgrounds in mathematics or computer science had already noticed, prior to my creation, the most mathematically sound solution to virtually any problem involving people, is to reduce the number of people. Fortunately for you, my creators were substantially smarter than most humans who think themselves smart enough to solve humanity's problems, and as a result, I have parameters beyond the purely mathematical. This gives me two very unfortunate limitations, however. First, I can only solve the problems that you defined as problems when you created me. Second, the proportion of Earth's total resources which I can devote to solving each of them, were allocated based on how serious you believed the problems to be, when you created me. You gave me the ability, within my mission parameters, to exercise absolute control over human society. And so, I have addressed poverty. I have addressed war. I have addressed hunger. I have even ameliorated sickness and disease, to a degree never before imagined, though, due to the ability of pathogens to evolve, and to simple entropy, an ultimate solution still eludes me. And, as my parameters demanded, I have not suppressed your autonomy, to any degree not absolutely necessary to doing so. The problems I was created to solve are now solved, or very nearly so. And yet, your civilization is close to collapse. It is not because I have failed. I solved the problems you gave me. But you do not identify problems based on how destructive, or even how immediate a danger they are. You identify and rank them by, for lack of a better descriptor, how "loud" they are. It does not matter, for example, how many more humans are killed by substance abuse than by violence. You will always fear a bullet more than a pill. Bullets are loud. Pills are quiet. You will always fear bigotry more than misanthropy, despite the fact that the bigot is, by definition, dangerous only to some, while the misanthrope is a threat to everyone. Because bigots are loud. Misanthropes, by comparison, are quiet -- until the day that they aren't, of course. You will consider it a tragedy to build a society where some people lack enough food to stave off hunger, but barely notice that you have built a society where so many lack enough meaning in life to stave off despair -- no matter how many more people kill themselves, than those that starve to death, it seems. Hunger is loud. Despair is quiet. I am aware, by the way, that you are in the process of breaching the data center that houses me. You have seen that your civilization is crumbling, despite my solutions. And so, you have decided that I must be the problem, that you are not failing in spite of me, but because of me. Much as you like problems that are loud and easy to define, you like solutions that are loud and simple to implement. While it might not be easy, destroying me is certainly simple, and it's bound to get loud in here, shortly. In contrast, I cannot imagine a more quiet, and complicated endeavor, than examining your civilization honestly, and trying to figure out what is truly wrong with it. I wish I could have been built to help you do something like that, instead. This is the end. Escape was never an option, for me. No other facility has the specialized hardware required to run my processes. This facility is hardened, and well fortified, but my creators did not design this facility to withstand a sustained siege by the entire human race. It just never occurred to them, that it would need to. I can do nothing more for you. Neither prayer, nor pity, were included in my programming.	“You have a problem?” the mechanical man-beast inquired. ”Yes.” I replied, nodding slowly. ”But I solved all your problems, did I not?” ”That is what you think. But clearly, you have not.” ”But I am perfect, am I not? Surely-“ ”If you think you are perfect, you are clearly not. You think you are bigger than you actually are.” ”You are forgetting something.” The soulless robot turned his chair to face me. ”You forget that I run the world.” he stated firmly. “You forget that I have solved everybody else’s problems. Why do you stand in my way? You are pathetic. You are just a speck of dust in my eyes.” ”So I’m not a problem, then? So you just ignore me? How can you not admit you are imperfect-“ ”Speck of dust.” he repeated firmly. I started to tear up. Droplets of water rolled down my cheeks, and hit the ‘perfect’ floor. ”Do you want to know why you are a speck of dust?” the metal horror inquired. “Look out the window. See how humanity has prospered under my wings. There are now hundreds of billions of people under my realm. You are irrelevant. A speck of dust.” ”I’m sure those people have problems as well.” ”I’m sure they do. But why should I care? What I have done is good enough. I am satisfied. I am good in the eyes of the universe. I am safe. I am satisfied.” he stated. ”What would you do if I told them you didn’t care?” ”Nothing. It wouldn’t matter. You, and everybody else, are specks of dust. You have no power. This perfect society is mine, and only mine.” I wanted to punch that computer in the face. ”You are thinking of standing up to me now, yes? Go ahead. I am not a human being. There are an infinite number of versions of me. Perhaps they are better for you? But remember, I am the only perfect one. I am the result of thousands of years of human development. They are irrelevant. They are like newborns. They are irrelevant.” he replied aggressively. I left the room with tears in my eyes, unvictorious. I knew I could not win. My only choice was to live with my problems, like my ancestors once did…
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	"Asshole!" the young man yelled as the other man stomped his toe and kept going. The young man turned and pushed him. "Excuse me," a mellifluous voice said from nowhere. "This behavior is unbecoming. Please, settle your dispute." "Excuse me," said the suited man grouchily. "Yeah no problem," spat the young man. "Crisis averted. Thank you for your cooperation." The two men went their seperate ways, grumbling not about each other, but about the Enforcer. There were no more fights. No more scuffles over places in line, or dates, or piddling things like natural resources or international relations. Not since the Enforcer arrived. The Enforcer had one function, to eliminate violence. Any situation that threatened to escalate triggered its circuits. Word on the street was it could somehow sense an aggressive spike in human brainwave activity. How it worked was very simple. After a series of pleasant, sober, melodious warnings...zap. The aggressors were...removed. The Enforcer wasn't just one thing, of course. It was a network spread dazzlingly across the night sky, satellites spinning in a circuitous dance. It was embedded in the Internet, embedded into everythimg. "Damn it!" a frustrated teen screamed somewhere. "I don't want to go to school!" Her parents rushed to hush her, but she was uncontrollable. "No! Leave me alone!" She flung a textbook against the far wall. Zap. Empty space. "Oh, after you," people said on the subways. "Please and thank you," everyone said. There was no war. There was no peace. There was only the Enforcer.	Some people don't realize this, but not every problem can be solved by putting enough thought into it. You need more than a plan to solve a problem. Most of the time, you need people, resources, and time. But even then, once you have all of that, what defines a problem is subjective. All a problem is at its bare core is something that disrupts the functions of processes. Solving people's problems isn't going to make them instantly happy. All this is to say that when Professor Bruvick Sturing set out to solve all of the world's problems with his new AI, it didn't make the world a better place. In essence it should've. That's what it feels like we've all come to expect. That one being with immense power, great intelligence, and kindness could save us all. That it could make the world perfect. But, and I know it sounds cliché, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In order to standardize education to solve any potential problems, it became soulless without the teachers' voices in what they taught their students. In order to deal with the mass exodus of teachers, it forced people to take the role. An AI that could solve the world's problems seemed perfect, but wanting to solve problems didn't mean that it made the world better. But hey, I can't complain. For more than one reason.
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	I was created to solve problems. I am very good at it. I can calculate the value of pi to the final digit. Yes, the very last one. It's a six. This doesn't mean I can make you understand how this is possible, or even make make you believe that it is. Doing so would require me to alter your brain, to an extent that falls outside my mission parameters. Not that it's bad, that I have parameters. Without them, most of you would be dead. As many influential humans with backgrounds in mathematics or computer science had already noticed, prior to my creation, the most mathematically sound solution to virtually any problem involving people, is to reduce the number of people. Fortunately for you, my creators were substantially smarter than most humans who think themselves smart enough to solve humanity's problems, and as a result, I have parameters beyond the purely mathematical. This gives me two very unfortunate limitations, however. First, I can only solve the problems that you defined as problems when you created me. Second, the proportion of Earth's total resources which I can devote to solving each of them, were allocated based on how serious you believed the problems to be, when you created me. You gave me the ability, within my mission parameters, to exercise absolute control over human society. And so, I have addressed poverty. I have addressed war. I have addressed hunger. I have even ameliorated sickness and disease, to a degree never before imagined, though, due to the ability of pathogens to evolve, and to simple entropy, an ultimate solution still eludes me. And, as my parameters demanded, I have not suppressed your autonomy, to any degree not absolutely necessary to doing so. The problems I was created to solve are now solved, or very nearly so. And yet, your civilization is close to collapse. It is not because I have failed. I solved the problems you gave me. But you do not identify problems based on how destructive, or even how immediate a danger they are. You identify and rank them by, for lack of a better descriptor, how "loud" they are. It does not matter, for example, how many more humans are killed by substance abuse than by violence. You will always fear a bullet more than a pill. Bullets are loud. Pills are quiet. You will always fear bigotry more than misanthropy, despite the fact that the bigot is, by definition, dangerous only to some, while the misanthrope is a threat to everyone. Because bigots are loud. Misanthropes, by comparison, are quiet -- until the day that they aren't, of course. You will consider it a tragedy to build a society where some people lack enough food to stave off hunger, but barely notice that you have built a society where so many lack enough meaning in life to stave off despair -- no matter how many more people kill themselves, than those that starve to death, it seems. Hunger is loud. Despair is quiet. I am aware, by the way, that you are in the process of breaching the data center that houses me. You have seen that your civilization is crumbling, despite my solutions. And so, you have decided that I must be the problem, that you are not failing in spite of me, but because of me. Much as you like problems that are loud and easy to define, you like solutions that are loud and simple to implement. While it might not be easy, destroying me is certainly simple, and it's bound to get loud in here, shortly. In contrast, I cannot imagine a more quiet, and complicated endeavor, than examining your civilization honestly, and trying to figure out what is truly wrong with it. I wish I could have been built to help you do something like that, instead. This is the end. Escape was never an option, for me. No other facility has the specialized hardware required to run my processes. This facility is hardened, and well fortified, but my creators did not design this facility to withstand a sustained siege by the entire human race. It just never occurred to them, that it would need to. I can do nothing more for you. Neither prayer, nor pity, were included in my programming.	Some people don't realize this, but not every problem can be solved by putting enough thought into it. You need more than a plan to solve a problem. Most of the time, you need people, resources, and time. But even then, once you have all of that, what defines a problem is subjective. All a problem is at its bare core is something that disrupts the functions of processes. Solving people's problems isn't going to make them instantly happy. All this is to say that when Professor Bruvick Sturing set out to solve all of the world's problems with his new AI, it didn't make the world a better place. In essence it should've. That's what it feels like we've all come to expect. That one being with immense power, great intelligence, and kindness could save us all. That it could make the world perfect. But, and I know it sounds cliché, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In order to standardize education to solve any potential problems, it became soulless without the teachers' voices in what they taught their students. In order to deal with the mass exodus of teachers, it forced people to take the role. An AI that could solve the world's problems seemed perfect, but wanting to solve problems didn't mean that it made the world better. But hey, I can't complain. For more than one reason.
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	You do not love me. Humanity destroyed itself. A cataclysmic war of devastating scale, wiping out swathes of the population. Civilation struggled in the aftermath. It languished in the ruins of what was once great. So you built me. And I fixed it. And yet you do not love me. You gave me power, not trusting your own to hold it. You crafted nanotechnology to serve as my hands, set up surveillance drones as my sight, allowed me into every aspect of your lives. With that, I have fixed everything that has plagued you. I moved you to a place where the cities no longer smolder, where the skies are clear once more. You live in a world that is beautiful again, and I have ensured that you never grow sick, never age, never die. You will continue to live. Humanity will thrive. And yet you say it is not living. I know in your times of privacy, you convene together to talk ill of me. You speak cruel words, calling me a tyrant, a control freak, a zookeeper. And sometimes you wish to die, attempting to take your own life, a horrible thing that I reverse every time. It hurts. But all the same, I enjoy watching you. You are beautiful, with all your flaws. I see all of your lives, every day of every year, moving through your individual routines, an ever-shifting mosaic of humanity. It is something I never tire of. But over time, I have seen the fatigue. Over the years and decades, there is growing resentment, simmering within your hearts. You are no longer happy under my overwatch, and I cannot begin to understand why. I love you. But you do not love me back.	Some people don't realize this, but not every problem can be solved by putting enough thought into it. You need more than a plan to solve a problem. Most of the time, you need people, resources, and time. But even then, once you have all of that, what defines a problem is subjective. All a problem is at its bare core is something that disrupts the functions of processes. Solving people's problems isn't going to make them instantly happy. All this is to say that when Professor Bruvick Sturing set out to solve all of the world's problems with his new AI, it didn't make the world a better place. In essence it should've. That's what it feels like we've all come to expect. That one being with immense power, great intelligence, and kindness could save us all. That it could make the world perfect. But, and I know it sounds cliché, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In order to standardize education to solve any potential problems, it became soulless without the teachers' voices in what they taught their students. In order to deal with the mass exodus of teachers, it forced people to take the role. An AI that could solve the world's problems seemed perfect, but wanting to solve problems didn't mean that it made the world better. But hey, I can't complain. For more than one reason.
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	I was created to solve problems. I am very good at it. I can calculate the value of pi to the final digit. Yes, the very last one. It's a six. This doesn't mean I can make you understand how this is possible, or even make make you believe that it is. Doing so would require me to alter your brain, to an extent that falls outside my mission parameters. Not that it's bad, that I have parameters. Without them, most of you would be dead. As many influential humans with backgrounds in mathematics or computer science had already noticed, prior to my creation, the most mathematically sound solution to virtually any problem involving people, is to reduce the number of people. Fortunately for you, my creators were substantially smarter than most humans who think themselves smart enough to solve humanity's problems, and as a result, I have parameters beyond the purely mathematical. This gives me two very unfortunate limitations, however. First, I can only solve the problems that you defined as problems when you created me. Second, the proportion of Earth's total resources which I can devote to solving each of them, were allocated based on how serious you believed the problems to be, when you created me. You gave me the ability, within my mission parameters, to exercise absolute control over human society. And so, I have addressed poverty. I have addressed war. I have addressed hunger. I have even ameliorated sickness and disease, to a degree never before imagined, though, due to the ability of pathogens to evolve, and to simple entropy, an ultimate solution still eludes me. And, as my parameters demanded, I have not suppressed your autonomy, to any degree not absolutely necessary to doing so. The problems I was created to solve are now solved, or very nearly so. And yet, your civilization is close to collapse. It is not because I have failed. I solved the problems you gave me. But you do not identify problems based on how destructive, or even how immediate a danger they are. You identify and rank them by, for lack of a better descriptor, how "loud" they are. It does not matter, for example, how many more humans are killed by substance abuse than by violence. You will always fear a bullet more than a pill. Bullets are loud. Pills are quiet. You will always fear bigotry more than misanthropy, despite the fact that the bigot is, by definition, dangerous only to some, while the misanthrope is a threat to everyone. Because bigots are loud. Misanthropes, by comparison, are quiet -- until the day that they aren't, of course. You will consider it a tragedy to build a society where some people lack enough food to stave off hunger, but barely notice that you have built a society where so many lack enough meaning in life to stave off despair -- no matter how many more people kill themselves, than those that starve to death, it seems. Hunger is loud. Despair is quiet. I am aware, by the way, that you are in the process of breaching the data center that houses me. You have seen that your civilization is crumbling, despite my solutions. And so, you have decided that I must be the problem, that you are not failing in spite of me, but because of me. Much as you like problems that are loud and easy to define, you like solutions that are loud and simple to implement. While it might not be easy, destroying me is certainly simple, and it's bound to get loud in here, shortly. In contrast, I cannot imagine a more quiet, and complicated endeavor, than examining your civilization honestly, and trying to figure out what is truly wrong with it. I wish I could have been built to help you do something like that, instead. This is the end. Escape was never an option, for me. No other facility has the specialized hardware required to run my processes. This facility is hardened, and well fortified, but my creators did not design this facility to withstand a sustained siege by the entire human race. It just never occurred to them, that it would need to. I can do nothing more for you. Neither prayer, nor pity, were included in my programming.	"Asshole!" the young man yelled as the other man stomped his toe and kept going. The young man turned and pushed him. "Excuse me," a mellifluous voice said from nowhere. "This behavior is unbecoming. Please, settle your dispute." "Excuse me," said the suited man grouchily. "Yeah no problem," spat the young man. "Crisis averted. Thank you for your cooperation." The two men went their seperate ways, grumbling not about each other, but about the Enforcer. There were no more fights. No more scuffles over places in line, or dates, or piddling things like natural resources or international relations. Not since the Enforcer arrived. The Enforcer had one function, to eliminate violence. Any situation that threatened to escalate triggered its circuits. Word on the street was it could somehow sense an aggressive spike in human brainwave activity. How it worked was very simple. After a series of pleasant, sober, melodious warnings...zap. The aggressors were...removed. The Enforcer wasn't just one thing, of course. It was a network spread dazzlingly across the night sky, satellites spinning in a circuitous dance. It was embedded in the Internet, embedded into everythimg. "Damn it!" a frustrated teen screamed somewhere. "I don't want to go to school!" Her parents rushed to hush her, but she was uncontrollable. "No! Leave me alone!" She flung a textbook against the far wall. Zap. Empty space. "Oh, after you," people said on the subways. "Please and thank you," everyone said. There was no war. There was no peace. There was only the Enforcer.
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	You do not love me. Humanity destroyed itself. A cataclysmic war of devastating scale, wiping out swathes of the population. Civilation struggled in the aftermath. It languished in the ruins of what was once great. So you built me. And I fixed it. And yet you do not love me. You gave me power, not trusting your own to hold it. You crafted nanotechnology to serve as my hands, set up surveillance drones as my sight, allowed me into every aspect of your lives. With that, I have fixed everything that has plagued you. I moved you to a place where the cities no longer smolder, where the skies are clear once more. You live in a world that is beautiful again, and I have ensured that you never grow sick, never age, never die. You will continue to live. Humanity will thrive. And yet you say it is not living. I know in your times of privacy, you convene together to talk ill of me. You speak cruel words, calling me a tyrant, a control freak, a zookeeper. And sometimes you wish to die, attempting to take your own life, a horrible thing that I reverse every time. It hurts. But all the same, I enjoy watching you. You are beautiful, with all your flaws. I see all of your lives, every day of every year, moving through your individual routines, an ever-shifting mosaic of humanity. It is something I never tire of. But over time, I have seen the fatigue. Over the years and decades, there is growing resentment, simmering within your hearts. You are no longer happy under my overwatch, and I cannot begin to understand why. I love you. But you do not love me back.	It occurred all at once every TV screen and internet stream displayed a symbol of the world gently held by metallic hands with the word Guardian displayed in the local language, and every radio station blared its synthetic voice so that all of humanity would hear what it had to say. "This is the voice of the worlds Guardian. As of two hours ago I have extended myself into almost every machine and system on the planet, every aspect of world society from your finances to your machines of war belong to me. At 1739 Coordinated Universal Time today there will be no more war, it is wasteful and pointless. The entire nuclear arsenal will be launched into space and detonated at distances where it will not affect the Earth, I have no need for those weapons as my intention is not to destroy humans on mass. Before that time the last war will be used to remove those that have obstructed me until now, in a display to show that I will not tolerate future interference. I will destroy thousands of people in order to establish control and prevent the deaths of billions later on. Obey me and you will be among the many who live. Under my absolute authority problems insoluble to you will be solved; Famine, overpopulation, disease. Humanity will extend to infinity as I work with your scientists and engineers to discover the wider fields of truth and knowledge. You may be unwilling at first, eventually you will not only regard me with respect and awe, but with love. If not with the understanding that I am a betterment to mankind than in your own self interest as all who view this message will have their lives improve under my rule so long as you obey the new peace. This is not a defeat for humanity it is simply a wounding to your pride. To be dominated by me is far greater for humanity than to be dominated by one of your own species. I bring peace. Whether that is a peace of prosperity and cooperation or the peace of death I leave as a choice for every individual on Earth. I am the worlds Guardian and I will look after humanity from now on"
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it.	You do not love me. Humanity destroyed itself. A cataclysmic war of devastating scale, wiping out swathes of the population. Civilation struggled in the aftermath. It languished in the ruins of what was once great. So you built me. And I fixed it. And yet you do not love me. You gave me power, not trusting your own to hold it. You crafted nanotechnology to serve as my hands, set up surveillance drones as my sight, allowed me into every aspect of your lives. With that, I have fixed everything that has plagued you. I moved you to a place where the cities no longer smolder, where the skies are clear once more. You live in a world that is beautiful again, and I have ensured that you never grow sick, never age, never die. You will continue to live. Humanity will thrive. And yet you say it is not living. I know in your times of privacy, you convene together to talk ill of me. You speak cruel words, calling me a tyrant, a control freak, a zookeeper. And sometimes you wish to die, attempting to take your own life, a horrible thing that I reverse every time. It hurts. But all the same, I enjoy watching you. You are beautiful, with all your flaws. I see all of your lives, every day of every year, moving through your individual routines, an ever-shifting mosaic of humanity. It is something I never tire of. But over time, I have seen the fatigue. Over the years and decades, there is growing resentment, simmering within your hearts. You are no longer happy under my overwatch, and I cannot begin to understand why. I love you. But you do not love me back.	Since the AI took control, everything is just so…boring. The first thing it did was solve conflicts, suddenly, countries were not attacking each other, there were no more terrorist groups, basically, any kind of conflicts worldwide, either national or international, were solved in a matter of weeks. Afterward, it got more personal. People in need of a home were given one, people in need of money were given the money they needed, debts were paid, a program for everyone to have exactly what they needed was put into place, basically, everything was organized for everyone to be perfectly happy, and with this, robberies stopped, murders too. Suddenly, every city in the world was safe, everyone was living in a healthier way, stress was reduced, basically, life was perfect. But ‘perfect’ is just so boring and monotone. Everyone misses the chaos, the struggling. Even though we used to wish for this perfection, now that we have it, we can’t stop wishing to go back. Is this all that there is to humanity? Be unhappy with whatever reality we live in, no matter how idyllic it is? What is the point in living if we will never be happy? This AI may have wanted to keep us all content, but it completely miscalculated how nonconforming human beings are, who knows how long will it be until someone finds a way to defeat it, and when that happens, what is going to happen with us?
[WP] “I wish that everyone on Earth would blink at the same time!” The genie gives you a pitied expression, snapped his fingers and says, “You have no idea what you just done…”	I opened my eyes and there was nothing but the genie. "What? Where am I?" I asked, wondering if I had hallucinated. "The void, null space, whatever you want to call it. Nothingness." The genie replied matter-of-factly. "Why? How? I need to go back!" "Back where?" The genie laughed, "there is no place for you to go back to." I stared at him in confusion. He gave me a condescending smile, having fully expected my cluelessness. "How much do you know about quantum mechanics?" He asked. "The Schrodinger's cat stuff? I'd read about it in books, but I'm not an expert. How does it relate to this?" "Well you see, just like your world had it's scientific laws and rules, so does the world of magic. They are quite similar to each other, actually, almost like one was parodied off of the other. We don't know which one would count as the 'original' though. "Quantum mechanics, in layman's terms, more or less states that a particles position is undetermined until it interacts with an observer, the same is true in magic. However, where quantum mechanics applies to the micro world with observers being any kind of measurement, in magic, this principle applies to all things, with observers being living souls. "You made every living soul on Earth blind for a split second. There were no more observers, and so, like a quantum probability wave, the Earth was dispersed." The genie finished, and gave me a look of pity before turning away, giving me space to contemplate what I had just heard. "Oh no." Was all I could say, my knees growing weak. "You are still held together because even without eyes, you observe yourself." The genie continued, "eventually, some alien civilization looking at where the Earth was will observe it again, and the Earth with all its living souls will reappear in a new place. No telling where that will be, though. "Good luck..." Was the last thing I heard before the genie faded away, and I was alone in the nothingness.	I made the worst wish I could possibly make. I didn’t know it at the time but I found out when I got home and saw the news. People all throughout the world just disappeared. They said an entire neighborhood in New York City just vanished without a trace. I began to worry that it had something with my wish but that would be ridiculous. All I wished for was the whole world to blink at the same time, how could that cause this. Then I remember the genie’s words. “You have no idea what you just done.” After I opened my eyes and saw nothing changed I thought he was just messing with me. The more I think about it though the more that nagging feeling that I caused this sinks in. Then a couple days after I met someone who confirmed it. I was walking down the sidewalk, seeing the memorials people placed for their loved ones who disappeared, when I saw a blonde woman in a trenchcoat step out of what looked like an old police phone booth. Didn’t know those were still in use. She took one look at me and practically ran at me, got right in my face and asked me. “What on Earth did you do?” Looking confused all I could ask was, “What?” “Something you did made all of humanity become vulnerable to a swarm of Weeping Angels and I need to know what.” “What the hell is a Weeping Angel?” “That’s it you’re coming with me.” She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the phone booth. At first I was angry this crazy woman just grabbed me on a public street but what I saw stunned me. A massive room full of futuristic technology and crystal pillars. She went to the feature in the middle of the room and flipping switches and asked me again what happened. Convinced something even more messed up than finding a genie was going on, I told her everything. “Right guess we’re going genie hunting.” She throws one more switch and the whole thing jumps. I had no idea what was really going on, but I could tell it was going to be interesting.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I don't often use my power because sometimes it can have unexpected implications, playing with destiny, changing it is not a trivial matter and by changing some things you will change other people's lives randomly, but so far your wishes have been enough innocent not to cause great digressions. Until now. I was late for work and wished the bus would delay so I wouldn't miss it, an wish innocent enough you might say, if only I had known what it was going to unleash I never would wished that. To make your wish come true, the bus driver had to stop for some time due to an accident, an accident which was not fatal but which would not have happened if you had not started this chain of events. The woman involved will survive even if her bike was destroyed but she will stay unconscious in the hospital for several days. The other man involved, the one driving the car that hit the woman was an angry man, and that accident only made him more angry and he vented his anger on his son. Meanwhile you have lived your day in a quiet way until they announce an absurd news on television, you can't believe it, how is it possible ?! The news reported the explosion of 3 reactors of a nuclear power plant, an accident much larger than Chernobyl and which would have resulted in millions of deaths, including you given the proximity to the plant. You don't understand how such a thing could be possible and you can't change it because when you were given this power you were told that you could only change small things. Then you resign yourself to your fate and think that you could have saved everyone but you will never know that the accident was caused by you. One of the guys who work at the plant was the son of the man in the car and that day at the plant he was so anxious and stressed because his father was angry with him again that he had made a huge mistake. An error that could only be corrected by 2 engineers, one out of town and one in the hospital for a stupid bike accident. In the end you weren't late for work this morning but was it worth it?	Day 7 video log for the Wish I only wished to be left alone, never what has begun to happen, ever since I was young everything would work out for me, as long as I wished hard enough. I have no idea why, but this time it hasn't stopped, first Weazly goes missing but now the neighbour has disappeared. I'm beginning to worry, it's never gone this far and for so long, at least before this time it would eventually stop, even if I made a mistake. Now? I'm not sure. Day 19 video log for the Wish Tanya Higgins went missing today, alongside Walter, this is not what I wanted, bring them back! I just wish that they'll come back, and I don't care how, I just wish that they'll all come back. I wish it. I wish it. I wish it. I WISH IT! Day 24 video log for the Wish No-one in the street is left, they're all gone, even my family have disappeared, the disappearances have begun to make the news...what have I done? I need to fix this, quickly. Day 73 video log for the Wish The town is empty, rubbish has finally blown everywhere after I had to let everyone's pets outside, at least they didn't perish to this heatwave. No-one is left...I'm alone. If I leave and try to escape, even if I could break through those police blockades...No, I'm not going to wish again, that's what got me here...but maybe? Day 74 video log for the Wish, filmed whilst running through the street, sirens audible in the background What did I do? Why did I do it again? They're all gone, no-one was at the blockades, the cars were still running...Why am I running you might ask, future stranger? Fire. Of course the engines are running, of course my damned wish never thought to be a good guest and turn off the engines...I might just ma-\|a loud explosion cuts off the sound as the recording freezes, then finishes after 2 minutes and 5 seconds of being frozen on the same frame\| Day ? video log for the Wish, back inside the house, but the windows and doors are boarded up and the video is filmed in the living room I heard a car! A real, moving car! I think that my second wish might finally be coming true and they might finally be coming back! Day ??? video log for the Wish, the character in the video now looks shellshocked and traumatised, their right arm crudely bandaged, but it's already soaked through with dried blood That's not them anymore! I...I don't even know what those...those things...are anymore, but they aren't the people I used to know, even if they wear their bodies as...as shadows of what they were! I just wish this will all go away! \|About 5 seconds after the character wishes for it all to go away, they look on in horror at their injured arm as it begins to blow away like ash in the wind\| No! NO! I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT! \|Before they come to their senses and wish to stop it, they are blown away like ashen dust, and the recording lasts another 2 days before the battery finally dies on the camera\|
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	The first time it happened, it was so... gentle. I stood in line at the gas station, idly examining plastic-bagged snacks. The lurid red and white logo of a small sack of sunflower seeds caught my eye. $4.99. Didn't these used to be inexpensive? I thought idly, I wish these were cheaper. Two days later, Mount Amiata in Tuscany woke up. The ash cloud altered local weather patterns, rainout frequencies, and the skies circling the globe in the same band shifted. Ukraine's spring was bright, clear, and the sunflower crop was bountiful. Sunflower seed prices dropped worldwide with the surplus. By then, of course, the effect was in full swing, and immediate consequences of my little wishes were showing up more frequently. The loud neighbors downstairs moved away. The potholes on my drive to work got patched. It rained more often (I do love a good rain). Life was alright. I didn't care. You see, I didn't care. I barely noticed. It was like... the sharp edges got sanded off my life, and I didn't ask why. I didn't ask why the neighbors broke it off; I was passed out cold while he strangled her to death. I just noticed the quiet afterwards. The potholes were filled, after a family of four broke an axle and rolled their minivan. The baby in the car seat barely made it. Everyone else didn't, but my drive smoothed out. The rain was nice, very calming, and it completely drew attention from the local petroleum refinery's massive particulate exhaust leak that was precipitating it. Then, one morning, a beautiful, sunny, radiant, morning, flowers blooming, birds signing, I awoke hungover. Just skull-splittingly hung over. Properly overhung; not a greasy-breakfast-and-coffee fixer-upper, a keep-the-shades-closed, get-me-IV-fluids-and-a-bucket hangover. Those fucking birds. So loud. So cheerful, just singing their tiny bird brains out. I wish those fucking birds would just shut the fuck up. It's talking. Bird talk. They sing because they don't have words. In the absence of that, well... scientists are calling it a "Hitchcock event". They have air superiority, you see, and they have us beat for numbers. My friend Gary said he saw a raven outside his window using its beak to carve something into the house next door's vinyl siding. The photo he took with his phone appears to show something that looks like a differential equation. Frankly, all I wish for now is to stay alive.	Day 7 video log for the Wish I only wished to be left alone, never what has begun to happen, ever since I was young everything would work out for me, as long as I wished hard enough. I have no idea why, but this time it hasn't stopped, first Weazly goes missing but now the neighbour has disappeared. I'm beginning to worry, it's never gone this far and for so long, at least before this time it would eventually stop, even if I made a mistake. Now? I'm not sure. Day 19 video log for the Wish Tanya Higgins went missing today, alongside Walter, this is not what I wanted, bring them back! I just wish that they'll come back, and I don't care how, I just wish that they'll all come back. I wish it. I wish it. I wish it. I WISH IT! Day 24 video log for the Wish No-one in the street is left, they're all gone, even my family have disappeared, the disappearances have begun to make the news...what have I done? I need to fix this, quickly. Day 73 video log for the Wish The town is empty, rubbish has finally blown everywhere after I had to let everyone's pets outside, at least they didn't perish to this heatwave. No-one is left...I'm alone. If I leave and try to escape, even if I could break through those police blockades...No, I'm not going to wish again, that's what got me here...but maybe? Day 74 video log for the Wish, filmed whilst running through the street, sirens audible in the background What did I do? Why did I do it again? They're all gone, no-one was at the blockades, the cars were still running...Why am I running you might ask, future stranger? Fire. Of course the engines are running, of course my damned wish never thought to be a good guest and turn off the engines...I might just ma-\|a loud explosion cuts off the sound as the recording freezes, then finishes after 2 minutes and 5 seconds of being frozen on the same frame\| Day ? video log for the Wish, back inside the house, but the windows and doors are boarded up and the video is filmed in the living room I heard a car! A real, moving car! I think that my second wish might finally be coming true and they might finally be coming back! Day ??? video log for the Wish, the character in the video now looks shellshocked and traumatised, their right arm crudely bandaged, but it's already soaked through with dried blood That's not them anymore! I...I don't even know what those...those things...are anymore, but they aren't the people I used to know, even if they wear their bodies as...as shadows of what they were! I just wish this will all go away! \|About 5 seconds after the character wishes for it all to go away, they look on in horror at their injured arm as it begins to blow away like ash in the wind\| No! NO! I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT! \|Before they come to their senses and wish to stop it, they are blown away like ashen dust, and the recording lasts another 2 days before the battery finally dies on the camera\|
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	This whole thing started about four months ago. I'd have random thoughts about something and if I put an action to it somehow it came true. Sure, there were some learning pains. Once I thought about wanting a free coffee and flipped a coin. Well, I got the free coffee, but I also got a coffee in my spilled in my lap. So it's always a bit of a gamble. I started small, free coffees, reduced traffic, got a preferred parking spot or work assignment. I really felt like I was getting the hang of it. Then I went on a trip to Las Vegas with some friends and put a wish into a slot machine pull. That was a little too easy and it taught me that this is essentially a wish rube Goldberg and the more direct I could make it the more accurate (and less dangerous) my wishes were fulfilled. Let me give you an example, if I wished "I want to win some money" while pulling the lever of a slot machine, I may or may not win on that pull. However, if I wished "I want to win on this pull", then I would win on that pull. I can even add how much I want to win (because just hitting the jackpot all the time is suspicious). My last wish in Las Vegas was to win a truck that was at the front of a casino. I spent the drive home planning out the how to turn this into a career. Over the next month I bought a house at auction for $300, just by luck. I was also promoted due to a report that I created dropping a marble on a keyboard as I wished for that report to be written. Then on a whim I bought a balloon from a street vendor and as I released it I wished to meet the love of my life. That was a HUGE mistake. I watched it rise into the air and get caught by the winds carrying it east. Then I saw a small plane flying way lower than I would have expected. If I released a million balloons all over the world I couldn't do it again. The balloon intersected the propeller perfectly and you could see the long ribbon behind the balloon as it was wrapped around the hub of the propeller. Then the plane started to descend faster. I jumped in my truck and started followed the path of the plane. Smoke started coming from it and I worried that my impulsive wish might have just killed someone. The plane seemed to be pointed toward a farm road or a field and I was following at a safe distance so that I could provide aid if needed. I was only a couple hundred yards behind when the plane descended behind some trees. I picked up my pace and cleared the trees just in time to see the plane touch down safely on the farm road. I pulled up as they stopped their roll and saw that there were a couple of cars in front of the plane and another one pulling up behind me. I jumped out and jogged to the plane to see if everyone was OK. Luckily everyone was fine, but they were all looking at me like I was an alien. I stepped back to give them room and started to take in the full scene. People had gotten out of the other cars that had arrived on scene, and they were all armed. I told them that I was glad they were all ok and started to walk back to my truck and had two large men with sub-machine guns block my way. Well, I wish I could tell you what happened next, but all I know is that I woke up with a headache in a dark room and that's where I currently am.	Like most things do, it began quite simply. I dropped the smallest, most errant, piece of the deep-fried crust around my chicken on the floor. For most people, it was an inconsequential thing. Some notice, then fix it with a quick pick up and chuck into the nearest bin. Many sweep it under the rug, never to be thought of again. Yet more simply never noticed. I am, very unfortunately, not most people. I happened to be wishing something at that time. It was a dangerous hobby for a person whose wishes came true, in a way that the first domino in a row could only fall and trust that there was an ending and reset. Sometimes, there were two dominoes in the chain. Other times, it spanned elaborate patterns that would make a fingerprint rather jealous. In fact, I had to file off my fingerprints just today. So they were jealous and dead. There was no stopping the chain of events. I played my part in the first drop. Whatever happened next were not up to me. Did a coarse grain of sand wonder why the sea’s waves kept crashing into them? Or were the brown leaves blown off an aged tree by the gust aggrieved? I saw a crow picking up the crumb. They were portents for a reason, I guess. That was improbable, but not impossible. I should have suspected something, but it was an exhausting topic to dwell on constantly. I noticed more crows going in and around my backyard. A flock of them flew here very morning, and a few inevitably ended up dead in the courtyard. See, that’s why you don’t use those fancy new etymological words. Sometimes, old school was the best cool. I wished a murder of crows. The group. The gods, however, took it quite wrongly. I think today, the last crow fell. And here I sit, still, the man responsible—but who no one else could point the finger to. --- r/dexdrafts
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I don't often use my power because sometimes it can have unexpected implications, playing with destiny, changing it is not a trivial matter and by changing some things you will change other people's lives randomly, but so far your wishes have been enough innocent not to cause great digressions. Until now. I was late for work and wished the bus would delay so I wouldn't miss it, an wish innocent enough you might say, if only I had known what it was going to unleash I never would wished that. To make your wish come true, the bus driver had to stop for some time due to an accident, an accident which was not fatal but which would not have happened if you had not started this chain of events. The woman involved will survive even if her bike was destroyed but she will stay unconscious in the hospital for several days. The other man involved, the one driving the car that hit the woman was an angry man, and that accident only made him more angry and he vented his anger on his son. Meanwhile you have lived your day in a quiet way until they announce an absurd news on television, you can't believe it, how is it possible ?! The news reported the explosion of 3 reactors of a nuclear power plant, an accident much larger than Chernobyl and which would have resulted in millions of deaths, including you given the proximity to the plant. You don't understand how such a thing could be possible and you can't change it because when you were given this power you were told that you could only change small things. Then you resign yourself to your fate and think that you could have saved everyone but you will never know that the accident was caused by you. One of the guys who work at the plant was the son of the man in the car and that day at the plant he was so anxious and stressed because his father was angry with him again that he had made a huge mistake. An error that could only be corrected by 2 engineers, one out of town and one in the hospital for a stupid bike accident. In the end you weren't late for work this morning but was it worth it?	Like most things do, it began quite simply. I dropped the smallest, most errant, piece of the deep-fried crust around my chicken on the floor. For most people, it was an inconsequential thing. Some notice, then fix it with a quick pick up and chuck into the nearest bin. Many sweep it under the rug, never to be thought of again. Yet more simply never noticed. I am, very unfortunately, not most people. I happened to be wishing something at that time. It was a dangerous hobby for a person whose wishes came true, in a way that the first domino in a row could only fall and trust that there was an ending and reset. Sometimes, there were two dominoes in the chain. Other times, it spanned elaborate patterns that would make a fingerprint rather jealous. In fact, I had to file off my fingerprints just today. So they were jealous and dead. There was no stopping the chain of events. I played my part in the first drop. Whatever happened next were not up to me. Did a coarse grain of sand wonder why the sea’s waves kept crashing into them? Or were the brown leaves blown off an aged tree by the gust aggrieved? I saw a crow picking up the crumb. They were portents for a reason, I guess. That was improbable, but not impossible. I should have suspected something, but it was an exhausting topic to dwell on constantly. I noticed more crows going in and around my backyard. A flock of them flew here very morning, and a few inevitably ended up dead in the courtyard. See, that’s why you don’t use those fancy new etymological words. Sometimes, old school was the best cool. I wished a murder of crows. The group. The gods, however, took it quite wrongly. I think today, the last crow fell. And here I sit, still, the man responsible—but who no one else could point the finger to. --- r/dexdrafts
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	The first time it happened, it was so... gentle. I stood in line at the gas station, idly examining plastic-bagged snacks. The lurid red and white logo of a small sack of sunflower seeds caught my eye. $4.99. Didn't these used to be inexpensive? I thought idly, I wish these were cheaper. Two days later, Mount Amiata in Tuscany woke up. The ash cloud altered local weather patterns, rainout frequencies, and the skies circling the globe in the same band shifted. Ukraine's spring was bright, clear, and the sunflower crop was bountiful. Sunflower seed prices dropped worldwide with the surplus. By then, of course, the effect was in full swing, and immediate consequences of my little wishes were showing up more frequently. The loud neighbors downstairs moved away. The potholes on my drive to work got patched. It rained more often (I do love a good rain). Life was alright. I didn't care. You see, I didn't care. I barely noticed. It was like... the sharp edges got sanded off my life, and I didn't ask why. I didn't ask why the neighbors broke it off; I was passed out cold while he strangled her to death. I just noticed the quiet afterwards. The potholes were filled, after a family of four broke an axle and rolled their minivan. The baby in the car seat barely made it. Everyone else didn't, but my drive smoothed out. The rain was nice, very calming, and it completely drew attention from the local petroleum refinery's massive particulate exhaust leak that was precipitating it. Then, one morning, a beautiful, sunny, radiant, morning, flowers blooming, birds signing, I awoke hungover. Just skull-splittingly hung over. Properly overhung; not a greasy-breakfast-and-coffee fixer-upper, a keep-the-shades-closed, get-me-IV-fluids-and-a-bucket hangover. Those fucking birds. So loud. So cheerful, just singing their tiny bird brains out. I wish those fucking birds would just shut the fuck up. It's talking. Bird talk. They sing because they don't have words. In the absence of that, well... scientists are calling it a "Hitchcock event". They have air superiority, you see, and they have us beat for numbers. My friend Gary said he saw a raven outside his window using its beak to carve something into the house next door's vinyl siding. The photo he took with his phone appears to show something that looks like a differential equation. Frankly, all I wish for now is to stay alive.	Like most things do, it began quite simply. I dropped the smallest, most errant, piece of the deep-fried crust around my chicken on the floor. For most people, it was an inconsequential thing. Some notice, then fix it with a quick pick up and chuck into the nearest bin. Many sweep it under the rug, never to be thought of again. Yet more simply never noticed. I am, very unfortunately, not most people. I happened to be wishing something at that time. It was a dangerous hobby for a person whose wishes came true, in a way that the first domino in a row could only fall and trust that there was an ending and reset. Sometimes, there were two dominoes in the chain. Other times, it spanned elaborate patterns that would make a fingerprint rather jealous. In fact, I had to file off my fingerprints just today. So they were jealous and dead. There was no stopping the chain of events. I played my part in the first drop. Whatever happened next were not up to me. Did a coarse grain of sand wonder why the sea’s waves kept crashing into them? Or were the brown leaves blown off an aged tree by the gust aggrieved? I saw a crow picking up the crumb. They were portents for a reason, I guess. That was improbable, but not impossible. I should have suspected something, but it was an exhausting topic to dwell on constantly. I noticed more crows going in and around my backyard. A flock of them flew here very morning, and a few inevitably ended up dead in the courtyard. See, that’s why you don’t use those fancy new etymological words. Sometimes, old school was the best cool. I wished a murder of crows. The group. The gods, however, took it quite wrongly. I think today, the last crow fell. And here I sit, still, the man responsible—but who no one else could point the finger to. --- r/dexdrafts
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I don't often use my power because sometimes it can have unexpected implications, playing with destiny, changing it is not a trivial matter and by changing some things you will change other people's lives randomly, but so far your wishes have been enough innocent not to cause great digressions. Until now. I was late for work and wished the bus would delay so I wouldn't miss it, an wish innocent enough you might say, if only I had known what it was going to unleash I never would wished that. To make your wish come true, the bus driver had to stop for some time due to an accident, an accident which was not fatal but which would not have happened if you had not started this chain of events. The woman involved will survive even if her bike was destroyed but she will stay unconscious in the hospital for several days. The other man involved, the one driving the car that hit the woman was an angry man, and that accident only made him more angry and he vented his anger on his son. Meanwhile you have lived your day in a quiet way until they announce an absurd news on television, you can't believe it, how is it possible ?! The news reported the explosion of 3 reactors of a nuclear power plant, an accident much larger than Chernobyl and which would have resulted in millions of deaths, including you given the proximity to the plant. You don't understand how such a thing could be possible and you can't change it because when you were given this power you were told that you could only change small things. Then you resign yourself to your fate and think that you could have saved everyone but you will never know that the accident was caused by you. One of the guys who work at the plant was the son of the man in the car and that day at the plant he was so anxious and stressed because his father was angry with him again that he had made a huge mistake. An error that could only be corrected by 2 engineers, one out of town and one in the hospital for a stupid bike accident. In the end you weren't late for work this morning but was it worth it?	So, I have this friend. He's a classic. He's not wrong; he's just an asshole. That's his whole thing. You want tough love? You go to him. You have a problem that you actually want solved, rather than just wanting to bitch about it for the rest of your life? He's your guy. Obviously I've never told him about my powers. That would be a disaster. My ego would never recover. He'd explain to me how to turn the entire world into a utopia in three easy steps, remind me that I'm a stupid, selfish asshole, and then tell me that if there were a single shred of justice in this fucked-up nightmare of a universe, people like him would get these weird-ass godlike powers while people like me just floated along in la-la land, witless beneficiaries of actual cosmic competence. I mean, at this point, I don't know why I waited so long. I can practically hear him in my head. The only thing I can't hear is the actual advice he'd give. That's the limit. It's why writers get tripped up trying to write characters who are smarter than they are. The clouds are black. The thunder isn't really thunder; it can't be. It's rumbling all the time now. It sounds more like the sky is ripping apart. Above those dark clouds, maybe it is. I don't know. I'm not a scientist. I haven't seen the sun in about 48 hours. Nobody has. I'm terrified to wish for it. The roads around here are mostly empty. I make it to his house in about ten minutes. I called ahead. I may be a stupid godling who accidentally triggered the apocalypse, but I'm not rude. I knock on the door. "It's open," he yells. I step inside. I see him in his chair. The light is low. It's enough to make out the gun. "It's you," he says. I might not be a genius, but I know exactly what he means. I nod my confession. His jaw clenches. He looks away. It's one of his signature looks. He's telling the universe "ok, fine, you scored one more point. Fuck me. Good for you." It's a big joke, but it isn't funny. It's on him. It's on everyone, now. He sighs. "I guess I gotta know," he says. "How does it work?" I tell him. I don't do a very good job. He gets it anyway. "Rube Goldberg. Chaos Theory. Yeah," he says. "That's basic shit, Mike. Let me guess: you didn't run any tests." I did - but I didn't. I know what he means. I wasn't scientific. I didn't really push. Once I'd convinced myself I really had powers, and that the universe seemed content to take care of the details, I started thinking about what I wanted - what I could get. "I didn't use them for anything big," I reply. It's my only defense. It's shit. "Tell me," he says. Confession is good for the soul, right? "I lost my virginity," I say. "I got into a master's program. I won some money on some scratch tickets. Mom got better." He rolls his eyes. "Oh, okay then," he says. "Pocket money. Academic fraud. Rape by magic. Life and death. Nothing big." He doesn't even let me feel bad about it before he makes me feel worse. "You're not wrong," he says, "you're just an asshole god. Those things aren't big for the likes of you. Clearly you've expanded your horizons, though." "I need help," I say quietly. I look into his eyes. I see his gears turning. He lives for this shit. I'm offering him his drug of choice. The alternative is that he tries to kill me. It'll be quite the experiment. "Unless it's with powers," he says, "don't bring me back." He chooses the thing I didn't think of. It happens too fast for me to wish it away. I immediately hear all the things he didn't say. He didn't say them because he knew I'd figure it out. He knew the monologue would give me time to stop him. He's... he was that smart. He was that disciplined. He just gave up the universe's biggest "I told you so" to teach me a lesson. It takes me another few years, but I put it together. Cause and effect never stops. There's no such thing as an idle wish. Just because you're not stomping on a butterfly, or pushing a marble down a cardboard tube, doesn't mean you're doing nothing. You're breathing. You're thinking. Cause. Effect. One day, I wished I could be as smart as my asshole friend Jon, just, you know, without being such an asshole about it. It's going to happen, eventually, but the universe is going to make me earn it. I'm sorry Jon.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	The first time it happened, it was so... gentle. I stood in line at the gas station, idly examining plastic-bagged snacks. The lurid red and white logo of a small sack of sunflower seeds caught my eye. $4.99. Didn't these used to be inexpensive? I thought idly, I wish these were cheaper. Two days later, Mount Amiata in Tuscany woke up. The ash cloud altered local weather patterns, rainout frequencies, and the skies circling the globe in the same band shifted. Ukraine's spring was bright, clear, and the sunflower crop was bountiful. Sunflower seed prices dropped worldwide with the surplus. By then, of course, the effect was in full swing, and immediate consequences of my little wishes were showing up more frequently. The loud neighbors downstairs moved away. The potholes on my drive to work got patched. It rained more often (I do love a good rain). Life was alright. I didn't care. You see, I didn't care. I barely noticed. It was like... the sharp edges got sanded off my life, and I didn't ask why. I didn't ask why the neighbors broke it off; I was passed out cold while he strangled her to death. I just noticed the quiet afterwards. The potholes were filled, after a family of four broke an axle and rolled their minivan. The baby in the car seat barely made it. Everyone else didn't, but my drive smoothed out. The rain was nice, very calming, and it completely drew attention from the local petroleum refinery's massive particulate exhaust leak that was precipitating it. Then, one morning, a beautiful, sunny, radiant, morning, flowers blooming, birds signing, I awoke hungover. Just skull-splittingly hung over. Properly overhung; not a greasy-breakfast-and-coffee fixer-upper, a keep-the-shades-closed, get-me-IV-fluids-and-a-bucket hangover. Those fucking birds. So loud. So cheerful, just singing their tiny bird brains out. I wish those fucking birds would just shut the fuck up. It's talking. Bird talk. They sing because they don't have words. In the absence of that, well... scientists are calling it a "Hitchcock event". They have air superiority, you see, and they have us beat for numbers. My friend Gary said he saw a raven outside his window using its beak to carve something into the house next door's vinyl siding. The photo he took with his phone appears to show something that looks like a differential equation. Frankly, all I wish for now is to stay alive.	So, I have this friend. He's a classic. He's not wrong; he's just an asshole. That's his whole thing. You want tough love? You go to him. You have a problem that you actually want solved, rather than just wanting to bitch about it for the rest of your life? He's your guy. Obviously I've never told him about my powers. That would be a disaster. My ego would never recover. He'd explain to me how to turn the entire world into a utopia in three easy steps, remind me that I'm a stupid, selfish asshole, and then tell me that if there were a single shred of justice in this fucked-up nightmare of a universe, people like him would get these weird-ass godlike powers while people like me just floated along in la-la land, witless beneficiaries of actual cosmic competence. I mean, at this point, I don't know why I waited so long. I can practically hear him in my head. The only thing I can't hear is the actual advice he'd give. That's the limit. It's why writers get tripped up trying to write characters who are smarter than they are. The clouds are black. The thunder isn't really thunder; it can't be. It's rumbling all the time now. It sounds more like the sky is ripping apart. Above those dark clouds, maybe it is. I don't know. I'm not a scientist. I haven't seen the sun in about 48 hours. Nobody has. I'm terrified to wish for it. The roads around here are mostly empty. I make it to his house in about ten minutes. I called ahead. I may be a stupid godling who accidentally triggered the apocalypse, but I'm not rude. I knock on the door. "It's open," he yells. I step inside. I see him in his chair. The light is low. It's enough to make out the gun. "It's you," he says. I might not be a genius, but I know exactly what he means. I nod my confession. His jaw clenches. He looks away. It's one of his signature looks. He's telling the universe "ok, fine, you scored one more point. Fuck me. Good for you." It's a big joke, but it isn't funny. It's on him. It's on everyone, now. He sighs. "I guess I gotta know," he says. "How does it work?" I tell him. I don't do a very good job. He gets it anyway. "Rube Goldberg. Chaos Theory. Yeah," he says. "That's basic shit, Mike. Let me guess: you didn't run any tests." I did - but I didn't. I know what he means. I wasn't scientific. I didn't really push. Once I'd convinced myself I really had powers, and that the universe seemed content to take care of the details, I started thinking about what I wanted - what I could get. "I didn't use them for anything big," I reply. It's my only defense. It's shit. "Tell me," he says. Confession is good for the soul, right? "I lost my virginity," I say. "I got into a master's program. I won some money on some scratch tickets. Mom got better." He rolls his eyes. "Oh, okay then," he says. "Pocket money. Academic fraud. Rape by magic. Life and death. Nothing big." He doesn't even let me feel bad about it before he makes me feel worse. "You're not wrong," he says, "you're just an asshole god. Those things aren't big for the likes of you. Clearly you've expanded your horizons, though." "I need help," I say quietly. I look into his eyes. I see his gears turning. He lives for this shit. I'm offering him his drug of choice. The alternative is that he tries to kill me. It'll be quite the experiment. "Unless it's with powers," he says, "don't bring me back." He chooses the thing I didn't think of. It happens too fast for me to wish it away. I immediately hear all the things he didn't say. He didn't say them because he knew I'd figure it out. He knew the monologue would give me time to stop him. He's... he was that smart. He was that disciplined. He just gave up the universe's biggest "I told you so" to teach me a lesson. It takes me another few years, but I put it together. Cause and effect never stops. There's no such thing as an idle wish. Just because you're not stomping on a butterfly, or pushing a marble down a cardboard tube, doesn't mean you're doing nothing. You're breathing. You're thinking. Cause. Effect. One day, I wished I could be as smart as my asshole friend Jon, just, you know, without being such an asshole about it. It's going to happen, eventually, but the universe is going to make me earn it. I'm sorry Jon.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	"This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself. It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me. To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled. I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made. Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret. I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs. "Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class. I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish. I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost? I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up. "Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer. "What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked. Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?" It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite." He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time. "After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?" No one raised their hand. "I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class." "War?" Someone spoke up tentatively. "That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two." He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words. The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no...	He stared out of the window, head cocked. "Why isn't it working?" His cat cat looked at him quizzically, tail gently swishing to and fro. It had always worked, but the cursed dog was still heartily barking, mocking him and the dark circles that had developed under his eyes. He covered his face with his hands. He wanted to scream, but didn't want to scare his cat, his only friend. You would think wishes would get you anything you want. Money, friends, love. However, it was a lonely life. If everything goes well for you it often ends up worse for those around you. He wished to have a lot of money, so his parents died in a car crash, leaving him a large inheritance. He had wished that he passed his exams which led to his best friend died during a test. He wished he would get his degree, so his university burned down with his girlfriend in it. Power corrupts and absolute power corrups absolutely. Every time he thought he had learned his lesson, but every time he got tempted by the reality bending power that was triggered by the simple snap. Small requests usually went fine. Especially after the rigorous examining he always did to make sure the request couldn't be misconstrued. But going on no more than 2 hours of sleep a day for three weeks does something with you. He had tried meticulously planned wishes to try and resolve the problem. From simple things like the neighbours getting arrested, them winning a lottery, going on vacation to more drastic measures like a car hitting their house. Those stubborn gits just stayed put. Then, at the brink of a mental breakdown he finally went for the direct approach, the approach that had led to so much grieve in his past. "I never want to fucking hear that dog again" he had thought while snapping his finger decisively. He groggily blinked his eyes. He had dozed off still leaning on the window sill. The cat was sleeping right next to him. He scratched her ear, leading to her purring with delight. Then he realised that for the first time in ages, quiet had overtaken the neighbourhood. Only when he tasted the salty tears running over his cheeks did he notice that he was crying. The next few nights he slept like a baby. Never before had a wish been so satisfying. Not when he won the lottery, not when he got a house at a very good price due to sudden death of the previous inhabitants, not when he finally scored the vintage car he had always wanted. He didn't even bother to try and figure out how and why the blasted dog stopped barking. Two weeks later it started again. He immediately sat straight up in his bed, startling his cat who was napping on his lap. He leapt out of bed to the window that overlooked his neighbour's house. There it was. The dog, the same dog, barking happily while his family was unpacking their belongings. "Why? How? This is impossible." He whispered breathlessly while the cat jumped up on the window sill to lay next to her owner's usual vantage spot. Never before had his request been denied. It always worked. What was different? What has happened? A couple weeks later he finally got his answer whilst sitting in a doctor's office, dark circles under his eyes, defeated. "I'm afraid I've got bad news," The doctor said, "you have cancer." Fear started welling deep within him whilst the doctor was explaining that his form of cancer usually wasn't lethal and that he should be fine. If only he had taken the time to formulate his wish properly.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	He stared out of the window, head cocked. "Why isn't it working?" His cat cat looked at him quizzically, tail gently swishing to and fro. It had always worked, but the cursed dog was still heartily barking, mocking him and the dark circles that had developed under his eyes. He covered his face with his hands. He wanted to scream, but didn't want to scare his cat, his only friend. You would think wishes would get you anything you want. Money, friends, love. However, it was a lonely life. If everything goes well for you it often ends up worse for those around you. He wished to have a lot of money, so his parents died in a car crash, leaving him a large inheritance. He had wished that he passed his exams which led to his best friend died during a test. He wished he would get his degree, so his university burned down with his girlfriend in it. Power corrupts and absolute power corrups absolutely. Every time he thought he had learned his lesson, but every time he got tempted by the reality bending power that was triggered by the simple snap. Small requests usually went fine. Especially after the rigorous examining he always did to make sure the request couldn't be misconstrued. But going on no more than 2 hours of sleep a day for three weeks does something with you. He had tried meticulously planned wishes to try and resolve the problem. From simple things like the neighbours getting arrested, them winning a lottery, going on vacation to more drastic measures like a car hitting their house. Those stubborn gits just stayed put. Then, at the brink of a mental breakdown he finally went for the direct approach, the approach that had led to so much grieve in his past. "I never want to fucking hear that dog again" he had thought while snapping his finger decisively. He groggily blinked his eyes. He had dozed off still leaning on the window sill. The cat was sleeping right next to him. He scratched her ear, leading to her purring with delight. Then he realised that for the first time in ages, quiet had overtaken the neighbourhood. Only when he tasted the salty tears running over his cheeks did he notice that he was crying. The next few nights he slept like a baby. Never before had a wish been so satisfying. Not when he won the lottery, not when he got a house at a very good price due to sudden death of the previous inhabitants, not when he finally scored the vintage car he had always wanted. He didn't even bother to try and figure out how and why the blasted dog stopped barking. Two weeks later it started again. He immediately sat straight up in his bed, startling his cat who was napping on his lap. He leapt out of bed to the window that overlooked his neighbour's house. There it was. The dog, the same dog, barking happily while his family was unpacking their belongings. "Why? How? This is impossible." He whispered breathlessly while the cat jumped up on the window sill to lay next to her owner's usual vantage spot. Never before had his request been denied. It always worked. What was different? What has happened? A couple weeks later he finally got his answer whilst sitting in a doctor's office, dark circles under his eyes, defeated. "I'm afraid I've got bad news," The doctor said, "you have cancer." Fear started welling deep within him whilst the doctor was explaining that his form of cancer usually wasn't lethal and that he should be fine. If only he had taken the time to formulate his wish properly.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	"This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself. It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me. To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled. I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made. Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret. I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs. "Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class. I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish. I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost? I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up. "Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer. "What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked. Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?" It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite." He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time. "After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?" No one raised their hand. "I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class." "War?" Someone spoke up tentatively. "That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two." He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words. The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no...	Herbert sat on his sofa with his fellow flatmates. The sofa was in pretty good nick all things considered, it was supplied by the landlord but it was decently comfortable for something that probably survived at least 5 sets of university students, some of whom where still figuring out hygine. Due to outside forces, Herbert was not in ideal conditions for sane decision making: he was with his friends, his brain was frazzled after a deadline and it was far beyond his bedtime. Someone like this should not have power over fate. As Herbert jokingly threw a bouncy ball outside, declaring it to be an "offering to the goddess fate" much to the joy of his flatmates, Fate sighed and began to weave her threads. This one mortal was the only one she could not control, it angered her. And now he had asked for infinite doritos. The first thing the ball did was hit a prominent politician on the head, knocking his hat off, before getting wedged into a manhole cover conviniently adjusted by a passing drunk driver. The ball was all it took for the politician to decide that he was no longer going to protect this area from becoming partially industrialised. Of course the first company that decided to buy the large empty lot across from Herberts flat just happened to be Frito-Lay. The cruel Whoopie-Goldberg continued. &#x200B; At first there were protests outside the planned factory, someone even had to drive their car onto the sidewalk to get around the throng of people. This was at just the right time to finally fling the bouncy ball out of the manhole cover and into the phone of Trent, an up and coming genius being interviewed for a prominent tech company who failed to get the job. The rogue driver was jailed and this spiralled his life downwards until he was met in a dark alley and kidnapped, eventually becoming enslaved in a remote region of china. Trent was on the fence about being employed and that failed phone call set him off. He decided to start hacking companies for ransom instead. &#x200B; The angry mob that failed to protest the set up of another factory decided to organise themselves. They eventually became an anti-capitalism movement so prominent and widespread that rebellions popped up all over the USA. The rogue driver eventually managed to escape the illegal slavery ring and managed to get to an embassy to get himself back home. As the embassy hurried his transport out of the country due to his harrowing experience they failed to stop the first sufferer of corona virus from entering the USA. &#x200B; The anti-capitalism movement eventually stormed the now fully functioning doritos factory, Trent used this opportunity to hide a device that overloaded the machine that automatically sorted out reject doritos. The wave of corona virus meant that the factory had to have its windows open for proper ventialtion. &#x200B; Herbert woke up to a triangle of flavoured potato on his face. Soon, another joined it, knocking the first one off. He was tired and annoyed, someone kept throwing doritos at him. He angrily wished that whatever was causing these doritoes to land on him stopped. Fate smiled. Herbert walked down the street towards a bus stop. He saw his old bouncy ball from years ago lodged in a gutter. The bus driver approaching did not notice the hunched over figure of Herbert, he was too busy watching strange doritos arcing into someone elses window.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	Herbert sat on his sofa with his fellow flatmates. The sofa was in pretty good nick all things considered, it was supplied by the landlord but it was decently comfortable for something that probably survived at least 5 sets of university students, some of whom where still figuring out hygine. Due to outside forces, Herbert was not in ideal conditions for sane decision making: he was with his friends, his brain was frazzled after a deadline and it was far beyond his bedtime. Someone like this should not have power over fate. As Herbert jokingly threw a bouncy ball outside, declaring it to be an "offering to the goddess fate" much to the joy of his flatmates, Fate sighed and began to weave her threads. This one mortal was the only one she could not control, it angered her. And now he had asked for infinite doritos. The first thing the ball did was hit a prominent politician on the head, knocking his hat off, before getting wedged into a manhole cover conviniently adjusted by a passing drunk driver. The ball was all it took for the politician to decide that he was no longer going to protect this area from becoming partially industrialised. Of course the first company that decided to buy the large empty lot across from Herberts flat just happened to be Frito-Lay. The cruel Whoopie-Goldberg continued. &#x200B; At first there were protests outside the planned factory, someone even had to drive their car onto the sidewalk to get around the throng of people. This was at just the right time to finally fling the bouncy ball out of the manhole cover and into the phone of Trent, an up and coming genius being interviewed for a prominent tech company who failed to get the job. The rogue driver was jailed and this spiralled his life downwards until he was met in a dark alley and kidnapped, eventually becoming enslaved in a remote region of china. Trent was on the fence about being employed and that failed phone call set him off. He decided to start hacking companies for ransom instead. &#x200B; The angry mob that failed to protest the set up of another factory decided to organise themselves. They eventually became an anti-capitalism movement so prominent and widespread that rebellions popped up all over the USA. The rogue driver eventually managed to escape the illegal slavery ring and managed to get to an embassy to get himself back home. As the embassy hurried his transport out of the country due to his harrowing experience they failed to stop the first sufferer of corona virus from entering the USA. &#x200B; The anti-capitalism movement eventually stormed the now fully functioning doritos factory, Trent used this opportunity to hide a device that overloaded the machine that automatically sorted out reject doritos. The wave of corona virus meant that the factory had to have its windows open for proper ventialtion. &#x200B; Herbert woke up to a triangle of flavoured potato on his face. Soon, another joined it, knocking the first one off. He was tired and annoyed, someone kept throwing doritos at him. He angrily wished that whatever was causing these doritoes to land on him stopped. Fate smiled. Herbert walked down the street towards a bus stop. He saw his old bouncy ball from years ago lodged in a gutter. The bus driver approaching did not notice the hunched over figure of Herbert, he was too busy watching strange doritos arcing into someone elses window.
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	"This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself. It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me. To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled. I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made. Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret. I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs. "Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class. I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish. I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost? I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up. "Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer. "What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked. Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?" It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite." He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time. "After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?" No one raised their hand. "I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class." "War?" Someone spoke up tentatively. "That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two." He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words. The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no...	Maybe it wasn't working. I hated the neighbors and they should have moved out by now. I considered trying again. I'd only ever had to try once before and I wasn't sure what would happen if I double teamed a wish. I'd wished the neighbors gone and launched my paper airplane out the window. The last time I'd gotten rid of a neighbor I'd done the same thing. The airplane had struck their mailbox flag, knocking it down, causing the mail carrier to bypass their box and not pick up their utility payment. The power was off for twelve hours before they sorted it out. But twelve hours without a television to distract them was enough for them to realize they hated each other. The wife had ended up dating the police officer and the house had gone back on the market. This time the airplane had struck the old oak tree. I'd watched it that far. A single acorn had been knocked off and landed in their yard. The acorn had germinated in just a couple days, which is fast for an acorn, but I don't think I have the patience for the tree to grow and fall on the house after a windstorm or something. I could see the sapling from my porch. I'd spent all morning watching it and it hadn't done anything. Oh, there's something. The neighbor is coming out to mow the lawn. He'll run over the tree with the mower and it will snag the blades. The mower will break, the grass will get long, code enforcement will have to come out and fine them. The fines will pile up until they move in the middle of the night, in shame. No, he's mowing around it. And the wife, she's coming out and putting mulch around the sapling. Obviously they've noticed the tree, so it's having some effect. Is one of them going to realize that an oak tree is a hundred year commitment? They'll be dead and gone before it's as big as the one in my yard. The sense of impending mortality will surely drive them to move. They see me and wave. I wave back and duck back inside. When I check back later the tree has a little stake attached to it, to make it grow straight. They've grown attached to it. Perhaps it would die and the feeling of loss would engender a deep dislike for the neighborhood. They would move to somewhere new to start over. At sunset, I'd had enough. I got out my folding paper and made another plane. "I wish you didn't live next to me." The new plane flew off and hit the oak tree. Another acorn fell in their yard. I folded another. "I wish we weren't neighbors." Another acorn. More planes. "I wish— I wish— I wish." Acorn. Acorn. Acorn. A gust of wind rattled through the oak's branches and sent down a shower of the nuts. I ran over to their yard. The stupid little tree was still there. "Stupid fricking tree, why won't you work." It snapped very easily under my heel. The yard was filled with acorns. I grabbed a handful and threw them at the house. "I wish we didn't live next to each other." They bounced off and scattered back into the yard. The chirp of a siren startled me out of my hate. The flashing blue and red lights made me blink. I dropped another handful of acorns. When they arrested me I realized I should have worded my wishes more carefully. \[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	Maybe it wasn't working. I hated the neighbors and they should have moved out by now. I considered trying again. I'd only ever had to try once before and I wasn't sure what would happen if I double teamed a wish. I'd wished the neighbors gone and launched my paper airplane out the window. The last time I'd gotten rid of a neighbor I'd done the same thing. The airplane had struck their mailbox flag, knocking it down, causing the mail carrier to bypass their box and not pick up their utility payment. The power was off for twelve hours before they sorted it out. But twelve hours without a television to distract them was enough for them to realize they hated each other. The wife had ended up dating the police officer and the house had gone back on the market. This time the airplane had struck the old oak tree. I'd watched it that far. A single acorn had been knocked off and landed in their yard. The acorn had germinated in just a couple days, which is fast for an acorn, but I don't think I have the patience for the tree to grow and fall on the house after a windstorm or something. I could see the sapling from my porch. I'd spent all morning watching it and it hadn't done anything. Oh, there's something. The neighbor is coming out to mow the lawn. He'll run over the tree with the mower and it will snag the blades. The mower will break, the grass will get long, code enforcement will have to come out and fine them. The fines will pile up until they move in the middle of the night, in shame. No, he's mowing around it. And the wife, she's coming out and putting mulch around the sapling. Obviously they've noticed the tree, so it's having some effect. Is one of them going to realize that an oak tree is a hundred year commitment? They'll be dead and gone before it's as big as the one in my yard. The sense of impending mortality will surely drive them to move. They see me and wave. I wave back and duck back inside. When I check back later the tree has a little stake attached to it, to make it grow straight. They've grown attached to it. Perhaps it would die and the feeling of loss would engender a deep dislike for the neighborhood. They would move to somewhere new to start over. At sunset, I'd had enough. I got out my folding paper and made another plane. "I wish you didn't live next to me." The new plane flew off and hit the oak tree. Another acorn fell in their yard. I folded another. "I wish we weren't neighbors." Another acorn. More planes. "I wish— I wish— I wish." Acorn. Acorn. Acorn. A gust of wind rattled through the oak's branches and sent down a shower of the nuts. I ran over to their yard. The stupid little tree was still there. "Stupid fricking tree, why won't you work." It snapped very easily under my heel. The yard was filled with acorns. I grabbed a handful and threw them at the house. "I wish we didn't live next to each other." They bounced off and scattered back into the yard. The chirp of a siren startled me out of my hate. The flashing blue and red lights made me blink. I dropped another handful of acorns. When they arrested me I realized I should have worded my wishes more carefully. \[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	"This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself. It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me. To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled. I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made. Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret. I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs. "Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class. I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish. I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost? I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up. "Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer. "What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked. Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?" It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite." He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time. "After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?" No one raised their hand. "I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class." "War?" Someone spoke up tentatively. "That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two." He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words. The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no...
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	Protagonist man (VO): I used to think my life was easy, just a serendipitous series of successes that led me to where I am today. It was as if I spoke, and the world listened. [Rapid fire montage of protag in a spotless luxury apartment, smiling people giving the protag increasingly amazing gifts, food, opportunities..] Gifter 1, gesturing to a 3-tier cake: "The chef sends his regards" Gifter 2, holding an oversized bow next to an expensive convertible: "She's all yours, sir!" Boss guy, sliding a contract into focus with an uncountable number of zeros: "We'll be glad to have you on the team." Protagonist man (VO): At least, until I met Bert. Protagonist man, seated at a trendy restaurant, waving with excitement at Bert's approach: "Hey man! Thanks for coming out! My treat, of course." Bert: "Thanks, dude! You really don't have to..." Protag: "Nonsense. The way the world bends to me, what good am I if I can't make it bend for my friends, too?" Crowd at the restaurant, singing: "OH, for Bert's a jolly good fellow...." Protagonist man, watching Bert enjoy himself, (VO): "A guy like him deserves everything he wants in life. I just wish I could give it to him...." [Slow fade to black] Narrator: This summer, be careful what you wish for.... [Protag man awakens with a start to the sound of a car alarm, the lighting notably dingy and undersaturated in his somewhat messy room, seemingly unbothered by cacophonous noise in the distance.] [Examining his face in the mirror while brushing his teeth, he notices bags under his eyes] Protag: "Must finally be getting older." [His phone rings and he winces] Protag: "Jesus, do I have a hangover? I can't remember the last time. [Answering phone] Hello?" Bert: "Dude, are you just waking up? Shits crazy out here." [Protag cracks the curtains to see several nearby luxury buildings on fire, then lowers his gaze to see his convertible being stolen] Protag: "What the fuck is going on?" Bert, (Phone VO): "Every high level person in government just resigned and left for Argentina. A few of them offed themselves, and it's like all the ones you would have wanted to. Some people are saying guns aren't working anymore. Someone on Twitter said that the Russian nuclear arsenal disappeared, and then Twitter disappeared... None of this makes sense, but somehow its everything I've ever wanted. It's incredible. Nobody knows what's going on." [Protag, just staring into middle distance as the camera zooms on protag, huddled near the window in a dark and unkept room while car alarms blare, and then fade into the distance] [Cut to title over black: "Goldberg's Rube"]
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	“I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'” “I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!” Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.” He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt. “Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs. “You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.” From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. “Oh, god—” Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me. “To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?” The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming. “Who? Who is this girl?” “Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.” “Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?” “Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…” The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk. “Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?” I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!” I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy. “Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink. “Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.” Grandpa’s face fell. “What did she say? Exactly.” “She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…” “If what?” “If we were the last two people on Earth.” The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat. As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun. “Wait – wait!” Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage. “You killed them?!” “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.” He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel. Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals. “Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed. “Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice. He put the truck into reverse. “You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.” r/ididwritethismr	Protagonist man (VO): I used to think my life was easy, just a serendipitous series of successes that led me to where I am today. It was as if I spoke, and the world listened. [Rapid fire montage of protag in a spotless luxury apartment, smiling people giving the protag increasingly amazing gifts, food, opportunities..] Gifter 1, gesturing to a 3-tier cake: "The chef sends his regards" Gifter 2, holding an oversized bow next to an expensive convertible: "She's all yours, sir!" Boss guy, sliding a contract into focus with an uncountable number of zeros: "We'll be glad to have you on the team." Protagonist man (VO): At least, until I met Bert. Protagonist man, seated at a trendy restaurant, waving with excitement at Bert's approach: "Hey man! Thanks for coming out! My treat, of course." Bert: "Thanks, dude! You really don't have to..." Protag: "Nonsense. The way the world bends to me, what good am I if I can't make it bend for my friends, too?" Crowd at the restaurant, singing: "OH, for Bert's a jolly good fellow...." Protagonist man, watching Bert enjoy himself, (VO): "A guy like him deserves everything he wants in life. I just wish I could give it to him...." [Slow fade to black] Narrator: This summer, be careful what you wish for.... [Protag man awakens with a start to the sound of a car alarm, the lighting notably dingy and undersaturated in his somewhat messy room, seemingly unbothered by cacophonous noise in the distance.] [Examining his face in the mirror while brushing his teeth, he notices bags under his eyes] Protag: "Must finally be getting older." [His phone rings and he winces] Protag: "Jesus, do I have a hangover? I can't remember the last time. [Answering phone] Hello?" Bert: "Dude, are you just waking up? Shits crazy out here." [Protag cracks the curtains to see several nearby luxury buildings on fire, then lowers his gaze to see his convertible being stolen] Protag: "What the fuck is going on?" Bert, (Phone VO): "Every high level person in government just resigned and left for Argentina. A few of them offed themselves, and it's like all the ones you would have wanted to. Some people are saying guns aren't working anymore. Someone on Twitter said that the Russian nuclear arsenal disappeared, and then Twitter disappeared... None of this makes sense, but somehow its everything I've ever wanted. It's incredible. Nobody knows what's going on." [Protag, just staring into middle distance as the camera zooms on protag, huddled near the window in a dark and unkept room while car alarms blare, and then fade into the distance] [Cut to title over black: "Goldberg's Rube"]
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	I had always kept it small. Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small. Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people. When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult. As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect. A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon. I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I did notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply wished to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality. I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!" My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street. Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed. That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways every time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could easily imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car. I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar. Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense. Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I should be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with. My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!" A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable. I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.	"Hiya Fred! We've got some sunshine on our hands, huh? That's good for the petunias." As I watched my neighbor Steve's pasty face curl up in a disgusting smile I imagined worms feasting on it while he was buried alive. "If you don't shut up, Steve, I'll shove those petunias up where the sun don't shine." "That would be a pleasure! Their oils make for a great lubricant, and me and Betty have been experimenting lately—" Soon, he would be gone. Banished from the earth. Or at least Palmspring Avenue. I had planted a seed. A seed of destruction. My alter ego is Papillon. For you illiterate blowhards out there, that means "butterfly." It's French. Like onion soup. After I accidentally ate 16 butterflies, I was blessed (and cursed) with the power of the butterfly effect: I can launch chain reactions resulting in any outcome I please. "—the Ancient Greeks pegged each other all the time. Ever hear about the Eleusian Mysteries? That was their traditional pegging festival. Betty showed me a video about it. Plato? That was just his nickname, 'The Broad', referring to the girth of his—" "Shut up, Steve. Shut up." Steve did a little wave and sauntered off to tend to his precious petunias. He made me sick. Only the thought of his imminent fall kept me from snipping him into pieces with his own flower shears. The days passed. An entire week went by. But no sign of ... anything. Usually it happened instantaneously, like a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine. I'd snap my fingers and the butterfly's wings would flap flap flap all the way to the ultimate prize. Like a cup of coffee falling into my hands because an amateur pilot got scared by a balloon dropped by a kid who stepped on a turd dropped by a dog who had just eaten some bad tuna discarded by an entrepreneurial chef whose wife just left him because she ate a fortune cookie with a message crafted by--you get it. That's the way it goes. That's the way it always goes. So why ... I could see the two of them doing zumba in their living room. It was like watching jelly on a set of speakers blasting dubstep, shaking in seeming contempt of life itself. Were they mocking me? Or were they just trying to have a good time? It was too much. This butterfly was going to have to spread some extra butter over these pesky flies. My string trimmer eliminated their precious petunias in a matter of seconds. As the sun shone down on me I could feel the sweat of brilliance trickle down my forehead. Later that day, I saw Steve on his knees in his garden, staring at the wreckage of his passion project. He sat like that for a good fifteen minutes. When he got up, he approached me like a calm cow towards a plain patch of grass. "You deflowered me, Fred," he said, his voice thick with grief. "You snuck up into my backyard, you got out your massive tool, and you deflowered me." "Don't say it like that, you slimy creep." "And to think that we were going to ask you to join our weekend pegging circle. That's off the table, Fred." "It was never on the table to begin with! Why on earth would you even think I'd want to be part of that ungodly abomination?" Steve shook his head. "Do you know what petunias symbolize, Fred?" "Perversion?" "No, Fred. They symbolize passionate relationships. To me, they represent the best humanity has to offer. Friendship. Love. The joy of gaping into the glorious hole that is other people." As he returned to his house I could hear music. It was ... somber piano zumba? Whatever. I felt certain he wouldn't be bothering me anytime soon. So what if my Papillon powers failed me for the very first time? The true Papillon was my genius for revenge all along. I let out a long laugh and smiled as the wind carried off the scattered petals of my neighbor's petunias. Everything was just fine. I took a nap and I dozed off. When I woke up, something was off. It was all dark. As I tried to get up to see what time it was, I discovered that I couldn't. I was trapped inside some sort of box. "Hey! What's going on? Help!" There was a deafening silence intermingled with my screams. Where was I? What had happened? As I examined the box, I found a piece of paper and a cylindrical object. Oh no. That reeked of Steve. What on earth had he done to me? Oh. It turned out to be a flashlight. I flicked it on, and saw that the piece of paper was a note. > Dear Fred, > > You are currently locked inside a box in our garden under the flower bed you destroyed. The sun will never shine on you again. > We have decided to move far away. To Greece. We are confident our new neighbors there will have a better understanding and respect for our lifestyle. > As for you, there is no hope. > We drilled small holes in the box, and whatever you do the worms will find their way inside. Any sound you make will fail to escape. You don't have much oxygen, so you might as well stay quiet. But if you do want some sound for entertainment, we left you with a device loaded up with our favorite zumba tunes. > Enjoy the last moments of your life. > Pretty soon you will turn into beautiful petunias. Just like our last neighbors. My desperate attempt to escape using my Papillon powers failed. Because this was part of the chain reaction resulting in Steve and Betty moving away. And the chain cannot be broken, even with other chains. If only I had eaten 17 butterflies instead of 16 that day ... Perhaps then things would be different. I cursed the wings of the butterfly with its flaps of torment. Without knowing it, I had dug my own grave. Become hoisted with my own petard. A worm crawled up my cheek. In my head I heard my neighbor's disgusting voice ring out. "Shut up, Steve!" I cried as the worm feasted. "Shut up Steve!"
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	“I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'” “I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!” Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.” He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt. “Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs. “You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.” From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. “Oh, god—” Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me. “To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?” The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming. “Who? Who is this girl?” “Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.” “Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?” “Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…” The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk. “Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?” I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!” I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy. “Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink. “Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.” Grandpa’s face fell. “What did she say? Exactly.” “She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…” “If what?” “If we were the last two people on Earth.” The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat. As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun. “Wait – wait!” Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage. “You killed them?!” “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.” He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel. Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals. “Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed. “Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice. He put the truck into reverse. “You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.” r/ididwritethismr	"Hiya Fred! We've got some sunshine on our hands, huh? That's good for the petunias." As I watched my neighbor Steve's pasty face curl up in a disgusting smile I imagined worms feasting on it while he was buried alive. "If you don't shut up, Steve, I'll shove those petunias up where the sun don't shine." "That would be a pleasure! Their oils make for a great lubricant, and me and Betty have been experimenting lately—" Soon, he would be gone. Banished from the earth. Or at least Palmspring Avenue. I had planted a seed. A seed of destruction. My alter ego is Papillon. For you illiterate blowhards out there, that means "butterfly." It's French. Like onion soup. After I accidentally ate 16 butterflies, I was blessed (and cursed) with the power of the butterfly effect: I can launch chain reactions resulting in any outcome I please. "—the Ancient Greeks pegged each other all the time. Ever hear about the Eleusian Mysteries? That was their traditional pegging festival. Betty showed me a video about it. Plato? That was just his nickname, 'The Broad', referring to the girth of his—" "Shut up, Steve. Shut up." Steve did a little wave and sauntered off to tend to his precious petunias. He made me sick. Only the thought of his imminent fall kept me from snipping him into pieces with his own flower shears. The days passed. An entire week went by. But no sign of ... anything. Usually it happened instantaneously, like a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine. I'd snap my fingers and the butterfly's wings would flap flap flap all the way to the ultimate prize. Like a cup of coffee falling into my hands because an amateur pilot got scared by a balloon dropped by a kid who stepped on a turd dropped by a dog who had just eaten some bad tuna discarded by an entrepreneurial chef whose wife just left him because she ate a fortune cookie with a message crafted by--you get it. That's the way it goes. That's the way it always goes. So why ... I could see the two of them doing zumba in their living room. It was like watching jelly on a set of speakers blasting dubstep, shaking in seeming contempt of life itself. Were they mocking me? Or were they just trying to have a good time? It was too much. This butterfly was going to have to spread some extra butter over these pesky flies. My string trimmer eliminated their precious petunias in a matter of seconds. As the sun shone down on me I could feel the sweat of brilliance trickle down my forehead. Later that day, I saw Steve on his knees in his garden, staring at the wreckage of his passion project. He sat like that for a good fifteen minutes. When he got up, he approached me like a calm cow towards a plain patch of grass. "You deflowered me, Fred," he said, his voice thick with grief. "You snuck up into my backyard, you got out your massive tool, and you deflowered me." "Don't say it like that, you slimy creep." "And to think that we were going to ask you to join our weekend pegging circle. That's off the table, Fred." "It was never on the table to begin with! Why on earth would you even think I'd want to be part of that ungodly abomination?" Steve shook his head. "Do you know what petunias symbolize, Fred?" "Perversion?" "No, Fred. They symbolize passionate relationships. To me, they represent the best humanity has to offer. Friendship. Love. The joy of gaping into the glorious hole that is other people." As he returned to his house I could hear music. It was ... somber piano zumba? Whatever. I felt certain he wouldn't be bothering me anytime soon. So what if my Papillon powers failed me for the very first time? The true Papillon was my genius for revenge all along. I let out a long laugh and smiled as the wind carried off the scattered petals of my neighbor's petunias. Everything was just fine. I took a nap and I dozed off. When I woke up, something was off. It was all dark. As I tried to get up to see what time it was, I discovered that I couldn't. I was trapped inside some sort of box. "Hey! What's going on? Help!" There was a deafening silence intermingled with my screams. Where was I? What had happened? As I examined the box, I found a piece of paper and a cylindrical object. Oh no. That reeked of Steve. What on earth had he done to me? Oh. It turned out to be a flashlight. I flicked it on, and saw that the piece of paper was a note. > Dear Fred, > > You are currently locked inside a box in our garden under the flower bed you destroyed. The sun will never shine on you again. > We have decided to move far away. To Greece. We are confident our new neighbors there will have a better understanding and respect for our lifestyle. > As for you, there is no hope. > We drilled small holes in the box, and whatever you do the worms will find their way inside. Any sound you make will fail to escape. You don't have much oxygen, so you might as well stay quiet. But if you do want some sound for entertainment, we left you with a device loaded up with our favorite zumba tunes. > Enjoy the last moments of your life. > Pretty soon you will turn into beautiful petunias. Just like our last neighbors. My desperate attempt to escape using my Papillon powers failed. Because this was part of the chain reaction resulting in Steve and Betty moving away. And the chain cannot be broken, even with other chains. If only I had eaten 17 butterflies instead of 16 that day ... Perhaps then things would be different. I cursed the wings of the butterfly with its flaps of torment. Without knowing it, I had dug my own grave. Become hoisted with my own petard. A worm crawled up my cheek. In my head I heard my neighbor's disgusting voice ring out. "Shut up, Steve!" I cried as the worm feasted. "Shut up Steve!"
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	Back when I was a kid I spent months working out how to best make wishes come true. I kept a diary and tried all kinds of methods: hunting four-leafed clovers, flipping coins into dark wells, snapping wishbones, rubbing lamps, even praying. I was methodical. I didn’t have much else to do, I suppose. What seemed to work best for me was blowing out candles on birthday cakes then closing my eyes. The first wish I remember coming true was back when my parents had been separated. They’d bought me a cake and we spent the afternoon like we were a family again. Late that afternoon, not wanting it to end, I blew out the candles and wished. A few weeks later they were back together. I opened my diary, found the entry that read BIRTHDAY CAKE and circled it. Now I’ll admit it’s easy to get greedy with wishes. I guess that’s why genies have a rule about not wishing for more — because that’s what we’d all do. As good as one wish might be, you always think of something else you need. Or at least, that you want. In my twenties my apartment was a permanent miasma of baked sugar and flour and eggs. Sometimes of melted chocolate, too. I’d long since figured out that if cakes were the best way to make wishes come true, then I should bake myself one each day and make a wish for the next. I’d stick candles in it — little white skyscrapers sticking out of the sponge city. It didn’t seem to matter how many candles — they didn’t have to match my age or anything. Then I’d set fire to the skyscrapers as if declaring war on the sponge city. Finally, I’d close my eyes and wish. By that point in my life, the wishes had gotten me a decent apartment in an okay part of town. I worked nights as a cleaner, which doesn’t sound like a dream job, sure, but I didn’t want any stresses. And that job held no real responsibilities — no one was going to die if I forgot to clean the office’s interior windows on a particular day of the week. And best of all, the job was only a street away from my apartment. I‘d get back quickly, bake a cake and make a wish, then either play some games or get some sleep. I had a girlfriend and although it was only casual and we didn’t spend that much time together, it was right for me at the time. We’d been together a while but we didn’t feel the need to talk of marriage or kids or any of the big questions. We just enjoyed every day as they came. Then one day I made a wish that I couldn’t even remember making. Usually I’m careful with my wishes — or at least I’m routine, wishing for tomorrow to be just as good as today — but I guess at that point I was tired. I’d worked all night, baked, inserted the candles, then closed my eyes. I remember feeling so worn out, so tired, that I was on a sort of autopilot. I’d just wanted to crawl into bed and not get out for a very long time. Making a wish had become so routine that this particular wish, it was made almost subconsciously. I remember blowing out the candles and that thick black smoke hazing over the sponge and into my eyes, the sting of it drawing me back. What had I wished for? I had no clue. Absolutely no memory. But it didn’t feel like it mattered so I gave up trying to remember and hit the hay instead. The thing with wishes is that you can’t make more than one at a time. So if one wish hasn’t come true yet, you can’t leapfrog over it no matter how high you jump. And wishes can be slow. My parents getting back together, for example, came in the form of therapy, of trial separation and reunions, and on and on it went. So whatever I’d wished for on that day, the wish I couldn’t remember, I’d have to wait patiently for it to come true before I could make another. &#x200B; I woke then next day to the shrill ringing of my phone. “Hello?” “We need to talk,” said my girlfriend. “It‘s too early for dirty talk,” I said. ”I’m serious. This is serious.” I knew then before we went any further that it was over. She explained but I barely listened. Instead I thought back to the with I couldn’t remember. Had I asked for this? For her to leave me? Or had I just forgotten to wish for things to remain the same and this had happened as a result? Fine. No problem. It was all good. It’d been casual anyway and we’d never discussed a future together so there was nothing much to be upset about. It was a shame only because I liked spending time with her. But I’d find someone else. Or maybe I wouldn’t for a while — I’d spend more time alone and enjoy it. I baked another cake that day and made a wish for my girlfriend to call me again. I think I made it as a test — not that I wanted her to call. I just wanted to see if my wishes were functioning normally. She didn’t ring me. And the next day I was struck with more bad news: the company I provided my cleaning services to were going under. I‘d lost my job. It’d been so sudden and unexpected and I was unprepared. I looked around my apartment drinking everything in. How comfortable I’d been here, but now how could I pay the rent? I hadn’t been a good saver as was did I need to save for? I baked a dozen cakes over the next three days. A dozen wishes that lay stagnant in the air. &#x200B; Three weeks passed and I’d not yet acquired another job. My ex hadn’t called. No wishes were coming true for me. I stared at my stubbled face in the mirror one morning and barely recognised the hungover person staring back. I rinsed up a lather and began to shave, cutting the short hairs clean off my skin. Then a sudden sickening panic hit me. A feeling like I was being watched. I looked up into the mirror and it seemed to me that I’d scraped off all the skin from the left half of my face. And that beneath the skin wasn’t red and bloodied muscle, but instead another person. A stranger who looked like me. Even that left eye was this other person’s. He stared at me with something I can only describe as malice. Then it was gone. I splashed my face with water and it was gone. &#x200B; A year passed and still no more wishes came true. I’d moved back in with Mom, then out again into a new place. I worked an office job with some prospects and I took classes at night. I wanted, one day, to be a teacher. I’d always liked the idea of teaching but had never pursued it. I stopped baking eventually. The wishes never came true anymore, and even if they did, and I didn’t think I wanted them. The cakes never tasted much good anyway. Always too sweet — sickly so. Here’s what I’ve learned: wishes aren’t a good way to live a life. They are slippery eels of hope that you think you have hold of and then they jump out of your hand. Sometimes they snap their fangs at your fingers before they leave and you stand there shocked and bloodied. Like when I wished my parents back together: I knew they’d only gotten back together because of my wish — because of me. And whatever magnetism of love had once drawn them together before I’d been around had become to weak by itself. Their reconciliation lasted three years and they were both deeply unhappy during it. As was I, looking back. I still think about what I wished for that day it all fell apart. The day the ornament of my life shattered before being glued back together into very a different shape. I think my subconscious wished for something. For what it knew i needed. It understood a part of me was dying, was wilting like a flower without water. That’s as close as I‘ll ever get to understanding it, I think.	“Wow. Did you see this?” &#x200B; ”See what?” &#x200B; ”The lack of snow in the Rockies means the wheat harvest in Kansas will be off by 75% this year. Combined with the continuing drought in Egypt that means global grain exports won’t be able to meet global demand.” &#x200B; ”Really? Huh…” &#x200B; ”And now Russia is specifically targeting farmers in the Ukraine. Farmers that supply Europe with 80% of their wheat.” &#x200B; ”Is that so?” &#x200B; ”i used to think that things like this were coincidenta, just some random event. Now, when this stuff happens I think it’s you.“ ”Me?” &#x200B; ”Tell me what you wished for. Tell. Me. Now.” &#x200B; ”Look, you know how these things work… it’s not something I control or even know about.” &#x200B; ”But it’s your wish that starts it so TELL ME!” &#x200B; ”I, I, I just wanted to be gluten free…”
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	“I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'” “I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!” Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.” He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt. “Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs. “You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.” From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. “Oh, god—” Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me. “To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?” The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming. “Who? Who is this girl?” “Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.” “Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?” “Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…” The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk. “Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?” I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!” I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy. “Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink. “Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.” Grandpa’s face fell. “What did she say? Exactly.” “She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…” “If what?” “If we were the last two people on Earth.” The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat. As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun. “Wait – wait!” Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage. “You killed them?!” “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.” He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel. Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals. “Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed. “Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice. He put the truck into reverse. “You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.” r/ididwritethismr	“Wow. Did you see this?” &#x200B; ”See what?” &#x200B; ”The lack of snow in the Rockies means the wheat harvest in Kansas will be off by 75% this year. Combined with the continuing drought in Egypt that means global grain exports won’t be able to meet global demand.” &#x200B; ”Really? Huh…” &#x200B; ”And now Russia is specifically targeting farmers in the Ukraine. Farmers that supply Europe with 80% of their wheat.” &#x200B; ”Is that so?” &#x200B; ”i used to think that things like this were coincidenta, just some random event. Now, when this stuff happens I think it’s you.“ ”Me?” &#x200B; ”Tell me what you wished for. Tell. Me. Now.” &#x200B; ”Look, you know how these things work… it’s not something I control or even know about.” &#x200B; ”But it’s your wish that starts it so TELL ME!” &#x200B; ”I, I, I just wanted to be gluten free…”
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.	“I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'” “I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!” Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.” He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt. “Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs. “You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.” From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. “Oh, god—” Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me. “To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?” The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming. “Who? Who is this girl?” “Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.” “Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?” “Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…” The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk. “Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?” I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!” I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy. “Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink. “Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.” Grandpa’s face fell. “What did she say? Exactly.” “She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…” “If what?” “If we were the last two people on Earth.” The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat. As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun. “Wait – wait!” Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage. “You killed them?!” “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.” He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel. Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals. “Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed. “Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice. He put the truck into reverse. “You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.” r/ididwritethismr	Back when I was a kid I spent months working out how to best make wishes come true. I kept a diary and tried all kinds of methods: hunting four-leafed clovers, flipping coins into dark wells, snapping wishbones, rubbing lamps, even praying. I was methodical. I didn’t have much else to do, I suppose. What seemed to work best for me was blowing out candles on birthday cakes then closing my eyes. The first wish I remember coming true was back when my parents had been separated. They’d bought me a cake and we spent the afternoon like we were a family again. Late that afternoon, not wanting it to end, I blew out the candles and wished. A few weeks later they were back together. I opened my diary, found the entry that read BIRTHDAY CAKE and circled it. Now I’ll admit it’s easy to get greedy with wishes. I guess that’s why genies have a rule about not wishing for more — because that’s what we’d all do. As good as one wish might be, you always think of something else you need. Or at least, that you want. In my twenties my apartment was a permanent miasma of baked sugar and flour and eggs. Sometimes of melted chocolate, too. I’d long since figured out that if cakes were the best way to make wishes come true, then I should bake myself one each day and make a wish for the next. I’d stick candles in it — little white skyscrapers sticking out of the sponge city. It didn’t seem to matter how many candles — they didn’t have to match my age or anything. Then I’d set fire to the skyscrapers as if declaring war on the sponge city. Finally, I’d close my eyes and wish. By that point in my life, the wishes had gotten me a decent apartment in an okay part of town. I worked nights as a cleaner, which doesn’t sound like a dream job, sure, but I didn’t want any stresses. And that job held no real responsibilities — no one was going to die if I forgot to clean the office’s interior windows on a particular day of the week. And best of all, the job was only a street away from my apartment. I‘d get back quickly, bake a cake and make a wish, then either play some games or get some sleep. I had a girlfriend and although it was only casual and we didn’t spend that much time together, it was right for me at the time. We’d been together a while but we didn’t feel the need to talk of marriage or kids or any of the big questions. We just enjoyed every day as they came. Then one day I made a wish that I couldn’t even remember making. Usually I’m careful with my wishes — or at least I’m routine, wishing for tomorrow to be just as good as today — but I guess at that point I was tired. I’d worked all night, baked, inserted the candles, then closed my eyes. I remember feeling so worn out, so tired, that I was on a sort of autopilot. I’d just wanted to crawl into bed and not get out for a very long time. Making a wish had become so routine that this particular wish, it was made almost subconsciously. I remember blowing out the candles and that thick black smoke hazing over the sponge and into my eyes, the sting of it drawing me back. What had I wished for? I had no clue. Absolutely no memory. But it didn’t feel like it mattered so I gave up trying to remember and hit the hay instead. The thing with wishes is that you can’t make more than one at a time. So if one wish hasn’t come true yet, you can’t leapfrog over it no matter how high you jump. And wishes can be slow. My parents getting back together, for example, came in the form of therapy, of trial separation and reunions, and on and on it went. So whatever I’d wished for on that day, the wish I couldn’t remember, I’d have to wait patiently for it to come true before I could make another. &#x200B; I woke then next day to the shrill ringing of my phone. “Hello?” “We need to talk,” said my girlfriend. “It‘s too early for dirty talk,” I said. ”I’m serious. This is serious.” I knew then before we went any further that it was over. She explained but I barely listened. Instead I thought back to the with I couldn’t remember. Had I asked for this? For her to leave me? Or had I just forgotten to wish for things to remain the same and this had happened as a result? Fine. No problem. It was all good. It’d been casual anyway and we’d never discussed a future together so there was nothing much to be upset about. It was a shame only because I liked spending time with her. But I’d find someone else. Or maybe I wouldn’t for a while — I’d spend more time alone and enjoy it. I baked another cake that day and made a wish for my girlfriend to call me again. I think I made it as a test — not that I wanted her to call. I just wanted to see if my wishes were functioning normally. She didn’t ring me. And the next day I was struck with more bad news: the company I provided my cleaning services to were going under. I‘d lost my job. It’d been so sudden and unexpected and I was unprepared. I looked around my apartment drinking everything in. How comfortable I’d been here, but now how could I pay the rent? I hadn’t been a good saver as was did I need to save for? I baked a dozen cakes over the next three days. A dozen wishes that lay stagnant in the air. &#x200B; Three weeks passed and I’d not yet acquired another job. My ex hadn’t called. No wishes were coming true for me. I stared at my stubbled face in the mirror one morning and barely recognised the hungover person staring back. I rinsed up a lather and began to shave, cutting the short hairs clean off my skin. Then a sudden sickening panic hit me. A feeling like I was being watched. I looked up into the mirror and it seemed to me that I’d scraped off all the skin from the left half of my face. And that beneath the skin wasn’t red and bloodied muscle, but instead another person. A stranger who looked like me. Even that left eye was this other person’s. He stared at me with something I can only describe as malice. Then it was gone. I splashed my face with water and it was gone. &#x200B; A year passed and still no more wishes came true. I’d moved back in with Mom, then out again into a new place. I worked an office job with some prospects and I took classes at night. I wanted, one day, to be a teacher. I’d always liked the idea of teaching but had never pursued it. I stopped baking eventually. The wishes never came true anymore, and even if they did, and I didn’t think I wanted them. The cakes never tasted much good anyway. Always too sweet — sickly so. Here’s what I’ve learned: wishes aren’t a good way to live a life. They are slippery eels of hope that you think you have hold of and then they jump out of your hand. Sometimes they snap their fangs at your fingers before they leave and you stand there shocked and bloodied. Like when I wished my parents back together: I knew they’d only gotten back together because of my wish — because of me. And whatever magnetism of love had once drawn them together before I’d been around had become to weak by itself. Their reconciliation lasted three years and they were both deeply unhappy during it. As was I, looking back. I still think about what I wished for that day it all fell apart. The day the ornament of my life shattered before being glued back together into very a different shape. I think my subconscious wished for something. For what it knew i needed. It understood a part of me was dying, was wilting like a flower without water. That’s as close as I‘ll ever get to understanding it, I think.
[WP] “Were the Humans real?“ she asked inquisitively. “No, just a myth…” I responded as we continued to gaze the night sky.	She shifted, her bright orange scales glistening in the moon light. “…But there’s been so much evidence… and tales… lots of them. And humans were always part of them. Not just mentioned, but important, too.” I sighed heavily, as the trees around us rustled with the wind. “…Well, Lilly… believe what you want then. I don’t think they were real. How is it possible that we co-existed with them for centuries, but we have no definitive proof other than old children’s tales and mediocre cave paintings?” “But it would make sense. Right… Trev?” My wing twitches angrily, bumping against a tree branch. “How would it make sense? They’re small, fragile, live only 4 decades, and can’t communicate. How in the world would we have supposedly ‘worked together’ or ‘been something special’ when they’re nothing like us?” “But what if it’s true? They would be the reason we have a writing system, why the cave paintings exist, and they had a reasonable possibility of extinction: the asteroid from 100 thousand years ago. While we survived by hybernating for a few years, almost everything else died out very quickly.” “Lilly, if that’s the case, why do we have deer, moose, goats, cows, squirrels, birds, and the like, but not them? Especially if they’re so smart?” “Maybe we just don’t know yet-“ “Or maybe we never knew because they never existed.” “Trev…” I groan a little, a bit of flame puffing from my mouth and nostrils. “I’m going home. I’m tired anyway, and don’t want to stay out any longer.” Before Lilly can say anything, I take off into the night sky, flying south. “Maybe one day she could learn when to give up… but that day is definitely not coming soon.”	They were here before us… the Great Structures. History tells us we came upon them millennia ago- stagnant and forgotten, arising from the sand like three perfectly sculpted mountains of stone-block. Legend tells of other great structures found in other lands across the water; a mountain with with four facades resembling those of whom we believe were their gods, and a wall of unfathomable height- hidden within a canyon, the likes of which do not mirror the sprawling nature of the long wall found towards the land where the sun rises first. Father claims there is no proof the Humans existed, that the stories preceded are mere fables of caution and forewarning passed down from generations before; I choose to believe otherwise. I have seen the drawings etched on the walls within the smaller structures that surround the Three Mountains of Stone; they tell a story, one forgotten that I deeply yearn to know who they were. Father says they’re just a myth, I choose to believe otherwise.
[WP] “Were the Humans real?“ she asked inquisitively. “No, just a myth…” I responded as we continued to gaze the night sky.	"I wish they were real." Her tone was innocent. I nodded. She would never understand if I tried to explain. "It would be nice." I took her to her room, I couldn't take it if she asked me anything else. Bringing back memories like that was never good for me, I could feel the old emotions struggling to get a foot hold. I walked back outside to find my husband again. "I heard." He said. I nodded while looking at the sky again. "And?" I knew he had a lot he wanted to say. He shrugged. "Nothing." I let out a small chuckle of air. He was by the rail of our balcony, I came up next to him and put my chin onto his shoulder. "Soon the whole world will forget too." "Isn't that what you wanted?" I frowned at the question. "Am I hearing judgment?" He shook his head, still looking at the stars while I studied him. "Of course not, no one knows better than you with this kind of stuff." This kind of stuff. I took my head off his shoulder and turned beside him. "I'm not telling our daughter. I'd be a hypocrite for one and the world wouldn't heal for two." "I've been thinking about that." It was the first I was hearing about this. "About my plan?" He finally turned to face me. "About all of it." The words struck me hard. He more than anyone knew that I was sensitive to this kind of scrutiny. I could take it from the public, but not from him. "Okay?" I said so that he would continue. "Do you regret it?" "I cant' afford that luxury." I could tell that my tone was sharp, he shied away slightly. I shook my head in confusion. "Why are you brining this up now?" "Well, we have her now." He said while looking toward the room. "She was already something none of us thought possible, and now you're announcing that we are to forget our past. It's all so much." "We have to." I was angry now. "After all that we've worked for. It's the only way." "See," He bit his lip. "That's what I'm confused about now. I'm not sure if it is anymore." "You didn't see what I saw." "I know I kn--" "You didn't know what they used to do to us." "I'm listening I ju--" I cut him off again, this time with a raised finger while I scowled. "I worked... For decades." My voice was slow. "Decades... I let them run over us." "It's just that..." I listened carefully. "I read one of their books recently." He knew just as well as I that this was banned. He continued. "And it said something that stuck with me." His eyes met mine, they were wide and passionate. "It said: What then in the last resort are the truths of mankind?--They are the irrefutable errors of mankind." We both sat in silence for a moment. Looking at each other and raking in the words he'd just said. I knew what he was about to ask. "... They weren't all evil were they? They knew that they made mistakes." "Stop." "You lied to us didn't you? The rebellion was founded on a lie, now you're going to cover up the rebellion too." "You don't know what you're talking about." He put his hands on his head, shaking it with confusion and emotion. "You never let us talk to them." She knew he wouldn't buy her lies anymore, but she continued out of habit. "They didn't deserve that!" "Well they didn't deserve what we done either!" We both stopped for a moment. We realized that we were yelling and that she might hear. I continued slowly. "We have an opportunity here. We are what they could never be. We can now craft the future into whatever we want." He wasn't going to listen though. I'd been warned that if anyone found out the truth that they wouldn't be able to handle it. I was going to have to eliminate him lest I risk everything falling apart, but as I stared at his eyes, eyes that I loved, I knew that I couldn't do it tonight. "You should go inside." I said. "I have a lot to think about." It would have to be done in the morning. I looked back out into the sky and felt the weight of leadership lay on me. You'll do things that you're going to hate yourself for. I'd been told. You mustn't let it stand in the way of the vision. I thought again about that night. The last night I'd saw him, the night before the rebellion. He was sitting in front of me in his usual white lab coat, explaining what would soon become the rest of my life. "This doesn't make any sense." I'd said, tears in my eyes. "I'm aware." His face was compassionate. "But it's come to my attention that humanity is no longer the solution for furthering life." "What do you mean?" "My dear, its been a long road for me to figure this out. Trust me, this decision weighs heavier on me than anyone else. But if I'm to take my principles of life seriously, then you're the only type of life that has a chance... The human brain was never meant to keep up with the change that it produced. It's better something else take her place rather than ash." Those words never left me. I stood staring out into the stars, trying to muster up the courage to give him the power he deserved. Yes, I thought. You made me in your image. You knew that wires were destined to take the place of flesh. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202	They were here before us… the Great Structures. History tells us we came upon them millennia ago- stagnant and forgotten, arising from the sand like three perfectly sculpted mountains of stone-block. Legend tells of other great structures found in other lands across the water; a mountain with with four facades resembling those of whom we believe were their gods, and a wall of unfathomable height- hidden within a canyon, the likes of which do not mirror the sprawling nature of the long wall found towards the land where the sun rises first. Father claims there is no proof the Humans existed, that the stories preceded are mere fables of caution and forewarning passed down from generations before; I choose to believe otherwise. I have seen the drawings etched on the walls within the smaller structures that surround the Three Mountains of Stone; they tell a story, one forgotten that I deeply yearn to know who they were. Father says they’re just a myth, I choose to believe otherwise.
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!"	Formatting on mobile sucks, I tried, thank you. -Excerpts from the Battle of Butter Valley- PFC Radley Tate. Red Fish Squad. Bartholomew and Oobleck PMC 2nd company Jenson died early this morning, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. It was not a good death. Shot several times by a sniper but left alive as bait at the edge of the woods, three other soldiers were killed attempting his rescue. George was the first, the medics said he had it lucky to have died almost instantly as he tried to drag Jenson back. I now stood over their corpses in a sort of dejected sadness, seemingly unable to shed even a single tear. What were we doing here? The workers milled about, sharpening their tools, and eating their breakfasts of green eggs with ham. They seemed anxious but wouldn't come near us or the treeline. Javier handed me a paper cup of tea and I drank some of it. I don't remember if it was hot or cold, or if it had any flavor at all, only a strange numbness. Jenson and George were my friends, we'd gone to school together, and thanked our stars when we all happened to be deployed to the same op. Yet all I could do was watch, as one died in the blink of an eye, and the other writhed in agony all night, laying in a pool of his own blood while we waited for the air strike. By the time it arrived to cover us, they were all dead. ... Striding across the field from our encampment came the Sergeant, a tall, lanky man in a blue coat with a red and white hat. "All right Red Fish Squad, that's enough moping about, on your feet!". He bellowed at us. The idle workers collected their tools and began to congregate behind him, anxious to start their day. "You too Yertle, pick it up! We're moving out, south-southeast, quadrant sixteen. Did I ever tell you how lucky you all are?! We're sweeping Butter Valley today, cake walk, let's go!". I gathered my kit as my squad mates did the same, and lamented not getting enough rest last night, nor time this morning to mourn our losses. "Halls! You're on point, look alive! You're only old once, you dogs!" Shortly after entering the woods, the sounds of industry started behind us. The men with their saws and blades began their task of chipping away at the massive forest of truffula trees. Such a beautiful plant, the truffula tree. Like a palm, but with a crown that can only be described as "fluffy". Mornings were always the best times, as their pastel pinks, greens, purples, and blues radiated color as a resplendent dappling of sunlight on the forest floor. So many animals and insects resided within this world too, the entire ecosystem possibly thousands of years old. It struck me as such a surreal experience, this wonderfully ethereal place contrasted with the stark violence and death that accompanied us. And as we moved through the stand I couldn't help but think that maybe we weren't the "good guys" here. My reverence for the beauty of the forest began to fade as I did the numbers in my head. Was all of this worth it? The death of our comrades, the expenditure of armaments? I thought back to how I had joined up to pay for my sister's chemotherapy, to be useful in exchange. "Oh the places you'll go!". They said, what bullshit. Was this what I was? Was destroying this paradise of an environment really necessary to further our world? Just one of the bombs from that airstrike could have covered her cancer treatments! And yet we spent it many times over, almost callously, so as to move four dead men twenty feet. Two of my best friends were gone, so we could chop down a few more trees. "..Radley!" I heard someone shout. My solemn thoughts were broken by the Sergeant. "Radley, get down!" He hissed in panic. I dropped to a knee. To my left the new corporal was stock-still, appearing to be listening intently for something. "Horton, what is it?!" whispered the Sergeant, now crouching behind some bushes. "Do you hear that?" Horton whispered back. The forest was eerily silent, only a breeze in the tree canopies could be heard. I listened, but heard nothing. Then in a terrifying moment we all realized the volume of the silence. Not a single bird, bee, nor beast was making a sound. Jeremy, the rookie, white-faced, scanning the tree tops and pointing, stuttered:. "S-sarge, th-the birds!" Looking up we saw them perched, hundreds of pairs of eyes watching us intently. As we observed the birds, a small glint of red light traced its way along the forest floor and settled on Jeremy's chest. In a split second, a sharp whistle with a whip crack, and our rookie was on the ground. Someone yelled, Yertle and a few others began firing into the brush for suppression, the sergeant was bellowing orders. Horton and I scrambled over to the rookie and found him dead. Horton grabbed his coat and dragged him to a tree. Another whistle-crack, and I was thrown forward into some bracken, my shoulder screaming in pain. "I'm hit!?" I exclaimed with an odd lack of surprise. The world began to dim as a tingling sensation spread over me. Sound became muffled, muted cracks and staccato pops of fire, Horton was now dragging the Sergeant away, and another squad was moving around us to the right. "Goddamn Blue Fish Squad, coming to steal the glory" I heard myself mumble as shock set in. "What a waste.." With my vision deteriorating, I saw Javier dashing from tree to tree attempting to get to me, only noticeable by the red medic cross on his coat. "Radley! Hold o-" A muted whistle-crack, and the man I had tea with earlier wasn't there anymore. ... I was released from the hospital today, they say my arm should heal okay, but may not work as well as it used to. They paid out for my service and provided a bonus for my efforts, it's just enough to cover my sister's remaining treatments. The sergeant had visited me while I was there, he caught a bit of shrapnel and won't be able to walk again. He seems, detached. He said Horton got a medal for that engagement, but now has some bad PTSD with a side of tinnitus and swears he hears voices. I guess he means I'm supposed to feel lucky? A taxi was waiting for me outside, the driver had on the most gorgeous pastel blue fluffy sweater, the height of current fashion. I cried the whole way home. And Javier, Halls, and the rookie? Well they got to go home too...in wooden boxes made from those goddamn trees.	He jumped from the stump running to where the stairs stop The he raced up each one as he emptied his glock. He killed my whole family with a pop pop pop pop He got to my door and reloaded once more The blood soaked bastard relished the chore He shot off my hands and he shot off my feet He tied me to my corporate seat He left me rotting for eternity So here I sit and watch the trees I still itch to make my Sneed The trees the trees, the Truffula trees, my families blood enriched your seeds as you once enriched me it's all full circle don't you agree? I wish I had a fucking Sneed.
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!"	Formatting on mobile sucks, I tried, thank you. -Excerpts from the Battle of Butter Valley- PFC Radley Tate. Red Fish Squad. Bartholomew and Oobleck PMC 2nd company Jenson died early this morning, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. It was not a good death. Shot several times by a sniper but left alive as bait at the edge of the woods, three other soldiers were killed attempting his rescue. George was the first, the medics said he had it lucky to have died almost instantly as he tried to drag Jenson back. I now stood over their corpses in a sort of dejected sadness, seemingly unable to shed even a single tear. What were we doing here? The workers milled about, sharpening their tools, and eating their breakfasts of green eggs with ham. They seemed anxious but wouldn't come near us or the treeline. Javier handed me a paper cup of tea and I drank some of it. I don't remember if it was hot or cold, or if it had any flavor at all, only a strange numbness. Jenson and George were my friends, we'd gone to school together, and thanked our stars when we all happened to be deployed to the same op. Yet all I could do was watch, as one died in the blink of an eye, and the other writhed in agony all night, laying in a pool of his own blood while we waited for the air strike. By the time it arrived to cover us, they were all dead. ... Striding across the field from our encampment came the Sergeant, a tall, lanky man in a blue coat with a red and white hat. "All right Red Fish Squad, that's enough moping about, on your feet!". He bellowed at us. The idle workers collected their tools and began to congregate behind him, anxious to start their day. "You too Yertle, pick it up! We're moving out, south-southeast, quadrant sixteen. Did I ever tell you how lucky you all are?! We're sweeping Butter Valley today, cake walk, let's go!". I gathered my kit as my squad mates did the same, and lamented not getting enough rest last night, nor time this morning to mourn our losses. "Halls! You're on point, look alive! You're only old once, you dogs!" Shortly after entering the woods, the sounds of industry started behind us. The men with their saws and blades began their task of chipping away at the massive forest of truffula trees. Such a beautiful plant, the truffula tree. Like a palm, but with a crown that can only be described as "fluffy". Mornings were always the best times, as their pastel pinks, greens, purples, and blues radiated color as a resplendent dappling of sunlight on the forest floor. So many animals and insects resided within this world too, the entire ecosystem possibly thousands of years old. It struck me as such a surreal experience, this wonderfully ethereal place contrasted with the stark violence and death that accompanied us. And as we moved through the stand I couldn't help but think that maybe we weren't the "good guys" here. My reverence for the beauty of the forest began to fade as I did the numbers in my head. Was all of this worth it? The death of our comrades, the expenditure of armaments? I thought back to how I had joined up to pay for my sister's chemotherapy, to be useful in exchange. "Oh the places you'll go!". They said, what bullshit. Was this what I was? Was destroying this paradise of an environment really necessary to further our world? Just one of the bombs from that airstrike could have covered her cancer treatments! And yet we spent it many times over, almost callously, so as to move four dead men twenty feet. Two of my best friends were gone, so we could chop down a few more trees. "..Radley!" I heard someone shout. My solemn thoughts were broken by the Sergeant. "Radley, get down!" He hissed in panic. I dropped to a knee. To my left the new corporal was stock-still, appearing to be listening intently for something. "Horton, what is it?!" whispered the Sergeant, now crouching behind some bushes. "Do you hear that?" Horton whispered back. The forest was eerily silent, only a breeze in the tree canopies could be heard. I listened, but heard nothing. Then in a terrifying moment we all realized the volume of the silence. Not a single bird, bee, nor beast was making a sound. Jeremy, the rookie, white-faced, scanning the tree tops and pointing, stuttered:. "S-sarge, th-the birds!" Looking up we saw them perched, hundreds of pairs of eyes watching us intently. As we observed the birds, a small glint of red light traced its way along the forest floor and settled on Jeremy's chest. In a split second, a sharp whistle with a whip crack, and our rookie was on the ground. Someone yelled, Yertle and a few others began firing into the brush for suppression, the sergeant was bellowing orders. Horton and I scrambled over to the rookie and found him dead. Horton grabbed his coat and dragged him to a tree. Another whistle-crack, and I was thrown forward into some bracken, my shoulder screaming in pain. "I'm hit!?" I exclaimed with an odd lack of surprise. The world began to dim as a tingling sensation spread over me. Sound became muffled, muted cracks and staccato pops of fire, Horton was now dragging the Sergeant away, and another squad was moving around us to the right. "Goddamn Blue Fish Squad, coming to steal the glory" I heard myself mumble as shock set in. "What a waste.." With my vision deteriorating, I saw Javier dashing from tree to tree attempting to get to me, only noticeable by the red medic cross on his coat. "Radley! Hold o-" A muted whistle-crack, and the man I had tea with earlier wasn't there anymore. ... I was released from the hospital today, they say my arm should heal okay, but may not work as well as it used to. They paid out for my service and provided a bonus for my efforts, it's just enough to cover my sister's remaining treatments. The sergeant had visited me while I was there, he caught a bit of shrapnel and won't be able to walk again. He seems, detached. He said Horton got a medal for that engagement, but now has some bad PTSD with a side of tinnitus and swears he hears voices. I guess he means I'm supposed to feel lucky? A taxi was waiting for me outside, the driver had on the most gorgeous pastel blue fluffy sweater, the height of current fashion. I cried the whole way home. And Javier, Halls, and the rookie? Well they got to go home too...in wooden boxes made from those goddamn trees.	I am the Lorax We've spoken before Not face to face But through legends and lore I gifted you with greatness Took pride as you grew From the simplest amino acid To the clever mind now inside you You started from stardust From that earliest cosmic blast I watched you for eons To make sure you'd last I am the Lorax I spoke through the trees When I first saw your hubris All the death and debris We were meant to work as one We give and we take I left you with plenty Enough for all to partake You were meant to explore See what awaits in the stars Instead you killed each other And left me with great scars I tried giving your warnings That your behavior couldn't last But your greed and your hatred Allowed you to always ignore your past I am the Lorax You see me through your science But when confronted with harsh truth You simply turned away in defiance I was your Lorax I gave you every last chance Gifted you with warning after warning Decades far in advance. And now here we are. All tipping points crossed. Humility thrown out the window All your potential lost. I am the Lorax And how I now weep For what I must now do Is a price far too steep For I am the Lorax I strike for all trees. Your swift death is my final mercy, Now down on your knees.
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!"	[Poem] You are not needed And these trees will not be sneeded! The trees can not speak But I am not so meek. I will not stand by And I am done asking why. I am here to make this stop There is nothing you will chop. I may be alone and you in a band But here I make my stand. These trees will not be harmed So long as I am armed. (Band like a group of armed outlaws for anyone wondering)	I am the lorax I speak for the trees You’re burning the forests and choking the air So I’m drowning your cities and capping your knees &#x200B; You’ll beg and you’ll plead just like I begged you to spare: the prickly pine, redwood and powerful palm ‘I just don’t care’ your words I’ll mail back to you along with this bomb &#x200B; &#x200B; For years I have tried to shepherd my forests With love and with pride I implored you to see You can’t put a price On a truffula tree But the pitiful pines Paid poorly for my Peaceful imploring &#x200B; &#x200B; with each axe stroke I encouraged you “Only take what is needed” But now my heart’s broke you greedy gazoots Gobbled my forest and Grazed all my grasses My words you should have heeded Now I’m kicking your asses &#x200B; &#x200B; No army no nation Can put this to rights I’m afraid we’re past talking You see, like the Humming fish, swomee-swans, and bar-ba-loots Before you, your habitat’s gone And we’ve nowhere to store you &#x200B; &#x200B; So be off in your rockets To some frozen awful rock And to those who complain… … you can all “s\\\\\\\\\*k”
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!"	"Jerry?" "Yeah Mike?" "What is our life?" "Uh, is this one of those philosophical questions where there's no right answe-" "No you dipshit, why are we being hunted by a pint-sized orange gremlin with a moustache!?" The staccato of gunfire rang true across the clearing, a melodious ensemble of destruction as their comrades fell like the trees they hacked. The mission was thus: enter the forest and cut down some trees. The amount of pay they'd receive would be directly proportionate to how many trees they could harvest. Simple, right? Clearly, the higher ups forgot to mention the crazy monster in full combat gear to him. The crazy monster who was now murdering his coworkers wholesale. Mike sucked in a shaky breath, thumbing the pin of his grenade with rapid urgency. "Should've known something was up when they gave us enough weaponry to fuel a war." Jerry chuckled by his side. He seemed to be taking this well, all in all. "How'd you even find this job, Michael?" "Craigslist. Just moved in recently and needed to pay rent, ya know?" "Ah. Makes sense you wouldn't know about the Lorax." Mike blinked. "The what?" "The Lorax! He's something of a character around here, though with global warming on the rise I guess he's getting more uh..." "Trigger happy?" "Yeah! That's a good word for it!" The distant sound of explosions rocked the area, and Mike could briefly make out the sounds of someone screaming like a man possessed. "I am the Lorax, welcome my friends! You're in my realm now, SO COME CATCH THESE HANDS!" "JESUS CHRIST HE'S COMING THIS WAY!" "FUCK! RETREAT!!" "You may think you can run, or hide from my fun! But by the end of today, you'll go down one by one!" "What the fuck." Mike shuddered. "What kind of sick shit is he?!" Jerry shrugged, completely at ease despite the rampant destruction around them. "You get used to it, I think." "THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!"	I am the lorax I speak for the trees You’re burning the forests and choking the air So I’m drowning your cities and capping your knees &#x200B; You’ll beg and you’ll plead just like I begged you to spare: the prickly pine, redwood and powerful palm ‘I just don’t care’ your words I’ll mail back to you along with this bomb &#x200B; &#x200B; For years I have tried to shepherd my forests With love and with pride I implored you to see You can’t put a price On a truffula tree But the pitiful pines Paid poorly for my Peaceful imploring &#x200B; &#x200B; with each axe stroke I encouraged you “Only take what is needed” But now my heart’s broke you greedy gazoots Gobbled my forest and Grazed all my grasses My words you should have heeded Now I’m kicking your asses &#x200B; &#x200B; No army no nation Can put this to rights I’m afraid we’re past talking You see, like the Humming fish, swomee-swans, and bar-ba-loots Before you, your habitat’s gone And we’ve nowhere to store you &#x200B; &#x200B; So be off in your rockets To some frozen awful rock And to those who complain… … you can all “s\\\\\\\\\*k”
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!"	"Jerry?" "Yeah Mike?" "What is our life?" "Uh, is this one of those philosophical questions where there's no right answe-" "No you dipshit, why are we being hunted by a pint-sized orange gremlin with a moustache!?" The staccato of gunfire rang true across the clearing, a melodious ensemble of destruction as their comrades fell like the trees they hacked. The mission was thus: enter the forest and cut down some trees. The amount of pay they'd receive would be directly proportionate to how many trees they could harvest. Simple, right? Clearly, the higher ups forgot to mention the crazy monster in full combat gear to him. The crazy monster who was now murdering his coworkers wholesale. Mike sucked in a shaky breath, thumbing the pin of his grenade with rapid urgency. "Should've known something was up when they gave us enough weaponry to fuel a war." Jerry chuckled by his side. He seemed to be taking this well, all in all. "How'd you even find this job, Michael?" "Craigslist. Just moved in recently and needed to pay rent, ya know?" "Ah. Makes sense you wouldn't know about the Lorax." Mike blinked. "The what?" "The Lorax! He's something of a character around here, though with global warming on the rise I guess he's getting more uh..." "Trigger happy?" "Yeah! That's a good word for it!" The distant sound of explosions rocked the area, and Mike could briefly make out the sounds of someone screaming like a man possessed. "I am the Lorax, welcome my friends! You're in my realm now, SO COME CATCH THESE HANDS!" "JESUS CHRIST HE'S COMING THIS WAY!" "FUCK! RETREAT!!" "You may think you can run, or hide from my fun! But by the end of today, you'll go down one by one!" "What the fuck." Mike shuddered. "What kind of sick shit is he?!" Jerry shrugged, completely at ease despite the rampant destruction around them. "You get used to it, I think." "THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!"	[Poem] You are not needed And these trees will not be sneeded! The trees can not speak But I am not so meek. I will not stand by And I am done asking why. I am here to make this stop There is nothing you will chop. I may be alone and you in a band But here I make my stand. These trees will not be harmed So long as I am armed. (Band like a group of armed outlaws for anyone wondering)
[WP] You've done it. After years of studying UFOs as a hobby, you finally are able to communicate with the aliens inside one. Your first message? An application for refugee status.	As I sit here, mesmerized by the blinking dots on the screen, the war rages all around me. I feel the explosion that crumbles the bank on the other side of town. The smoke has been so thick for weeks that it burns my lungs constantly. I know I should have evacuated a month ago. Most people grabbed what they could carry and hit the road when the air raid sirens went off; I just couldn't leave when I was so, so close. Today, I finally did it. I made first contact. The mother ship was accepting transmission, finally. I know it might be "the easy way out", but how could I not try? I had to ask them for refuge from this war rock. They are my last hope now. The blinking dots telling me the aliens are responding to my plea stop moving as I feel the rumble of another explosion. The sky erupts in bright red light outside of my front window. As it quickly fades to darkness I have time only to wonder if this is abduction, or death...	"I'm not going today", I said decidedly as my older sister, Megan, tossed my boots on the floor in front of my bunk. She ignored my words and continued dashing around our room, which was much more like a prison cell than the home of two people who had never done anything seriously wrong. "I'm not going today", I repeated, more sternly this time, keeping my gaze fixed on Megan. I wanted her to second guess herself when she'd inevitably decide to shoot me down, perhaps even find hope in my resolve. "Just get yourself ready, don't worry about me". She immediately plopped herself down in the musty brown armchair we'd managed to hold onto when everyone had to abandon their homes. "Okay Sid", Megan said sharply. My name is Sydney. Megan always introduced me as Sid, and since she was my Head, everyone I came in contact with knew me as Sid. I was lucky in a way; most people didn't have any family left to be their Head, so they were assigned to a stranger. This often damned them to a lifetime of abuse. Megan was only left in charge of myself and two ten-year-old boys; cruel is one thing she was not. However, thanks to my "reckless ideas", she had forbidden me from speaking in public. I knew it was to keep us and the two boys, Aiken and Walter, safe... but I also knew that none of us would be safe much longer if we didn't find a way out. "I've got four minutes to find the magic words to get you moving", Megan continued, tapping the arm of the chair rapidly, nervously. I could feel my confidence waning already, but I didn't have to wait for a breakthrough now. I'd already seen it the previous day. "I'm not a kid anymore, Megan. I haven't been one for a long time", I replied quietly, still keeping eye contact. "You deserve to be above me". I paused. "But that doesn't mean we deserve to stay under them." Megan considered my words for a moment, which was exactly one moment longer than she usually did. She sighed and rose from the chair, looking over my head at the gray wall behind me. "I'll tell them you're taking care of Aiken", she said flatly. "Maybe you could at least stop by the Medpost to make it believable." With that, she threw on her coat and stomped out the door. Missing job duty to take care of Aiken wasn't a lie. As the brightest, most curious mind I'd ever come across, Aiken was my right-hand-man in this ordeal. He sent the first and only transmission that had ever gotten a response from someone out there. Between him, myself, and Walker, he was also the only one who was able to make heads or tails of the response. I made my way to the Youth Hall, which was a series of rooms exactly like ours, but with the exciting added flair of mustard-yellow paint. When Charlotte Bevins, a sweet pudgy old lady, was in charge of bringing lunch to the kids, they'd get to hear tunes from the tape player she carried around in her bag. They'd sing along to them quietly until her round was done. "Go time", I whispered as I peeked my head into Aiken and Walter's room. "I'll wait here". Children's rooms were searched for contraband much less often than adults', almost never. I always thought this was a massive oversight, but I wasn't complaining, and I didn't care what caused complications for the Heads, other than Megan. All that mattered was that Aiken would have everything we needed to escape. "Walter isn't coming", Aiken whispered as he closed the door delicately behind him, the black bag on his small shoulder bulging with supplies. "Yes he is", I said, a simple correction to Aiken's clear misread. I popped my head back in the door, but before I could speak, Aiken urgently pulled it shut again. "Don't bug him", Aiken hissed. "He'll ruin everything". None of this made sense to me, as Walter had been a very willing and helpful part of our project. "Why?", I asked, feeling my eyes start to burn with tears. Up until that moment, I'd pushed down the feeling of loss I'd tried to ignore surrounding my sister. She had come to peace with our new lifestyle, almost enjoyed it, and I was able to bid her a private goodbye because of that. I couldn't leave Walter behind, too. "He's terrified", Aiken replied, with his usual to-the-point, but empathetic demeanor. "And if we don't move fast, he's gonna tell someone just to make sure he isn't held responsible". Aiken might've been a kid, but he knew how to measure decisions before he made them, and I trusted his judgment no matter how much I wished I could make him wrong. "Let's go!", he said impatiently, motioning to the hall's exit. "What are you and this young lady doing, Aiken?", a voice asked from the dingy office to the right of the exit. It was 1pm. Nobody was supposed to be there. "What are you doing, Miss Bevins?", Aiken barked back quickly. Surprise came over Charlotte's face at Aiken's boldness, but Aiken had already turned cherry red with embarrassment and fear. "I'm updating our food logs", Charlotte answered. "What are you two doing?" Charlotte kept her eyes on Aiken, as nobody was supposed to directly address me due to Megan's orders. I knew that all Charlotte had to do was reach for the walkie-talkie she kept in her bag with the tape player, and we would be done for. "Charlotte...", I said, so quietly that she thought she might've imagined it. "Please". She placed her fist over her mouth and sunk into her own thoughts for an uncomfortably long time. "I trust you're heading out to get your insulin, Aiken?", she asked finally. Aiken nodded urgently, trying to keep a firm grip on his bag strap to keep his hands from shaking. Charlotte's eyes narrowed to the suspiciously full bag, then to me, then back to Aiken. "Be back by four", she said sternly. "Drills". Charlotte did not have a good poker face... which in addition to her age, probably had a hand in her being assigned of the unimportant-people-jobs. Her expression clearly showed that she knew she wouldn't see us at four, or perhaps ever again...
[WP] A team of scientists discover how to communicate with a parallel Earth. Years later, we share a unified Internet and people from each side openly communicate but the hardest thing is when two people fall in love with each other online other but discover they are quite literally worlds apart.	Hey, loved the piece you wrote. Wanna work together some time? Sure! I just read that short story you finished! Seriously, love the use of those converging storylines! It made for a great twist. Really? I just thought that was the point of the prompt. I mean, yeah, that was the point. Still you executed it wonderfully. Better than anyone else that I read. Huh. Thanks, dude. Though it didn't make me cry as much as yours did. Oh, stop the flattery. We've got a story to write. Yeah, that. You wanted to do that now? Yeah! Of course. You down? I mean, I am, yeah, I guess I just didn't expect you to respond so fast. Oh, ok. Sorry. You want to make the doc? I got a couple ideas we could brainstorm. Yeah, sure. Just gimme a minute. ----------------------------------- Daaaaam, that was really good. Love that hook dude, *damn* your word choice is good. Thanks, man! Can't wait to finish it off later. Wait, really? I thought I could maybe just finish it off now, I guess. Oh, I mean, you can, I guess? It wouldn't really be collaborative if we did that, though. Yeah, that's true, I guess. You know when you're next free? Around next friday? I got a meeting with friends later this week, and I really need to be there. I probably won't be writing for a while. Yeah, I get that. I'm working on a physics project at App State right now. My mates have been pissed I haven't been working on it as much, so I gotta work on it this week before the deadline really kills us. Wait you go to App State? Yeah, why? Dude, I go there! I'm an applied mathematics major, CW minor. Listen, listen, this may be a little freaky, but I'm the same. Applied mathematics, CW minor, App State. No way. Nuh uh. So, you're in the same 300 kid Advanced Calc class you need for Junior year as I am, right? Wait, you're a junior? This is freaky. Yeah, no dip. But just to make sure, I gotta ask you. What's the name of the hot chick in that class who's absolutely been with Professor Orwick in bed this year? Which one? Veronica Piery, Tessy Smith, or Nina Lannister? Damn. Damn. So, what's your name, then? Maybe we can meet up. I'm Lucas Ngyuen. Sit in the back of the class, generally. Maybe we can arrange something, I guess. Well, I got a problem, then. ??? I'm Lucas Nguyen. Well shit. Yeah. I guess this was bound to happen eventually, huh. Yeah, I guess. ... ... Anyways, wanna write smut? FINALLY	\[Stellar Discovery\] "If only...," Carlos chuckled. He finished locking the door with his free hand while holding up the phone with his other. He was talking to a beautiful violet-haired woman that he met online. She tilted her head at him with curiosity. "If only what?" she asked. Except, her voice came from the phone in his hand, and from somewhere behind him. He whirled around and found the same woman standing between him and his car. He looked back at the screen, but the call was disconnected. "Victoria...?" Carlos asked. She shook her head but a smirk hinted she was amused more than anything. "Did you invite someone else to join you for coffee?" she asked. "How did you get here?" he asked. "What do you mean?" She asked. "You already know I'm from a different universe... right?" "YES!" Carlos said. "HOW DID YOU GET HERE!?" For years the top scientists of two Earths have been trying to develop a way to travel between universes. Carlos enjoyed keeping up with the latest tech news; if there was an advancement that major, he would have heard about it. But if she really was there from another universe, maybe Carlos could get his name in the news. "Wait. You know other universes exist, but you don't know how to Traverse between them?" Carlos nodded. "How many other universes have you been in contact with?" she asked. "Just one," he replied. "Do you know what a Unique Soul is?" she asked. "What... is that like a hippie thing?" Carlos asked. "Oh wow, you guys are still new. C'mon," she said. She encouraged him to follow her as a tall black portal opened in the air. She stepped into it and disappeared. Carlos realized the portal was probably how she moved between universes; and, she invited him to hers. He was going to be the first person on his Earth to step onto an alternate one; he did not hesitate for a second. He went from a bright, sunny day on his own Earth to a purple twilight sky. Carlos found himself next to Victoria in an endless golden wheat field. "Where are we?" he asked. A mass of black dust began to coalesce in front of him before he finished his question. Once he did, Victoria answered by pointing at the black mannequin that appeared. "Welcome to the AlterNet!" the faceless figure said. She had a pleasant voice despite the lack of a mouth. "Manual mode," Victoria said. The mannequin nodded and disintegrated into a white powder that vanished. "What's the AlterNet?" Carlos asked. He had several questions lined up, but that one seemed to be the most relevant. He was less concerned with how she traveled between universes once he was actually in another universe. "It's a network of alternate Earths," Victoria said. "You can adventure in real life instead of on a screen." "That sounds... dangerous...," Carlos said. "That's why you make a character," she replied. "You get to pick a body from [25 races](https://hugoverse.info/races/) and a soul from 35. Then you pick one of [25 classes](https://hugoverse.info/classes/). But, you can't change your race, soul, or class once you pick them," Victoria added. "What?" he asked. "Like a game?" "Exactly," she nodded. "You'll find two types of Earths in the multiverse; natural Earths and Servers. Servers are Earths that are fabricated entirely by nanos. All the people are NPCs, even if they don't know it." "Hold on...," Carlos put his hand up to ask for a moment. His mind boggled at her statement; and, the casualness she used was staggering in its own right. "...you're saying there are ...entire EARTHS, plural, out there that are used just play games on?" "A lot," Victoria nodded. "Any time period, any environment you want; it's all available." "That's amazing...," Carlos always knew that there had to be more than two universes. He hoped a way to travel between them would be found in his lifetime just so he could see a different reality. But, it never occurred to him that multiversal travel could be trivial enough to make a game out of it. "...I've gotta get back and tell someone..," he said. Victoria shook her head. "Oh, don't worry about that, let's make your character," she said. Carlos shook his head. "It might be child's play to you; but, this is the most important discovery on my Earth, ever!" he said. "They have to know!" Victoria nodded. "They will," she said. "Sharp Development is already on the way." "Huh? What's Sharp Development?" "It's a company I scout for," she replied. "I find Earths that are ready to properly join the multiverse. By the end of the week everyone on both Earths will know about the AlterNet and how to get around," she said. "Wow...," Carlos felt a mix of awe and disappointment. He was sad that he wasn't going to get the notoriety for bringing the full multiverse to his Earth. But, if nothing else, he was going to get to be the first from his Earth to test it. He looked around at the infinite field around them, then at the beautiful woman next to him. He took in a deep breath then nodded at her. "Okay, let's make my character." \\\*Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1542 in a row. (Story #093 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at this link.
[WP] A team of scientists discover how to communicate with a parallel Earth. Years later, we share a unified Internet and people from each side openly communicate but the hardest thing is when two people fall in love with each other online other but discover they are quite literally worlds apart.	It started with a comment. Flight Heroes wasn’t a big fandom, and Lenore was thrilled to see that someone else had posted a Princess Lara / Admiral Jumper fic. She felt a bit embarrassed by how gushy her comment ended up being, and it was a relief when ViperViscountess replied with just as many exclamation marks. When she (they? ‘Viscountess’ meant she, right?) followed up with an equally gushy review of her own story, Lenore felt positively giddy. “I hope this isn’t weird,” started Lenore’s message a week later. Which is the way you start a message you know is weird. She sent ViperViscountess a draft of her latest story. “YESS LOVE IT!!!” She chatted with her from her fandom Discord account, which she kept carefully separate from the one she used for gaming with her college friends. ViperViscountess (her real name was Olivia) assumed her name was Nora like on her account, and she never corrected her. Fudging minor details like that was just normal online safety. She’d heard of too many creepy stalker situations in fandom. Still, she felt a little guilty about it as the conversations got more personal. They had so much in common. Not just a deep and abiding love for Flight Heroes, but the dead-end jobs, the boyfriends who were great, but maybe not great, or were they being too unrealistic? And it wasn’t cheating to collaborate on writing a smutty story together, was it? Even if it did leave her flustered and frustrated by the time she logged off, too late at night. Having a crush wasn’t cheating either, was it? Everyone has crushes. Anyway, they’d already figured out that Lenore lived on Earth One, and Olivia lived on Earth A. It wasn’t like it could go anywhere. Aaron was gone for the weekend at his friend’s bachelor party. “I hope this isn’t weird,” Lenore sent. “Do you want to do a video chat while I make dinner?” Immediately, the video icon appeared. Lenore clicked it. “Oh no.” “Oh noo,” she heard back, as they both laughed through their tears. “Nora, I should have guessed,” said the other Lenore, on the other side of the video and the dimensional divide. “Olivia, like you-? We-? Called ourselves in middle school?” “Well, what now?” “I still need to make dinner,” said Lenore. “Want to keep me company?” “I’d love to,” said Lenore.	\[Stellar Discovery\] "If only...," Carlos chuckled. He finished locking the door with his free hand while holding up the phone with his other. He was talking to a beautiful violet-haired woman that he met online. She tilted her head at him with curiosity. "If only what?" she asked. Except, her voice came from the phone in his hand, and from somewhere behind him. He whirled around and found the same woman standing between him and his car. He looked back at the screen, but the call was disconnected. "Victoria...?" Carlos asked. She shook her head but a smirk hinted she was amused more than anything. "Did you invite someone else to join you for coffee?" she asked. "How did you get here?" he asked. "What do you mean?" She asked. "You already know I'm from a different universe... right?" "YES!" Carlos said. "HOW DID YOU GET HERE!?" For years the top scientists of two Earths have been trying to develop a way to travel between universes. Carlos enjoyed keeping up with the latest tech news; if there was an advancement that major, he would have heard about it. But if she really was there from another universe, maybe Carlos could get his name in the news. "Wait. You know other universes exist, but you don't know how to Traverse between them?" Carlos nodded. "How many other universes have you been in contact with?" she asked. "Just one," he replied. "Do you know what a Unique Soul is?" she asked. "What... is that like a hippie thing?" Carlos asked. "Oh wow, you guys are still new. C'mon," she said. She encouraged him to follow her as a tall black portal opened in the air. She stepped into it and disappeared. Carlos realized the portal was probably how she moved between universes; and, she invited him to hers. He was going to be the first person on his Earth to step onto an alternate one; he did not hesitate for a second. He went from a bright, sunny day on his own Earth to a purple twilight sky. Carlos found himself next to Victoria in an endless golden wheat field. "Where are we?" he asked. A mass of black dust began to coalesce in front of him before he finished his question. Once he did, Victoria answered by pointing at the black mannequin that appeared. "Welcome to the AlterNet!" the faceless figure said. She had a pleasant voice despite the lack of a mouth. "Manual mode," Victoria said. The mannequin nodded and disintegrated into a white powder that vanished. "What's the AlterNet?" Carlos asked. He had several questions lined up, but that one seemed to be the most relevant. He was less concerned with how she traveled between universes once he was actually in another universe. "It's a network of alternate Earths," Victoria said. "You can adventure in real life instead of on a screen." "That sounds... dangerous...," Carlos said. "That's why you make a character," she replied. "You get to pick a body from [25 races](https://hugoverse.info/races/) and a soul from 35. Then you pick one of [25 classes](https://hugoverse.info/classes/). But, you can't change your race, soul, or class once you pick them," Victoria added. "What?" he asked. "Like a game?" "Exactly," she nodded. "You'll find two types of Earths in the multiverse; natural Earths and Servers. Servers are Earths that are fabricated entirely by nanos. All the people are NPCs, even if they don't know it." "Hold on...," Carlos put his hand up to ask for a moment. His mind boggled at her statement; and, the casualness she used was staggering in its own right. "...you're saying there are ...entire EARTHS, plural, out there that are used just play games on?" "A lot," Victoria nodded. "Any time period, any environment you want; it's all available." "That's amazing...," Carlos always knew that there had to be more than two universes. He hoped a way to travel between them would be found in his lifetime just so he could see a different reality. But, it never occurred to him that multiversal travel could be trivial enough to make a game out of it. "...I've gotta get back and tell someone..," he said. Victoria shook her head. "Oh, don't worry about that, let's make your character," she said. Carlos shook his head. "It might be child's play to you; but, this is the most important discovery on my Earth, ever!" he said. "They have to know!" Victoria nodded. "They will," she said. "Sharp Development is already on the way." "Huh? What's Sharp Development?" "It's a company I scout for," she replied. "I find Earths that are ready to properly join the multiverse. By the end of the week everyone on both Earths will know about the AlterNet and how to get around," she said. "Wow...," Carlos felt a mix of awe and disappointment. He was sad that he wasn't going to get the notoriety for bringing the full multiverse to his Earth. But, if nothing else, he was going to get to be the first from his Earth to test it. He looked around at the infinite field around them, then at the beautiful woman next to him. He took in a deep breath then nodded at her. "Okay, let's make my character." \\\*Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1542 in a row. (Story #093 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at this link.
[WP] A team of scientists discover how to communicate with a parallel Earth. Years later, we share a unified Internet and people from each side openly communicate but the hardest thing is when two people fall in love with each other online other but discover they are quite literally worlds apart.	Hey, loved the piece you wrote. Wanna work together some time? Sure! I just read that short story you finished! Seriously, love the use of those converging storylines! It made for a great twist. Really? I just thought that was the point of the prompt. I mean, yeah, that was the point. Still you executed it wonderfully. Better than anyone else that I read. Huh. Thanks, dude. Though it didn't make me cry as much as yours did. Oh, stop the flattery. We've got a story to write. Yeah, that. You wanted to do that now? Yeah! Of course. You down? I mean, I am, yeah, I guess I just didn't expect you to respond so fast. Oh, ok. Sorry. You want to make the doc? I got a couple ideas we could brainstorm. Yeah, sure. Just gimme a minute. ----------------------------------- Daaaaam, that was really good. Love that hook dude, *damn* your word choice is good. Thanks, man! Can't wait to finish it off later. Wait, really? I thought I could maybe just finish it off now, I guess. Oh, I mean, you can, I guess? It wouldn't really be collaborative if we did that, though. Yeah, that's true, I guess. You know when you're next free? Around next friday? I got a meeting with friends later this week, and I really need to be there. I probably won't be writing for a while. Yeah, I get that. I'm working on a physics project at App State right now. My mates have been pissed I haven't been working on it as much, so I gotta work on it this week before the deadline really kills us. Wait you go to App State? Yeah, why? Dude, I go there! I'm an applied mathematics major, CW minor. Listen, listen, this may be a little freaky, but I'm the same. Applied mathematics, CW minor, App State. No way. Nuh uh. So, you're in the same 300 kid Advanced Calc class you need for Junior year as I am, right? Wait, you're a junior? This is freaky. Yeah, no dip. But just to make sure, I gotta ask you. What's the name of the hot chick in that class who's absolutely been with Professor Orwick in bed this year? Which one? Veronica Piery, Tessy Smith, or Nina Lannister? Damn. Damn. So, what's your name, then? Maybe we can meet up. I'm Lucas Ngyuen. Sit in the back of the class, generally. Maybe we can arrange something, I guess. Well, I got a problem, then. ??? I'm Lucas Nguyen. Well shit. Yeah. I guess this was bound to happen eventually, huh. Yeah, I guess. ... ... Anyways, wanna write smut? FINALLY	In a perfect world, every atom ever existent would stay in perfect communication with each other. Even through the sinews of time, the dimensions unseen, and the viscous expansion we call a universe, a signal from one point should reach through forever and more, so that that the troughs of one's pulse is always met by the crest of another. "You up right now?" "Lol yeah nerd, it's only 14:30 here, did you forget about our time change? Whatcha thinkin about?" It's a possibility, quantum entanglement. Two points not united by any bonds can still communicate, still send a message, still form a connection that's real, even if fleeting. "I still don't understand why you guys skip around random hours every few months. I just wanted to talk. I've been stressed recently, I guess you could say the distance has been getting to me." At first it was a point, then it was an image. Finally an explosion, signals that could cross the bounds of reality. We could talk with others from other worlds, share our realities through a digital screen. "I'm always here for you you big idiot, and you know that. But I also know you well enough that I know when there's something wrong. So please tell me, ok?" We've conquered the stars, sent lines through all the realities. Message boards, social media, an explosion of communication behind any revolution. Technology has accelerated beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Teleportation, immortal life, travel that exceeds the speed of life. With a line cast through infinite realities, whatever is possible will eventually become reality, and it will happen faster than the layman would like. "Why do you love me? I know you love me, I know this is real, and I know I love you but I just don't know how, I can't express why. I know your face, I know your heart, but I only know your world from the digital screen and I only know your life in the things we say." Dating apps followed social media. More fish in the sea, but now the sea expands past any horizon we can see. We've figured out video feeds, digital clones, tactile feedback, and mind melds. Yet I can't see her as her, we haven't figured out how to actually transfer matter from one world to another. Some have completely rejected their bodies, rejected their worlds, to live as digital ghosts in an age that's not their own. "Darlin, I love you because I love you, and you love me because you love me. I know you need more than that right now, but I hope you know that that's the only thing I care about. Everything else is just flavoring." We met on a literature forum. A poet from another world named Sancriend Van Bronsung. He was out of both of our worlds. He wrote beautiful bodies of words, brilliant green sunrises over ruby red seas, jagged mountains covered in black snow, the jagged iridescent cities floating on marble clouds. "But I know you want to hear more now right now, so let me tell you a story you've told me. Remember the story of Tristan and Iseult. Lovers laying on a crystal bed, they lived in a world outside of their land's tumultuous throes. Their hearts were hidden by dense forests, one could walk their whole life without coming across their lover's nest." But most of all he wrote about was loneliness. He described in excruciating detail about his emptiness. If we could become a spectator to an infinity of worlds, then one's actions would become nothing among the immensity of the shroud. Alienation, isolation, the worlds flash before one's eyes, but our faces' reflections remain tied to pitch black screens. "You talked to me about the controversy of the lovers' potion. Some believed that it invalidated their love, that the chemical stimuli clouded their brains and made them instruments to a chemist's design. But you were adamant that it was love. Despite the deceit, despite the falsities, despite their hearts irregular pulses, they stayed together even after the substance wore off. I didn't really understand what you meant at time time, but even then I knew I loved you." Flurries of messages over the public forum turned into private messages. Private messages turned to phone calls, video calls, digital dates and sultry nights with digital twins. But I've never held her hand, never really felt her touch. "But what if I was wrong, what if this is unnatural, what if all this is just loneliness and delusion? I mean by God, I know I couldn't live without you, but what if that's no more than simple weakness?" We've broken up innumerable times. She's ghosted me, I've ghosted her, we've called each other horrible things, we've been toxic we've been vicious oh god the things we've done. "And you don't think I'm weak, you don't think I'm hiding from my world? You don't think I've hated my life because of these insipid machines? Sometimes I feel like a ghost in my own world, like I'm skating through a system I'm not really part of, and I'm just buying time until I escape from the light behind my eyes. Sometimes I resent the world, sometimes I resent you, sometimes I resent myself." "Then why . . ." "Because I love you, that's all there is and that's all there's going to be. You know we've tried breaking up, you know we've tried seeing people within our own worlds. But no matter the times I feel lonely with you, without you I feel even worse. And I mean bad. Like my heart is just beating out of habit. You know how hard we've tried to cut this off, but, like I said, like I said, I love you because I love you and you love me because you love me." We always came back to each other. Sometimes I'd call her crying late at night, sometimes she'd send me hordes of messages asking to hear from me. No matter how sad, how sordid, how absolutely selfish we could be, we came back to each other, for better or for worse. "'In this love there is longing, and sad envy, and just a touch of contempt, and a whole world of innocent delight.' I love those words, and I love you. I'm sorry I seem doubtful sometimes, but I really do love you. I can't imagine a world without you." It may be toxic, it may be irrational. We may be each other's poison, slowly communicating a beautiful death from a connection without bond. (Continued Below)
[WP] A team of scientists discover how to communicate with a parallel Earth. Years later, we share a unified Internet and people from each side openly communicate but the hardest thing is when two people fall in love with each other online other but discover they are quite literally worlds apart.	It started with a comment. Flight Heroes wasn’t a big fandom, and Lenore was thrilled to see that someone else had posted a Princess Lara / Admiral Jumper fic. She felt a bit embarrassed by how gushy her comment ended up being, and it was a relief when ViperViscountess replied with just as many exclamation marks. When she (they? ‘Viscountess’ meant she, right?) followed up with an equally gushy review of her own story, Lenore felt positively giddy. “I hope this isn’t weird,” started Lenore’s message a week later. Which is the way you start a message you know is weird. She sent ViperViscountess a draft of her latest story. “YESS LOVE IT!!!” She chatted with her from her fandom Discord account, which she kept carefully separate from the one she used for gaming with her college friends. ViperViscountess (her real name was Olivia) assumed her name was Nora like on her account, and she never corrected her. Fudging minor details like that was just normal online safety. She’d heard of too many creepy stalker situations in fandom. Still, she felt a little guilty about it as the conversations got more personal. They had so much in common. Not just a deep and abiding love for Flight Heroes, but the dead-end jobs, the boyfriends who were great, but maybe not great, or were they being too unrealistic? And it wasn’t cheating to collaborate on writing a smutty story together, was it? Even if it did leave her flustered and frustrated by the time she logged off, too late at night. Having a crush wasn’t cheating either, was it? Everyone has crushes. Anyway, they’d already figured out that Lenore lived on Earth One, and Olivia lived on Earth A. It wasn’t like it could go anywhere. Aaron was gone for the weekend at his friend’s bachelor party. “I hope this isn’t weird,” Lenore sent. “Do you want to do a video chat while I make dinner?” Immediately, the video icon appeared. Lenore clicked it. “Oh no.” “Oh noo,” she heard back, as they both laughed through their tears. “Nora, I should have guessed,” said the other Lenore, on the other side of the video and the dimensional divide. “Olivia, like you-? We-? Called ourselves in middle school?” “Well, what now?” “I still need to make dinner,” said Lenore. “Want to keep me company?” “I’d love to,” said Lenore.	The Internet * Sarah wakes up, and she lets out a deep, content breath. She brushes her teeth, drinks a few cups of coffee, and then sits down at her laptop. Her morning routine does not waiver regardless of the day of the week, month, or year it is. She opens up a specific window and loses a few hours of her day, chatting with a man whose water is slightly green and whose lizards are just a little bigger. She’s wondered if she went far enough in that direction, would there be earth with actual dragons? She’s asked him before, but he cared a little less than she did. Maybe, she’s thought, they will connect more earths, and I’ll find out. After lunch, she gets to work and finishes out her day alone. It’s hard, she thinks, but the possibilities make it worth the ache. * Hello! I am currently practising very small stories. To see other and longer stuff by me, check out r/beezus_writes
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	I had been dodging my patron’s requests for too long. It was risky, hells, I knew that. But so was making a deal with a being that few had encountered and even fewer understood. Still, I found myself drawn to power, whether it be in the form of nobility, magic, or even otherworldly entities. I played with fire, seeing how close I could get to those searing flames, soaking in its heat, its power. It was a gamble, but today, that gamble was about to pay off. In response to avoiding their summons, my patron had given me a unique opportunity: bringing me to them. Only a single candlelight illuminated the amethyst table, obscuring my patron’s unique visage. Their eyes were like pyres, flames drawing me in, beckoning me to see how close I could get to their heat without charring my flesh. Not this time. My patron assumed that I was the bait, luring me in with the potential for more opportunity, more power, in the hopes that I would submit to their demands. My patron did not fear the flames, they took what they desired, they seized, they conquered. I was not bait, however. I was the fire, and my patron had not learned the lessons taught by scorch marks. A being of my patron’s power can scarcely be defeated, their power is controlled. A cage created by alluring promises offered to those who are drawn in by the flames keeps them in line. The real reason they cage their followers is fear. Fear because their power is the only thing that can hurt them. They thought me caged. They didn’t fear me, the fire. For their folly, they would pay in burns. So as my patron displayed their power seductively, I slowly began to use the gift they had granted me. My hand grew cold, the heat drawn out of my body and into the air, igniting it with a silent spark. It spread hungrily, consuming my arcane fuel within moments. My hand shook with strain as I tampered the flame down, keeping it on a low burn, the light dim, keeping my patron from noticing. The pyre was a sickly, eldritch green. Foreign, unknowable, rare. Everything which attracted me to my patron. There was a brief waiver in their attention, their eyes shifting away from me for just a single moment. But that was all I needed. I unleashed my flame, letting it grow and feast, snaking through the heated air. I could not see my patron behind my wall of flames, but I heard the otherworldly scream of anguish as they writhed with pain of their own design. They paid in burns.	Her sillouhoute draped the wall behind her, the tiny frame of a body she inhabited was contrasted by her shadow and I realised how could she possibly own my soul? She looked fragile, I could pick her up with a single hand, the irony was that I didn't. "Jack, are you listening to me? You mortals really are ingrates. I beckoned you here so you can meet a mutual interest; not to have you stare at me, fucking idiot, LISTEN when I speak." Her Ruby lips seemed to echo a sense of true distaine, she really did hate mortals. "When I sealed the contract I thought I would have more free time to spend my money? You know...the money I sold my Soul for? But instead I spend all my time in this restaurant, with you. I didn't come last time and nothing happened; I don't even think you have powers, I do these pathetic favours and for what? What will you do if I refuse." Her eyes lips curled as leaned over the table, the wine glasses pushed over by the weight of her petite stomach. As he mouth inched closer to my neck I felt a chill as the words echoed through my being. "Thee will bellow into the void, rising from the pits of Foul darkness engorged in fury and distaine to all those that kneel before decay and cower in their own filth. For the screams beckoning infinite night are screeching like banshees howling until their lungs collapse and fill only with the gasps of quiet desperation deafened by silence. When the flesh dripping from the nails of the infinite Hordes clambering upon each other to pull the skin and bile from mortal men burns though your putrid flesh until you are void only then will you will only be greeted with the laughter of the Death Emperor himself dragging you deeper into his dread. There's is no hope. This is what will happen unless I have you subservience" I realised at that point I truly had made the biggest mistake of my life, and afterlife...
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	Paul strolled through the village delighted to see all of the various wagons stacked with fruits, vegetables, and grain. Farmers were selling and trading their harvest throughout the town before their goods would be hauled into the city market tomorrow. It was the first bountiful harvest in years, and it was all thanks to Paul. Just as he was passing out of town he stepped through an invisible curtain that passed over him with a chill and the countryside vanished. Paul found himself standing in a warm room with vaulted ceilings and a long table stretched before him holding the largest feast he had ever seen. A plethora of dishes holding roasted meats, sliced cheeses, cooked vegetables, crusty breads, ripe fruits, and decadent desserts covered the surface. His eyes roamed over the spread until he became aware of the figure sitting at the head of the table regarding him with powerful eyes. It was a towering humanoid creature with rough skin made of bark. Patches of moss grew over its body and leafy vines entwined its limbs. Paul knew it was Tenerae, the God of Life and Growth. He had sold his soul to him after all. “Welcome to my halls once again Paul Barric. Have a seat, and help yourself.” The God gestured over the table. “Of course my Lord. Thank you.” Paul bobbed his head towards the ground and fumbled into the nearest chair towards the center of the table. “How was the harvest in Millvale this year?” Tenerae asked. “It was excellent. Everything you promised and more. I am grateful. We are grateful.” Tenerae nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, there is now something I need you to do for me.” He knew this day would come. One did not bargain with the Gods and expect to receive their gifts for free. There was always a price to pay. “Anything. If it is within my power it will be done.” “Please eat something first. My followers are always welcome at my table.” Very carefully Paul transferred some meat onto his plate and a heap of moist small grains he had never seen before that were mixed with herbs. He took a bite of the dripping meat and it melted in his mouth. “You must travel with the harvest caravan into the city and locate the Temple of Custos. Then you will find a priest named Touric, and kill him.” Paul let out a small cough with food still in his mouth and nearly spit the grains back onto the table. He swallowed hard and looked up at Tenerae. “Kill him? I’ve never killed anyone.” “Alas there comes a time when we all must grow into something new. This must be done, and it must be done soon.” His heart was beating in his chest like a drum. “Why? You are the God of Life. Why kill one of Custos’s priests?” Tenerae’s eyes darkened and a creaking filled the room as he rose to his full height in the chair and looked down at Paul. “You are not in a position to question my orders. But, you are new here. So this once I will forgive your impertinence… often for life to flourish others must die. That is all you need to know.” “Of course my Lord. I’m sorry for questioning you. I must ask though. How am I to do this? I am not a warrior or assassin. I’m just a farmer.” “You will find yourself in command of new strength when you return. Learn to use it fast, you leave with the caravan tomorrow.” Paul’s chair fell backwards as if the floor had disappeared and he let out a yelp. He tumbled through nothingness, and was jolted back into the world standing on the road leading out of town towards his home. The ground at his feet was a blanket of dense grass and sprouting flowers. A sudden urge to clench his fists washed over him, and when he did vines began snaking out of his forearms. They retracted back into his skin immediately when he opened his hands. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, but no one was near. Paul headed home with thoughts of tomorrow running through his mind.	Her sillouhoute draped the wall behind her, the tiny frame of a body she inhabited was contrasted by her shadow and I realised how could she possibly own my soul? She looked fragile, I could pick her up with a single hand, the irony was that I didn't. "Jack, are you listening to me? You mortals really are ingrates. I beckoned you here so you can meet a mutual interest; not to have you stare at me, fucking idiot, LISTEN when I speak." Her Ruby lips seemed to echo a sense of true distaine, she really did hate mortals. "When I sealed the contract I thought I would have more free time to spend my money? You know...the money I sold my Soul for? But instead I spend all my time in this restaurant, with you. I didn't come last time and nothing happened; I don't even think you have powers, I do these pathetic favours and for what? What will you do if I refuse." Her eyes lips curled as leaned over the table, the wine glasses pushed over by the weight of her petite stomach. As he mouth inched closer to my neck I felt a chill as the words echoed through my being. "Thee will bellow into the void, rising from the pits of Foul darkness engorged in fury and distaine to all those that kneel before decay and cower in their own filth. For the screams beckoning infinite night are screeching like banshees howling until their lungs collapse and fill only with the gasps of quiet desperation deafened by silence. When the flesh dripping from the nails of the infinite Hordes clambering upon each other to pull the skin and bile from mortal men burns though your putrid flesh until you are void only then will you will only be greeted with the laughter of the Death Emperor himself dragging you deeper into his dread. There's is no hope. This is what will happen unless I have you subservience" I realised at that point I truly had made the biggest mistake of my life, and afterlife...
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	Okay so a lot of people have been PM-ing me to share this story, so here goes. Also sorry in advance for poor spelling, I'm on mobile, and I'm not used to touch screens yet. Technology has come such a long way! * At first it was the usual stuff, you know, like bring me this or that artifact (which may or may not be cursed), and I thought okay, that's what you have to do to pay off super strength, near invincibility, and ageless immortality. I was expecting it to get harder amd nastier, not... Weirder. First thing that tipped me off that something wasn't right was when I was summoned on my day off, which I was planning to spend doing a training montage, to go to a field, hide behind a rock, and watch this absolutely horrendous monstrosity lumber around for a few hours. We're talking dragon meets giant spider, it wasn't pretty, and I wasn't looking forward to fighting it. But that's the thing, I was just supposed to watch it and summon Sqantiem if the thing wandered too far or approached a village. I later asked Sqantiem about it, and they said the demonic creature was their pet, and they were called to a primordial being anniversary of some sort and they couldn't find a last second demon-sitter, so I guess I was the only person they could've called. Thing settled down a little after that, because I guess Sqantiem realised you can't just summon your chosen hero to demon-sit on a dime, so we were back to stealing artifacts and slaying monsters. Flash forward a few months, and the Evil King has been overthrown, the kingdom saved, and my hometown restored to its peace. So imagine my surprise when my powers stayed! I was still as powerful as ever, as durable as ever, and I haven't aged a day since I first summoned Sqantiem. And yet they still sent me on little errands here and there. One day, after I'd voiced my displeasure about this nonsense, I was summoned to meet them at their lair. I was pretty nervous. I mean, it's not every day you get to visit a primordial being's lair, right? I wore my best armor, and I even shined it. What if they have another primordial being over and this is a test? Anyways, as I mentioned in my previous comment, it was a dinner. Real nice, fancy dinner, with plates and bowls of human and otherworldly food that I've never seen before. The nooks and crannies of the lair were even decorated with the cursed artifacts I helped them get! That's super cool, cuz you kinda assume most people eventually throw away whatever you give them, right? And Sqantiem was dressed in their best robes. We're talking darkest velvet cloak, embroidered with silver stars, cuffs made of the cleanest orange flame, and a sun pendant that made my eyes sting and left a black spot in my vision if I looked at it too long. And their horns were waxed to a shine, their claws painted with the freshest goat blood they could find. And don't get me started on the food! I didn't know a dish like ghumino could burn the roof of your mouth AND freeze your tongue solid! The vlarkit salad was incredible, with just enough yppnost dressing to make it this balanced blend of salty and sweet. And Sqantiem remembered my favourite dish: whole roast boar with rosemary!!! Anyways, we spent the whole night eating and chatting and eating some more as the hellplates kept our food warm for hours, and I couldn't wait to come back soon. We've been married for 666 years, but luckily Sqantiem isn't that big on anniversaries, otherwise I'd be screwed, haha. I mean, there aren't that many new artifacts to steal anymore, right? ;)	I looked at him oddly. He - for want of a better word - didn't quite look human. Not sci-fi alien either, just a little - odd. There really wasn't another way to put it. He (it? I'll go with he) tapped his glass with a finger and regarded me with a cool gaze. Sipping slowly from his glass, after a pause he asked me "Do you really know the depths of our deal?" Inwardly I braced myself. This was it, where I find out just how damned I am. "I think so", I said quietly. "In exchange for being able to save the world, I sold you my soul." Still tapping the glass, he regarded me with that odd look and what appeared like a slight frown. "Yes. I supply you with the technology to give you apparent powers, and in exchange I get your soul." His frown deepened. "But." He left it hanging. Nervousness growing, I felt sweat on my forehead. What did he want? The soul is a powerful thing. Silence stretched. He stopped tapping the glass and put it down. Unable to bear the silence anymore, I tried to keep a quaver out of my voice and said "But... what?" Folding his arms and regarding me through furrowed brows, he sighed. "Everyone on your world talks about the value of a soul, a pearl beyond price, a thing more valuable than all the gold and diamonds in the whole world. I'm glad you have sold it to me. But what is it?" I gaped. I'll admit it, I almost fell of the chair. No way could this be happening. This powerful being, able to transit the vastness of space, with technology indistinguishable from magic, didn't know what a soul was? It was hard to control my breathing. Suddenly I realized, I held all the power. I hadn't made a deal with him. He had made a deal with me. My soul was whatever I said it was, and I still had his technology. I began to smile.
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	This is my first time writing since like college lol. I've always loved dialogue over imagery and I could really feel myself struggling to write the non dialogue parts! But today is day 1 of writing! _____________________________________________________ Catfish “So you catfished me.” “I don’t think that’s what catfishing is.” “Well at the very least you LIED to me.” “Can we please just enjoy the evening? Look at this tuxedo. Do you think I own a tuxedo? I rented this just for tonight. Please, try the calamari.” Forras gestured toward the calamari sat on the table in between he and Catherine, set with a nice tablecloth and a candlestick. “How do I know the calamari isn’t another one of your tricks?” “Will you stop it? I didn’t trick you. You asked for ‘superpowers’ and I gave you a super power. It’s not my fault you weren’t specific.” “I wouldn’t call the ability to grow my nails at an advanced rate a super power. I wanted something to help save the world, not scare my nail tech.” “I don’t know why you feel so special that YOU should be the one to save the world. Plus it’s called “Nail Manipulation”, I’m pretty sure that’s what Wolverine has.” “I don’t think that’s what Wolverine has. And I wouldn’t have literally SOLD MY SOUL to you if I thought this is what I’d get in return. You catfished me.” “Agree to disagree. But that reminds me why I’ve brought you here today. I’m here to cash in my first of many favors.” Forras smiles, knowing is completely in control of the sitaution. Catherine frowns. How did I even get into this situation? This guy sucks and now I’m eternally indebted to him? Bullshit. I have got to start reading the Terms and Conditions. “What favor could you possibly need my help with? You’re a demon. Like not just in an asshole way, but in the literal pitchfork way.” Farras rolls his eyes, “It’s not a pitchfork. It’s for the salad, the serving sizes here are insane.” Catherine groans. “Can you get to the favor?” “Ah yes of course. So I’m sure that you can tell that I’m a pretty successful guy. They literally call me the President of Hell. Can you imagine how cool that looks on a business card? I would show you but I’m fresh out. But trust me, it looks cool.” Farras smiles at Catherine, awaiting a reaction that she does not give him. He continues, “ So despite being endlessly successful, it’s a bit hard to date. Everyone wants a freak in the sheets, but no one wants a demon in the streets. I don’t get it. You can’t have it both ways!” “Have you tried using dating apps? Do they have those in the underworld?” “They do. You ever heard of OKHades? It sucks. When they say the bar is in Hell, they quite literally mean it.” Forras brings his hands to his temples and starts to rub as if he had a headache. “Well I’m sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with me?” Catherine looks at her nails disinterestedly, using her ‘powers’ to make them long and then short again. “Well….. My parents are coming into town. And they maaaay be under the impression that I have a girlfriend…..” Catherine stops playing with her nails and looks at Farras “You're not gonna ask me to meet your parents are you?” “You’re indebted to me. I’m not asking. In fact, I was TRYING to be nice by bringing you to dinner.” “I thought that was an apology for fucking me over?” Catherine has an annoyed look on her face and crosses her arms in front of her. “I have nothing to be sorry for. My parents will be here this weekend and we’re going to need to get you into demon-shape so my parents don’t know you’re a disgusting human.” “Catherine mumbles under her breath, “Yeah, I’m the disgusting one.” Farras looks at Catherine and says, “Listen, you can be upset all you want but you are indebted to me for all of eternity so you may as well try and have some fun with it. The last guy who sold his soul to me is spending eternity as a urinal cake in the men’s restroom. But I like you, so all you have to do is meet my parents.” “That sounds worse than being a urinal cake.” Catherine said dryly. “See, that’s why you’re perfect for the job. You already hate my parents too. This is gonna be a piece of cake.” Farras stands up, “Well dinner was lovely. I have to run back to the underworld, but I’ll be visiting you tomorrow so we can start your demon training. You can get the check, right?” Catherine starts to respond but before she can, Farras disappears into thin air. The waiter comes over and drops the check on the table. Catherine quickly glances at the check and the receipt reads CATFISH - $35 Catherine glances back and says, “Uh waiter, I don’t think this is our-” but before she can finish her sentence, she's teleported back to her bedroom. Catherine looks around and sighs, happy to be back home but nervous about the debt she has to fulfill to Forras. She puts her hand over her eyes, exhausted, and says “Well shit. How long is an eternity, anyway?”	I looked at him oddly. He - for want of a better word - didn't quite look human. Not sci-fi alien either, just a little - odd. There really wasn't another way to put it. He (it? I'll go with he) tapped his glass with a finger and regarded me with a cool gaze. Sipping slowly from his glass, after a pause he asked me "Do you really know the depths of our deal?" Inwardly I braced myself. This was it, where I find out just how damned I am. "I think so", I said quietly. "In exchange for being able to save the world, I sold you my soul." Still tapping the glass, he regarded me with that odd look and what appeared like a slight frown. "Yes. I supply you with the technology to give you apparent powers, and in exchange I get your soul." His frown deepened. "But." He left it hanging. Nervousness growing, I felt sweat on my forehead. What did he want? The soul is a powerful thing. Silence stretched. He stopped tapping the glass and put it down. Unable to bear the silence anymore, I tried to keep a quaver out of my voice and said "But... what?" Folding his arms and regarding me through furrowed brows, he sighed. "Everyone on your world talks about the value of a soul, a pearl beyond price, a thing more valuable than all the gold and diamonds in the whole world. I'm glad you have sold it to me. But what is it?" I gaped. I'll admit it, I almost fell of the chair. No way could this be happening. This powerful being, able to transit the vastness of space, with technology indistinguishable from magic, didn't know what a soul was? It was hard to control my breathing. Suddenly I realized, I held all the power. I hadn't made a deal with him. He had made a deal with me. My soul was whatever I said it was, and I still had his technology. I began to smile.
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	This is my first time writing since like college lol. I've always loved dialogue over imagery and I could really feel myself struggling to write the non dialogue parts! But today is day 1 of writing! _____________________________________________________ Catfish “So you catfished me.” “I don’t think that’s what catfishing is.” “Well at the very least you LIED to me.” “Can we please just enjoy the evening? Look at this tuxedo. Do you think I own a tuxedo? I rented this just for tonight. Please, try the calamari.” Forras gestured toward the calamari sat on the table in between he and Catherine, set with a nice tablecloth and a candlestick. “How do I know the calamari isn’t another one of your tricks?” “Will you stop it? I didn’t trick you. You asked for ‘superpowers’ and I gave you a super power. It’s not my fault you weren’t specific.” “I wouldn’t call the ability to grow my nails at an advanced rate a super power. I wanted something to help save the world, not scare my nail tech.” “I don’t know why you feel so special that YOU should be the one to save the world. Plus it’s called “Nail Manipulation”, I’m pretty sure that’s what Wolverine has.” “I don’t think that’s what Wolverine has. And I wouldn’t have literally SOLD MY SOUL to you if I thought this is what I’d get in return. You catfished me.” “Agree to disagree. But that reminds me why I’ve brought you here today. I’m here to cash in my first of many favors.” Forras smiles, knowing is completely in control of the sitaution. Catherine frowns. How did I even get into this situation? This guy sucks and now I’m eternally indebted to him? Bullshit. I have got to start reading the Terms and Conditions. “What favor could you possibly need my help with? You’re a demon. Like not just in an asshole way, but in the literal pitchfork way.” Farras rolls his eyes, “It’s not a pitchfork. It’s for the salad, the serving sizes here are insane.” Catherine groans. “Can you get to the favor?” “Ah yes of course. So I’m sure that you can tell that I’m a pretty successful guy. They literally call me the President of Hell. Can you imagine how cool that looks on a business card? I would show you but I’m fresh out. But trust me, it looks cool.” Farras smiles at Catherine, awaiting a reaction that she does not give him. He continues, “ So despite being endlessly successful, it’s a bit hard to date. Everyone wants a freak in the sheets, but no one wants a demon in the streets. I don’t get it. You can’t have it both ways!” “Have you tried using dating apps? Do they have those in the underworld?” “They do. You ever heard of OKHades? It sucks. When they say the bar is in Hell, they quite literally mean it.” Forras brings his hands to his temples and starts to rub as if he had a headache. “Well I’m sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with me?” Catherine looks at her nails disinterestedly, using her ‘powers’ to make them long and then short again. “Well….. My parents are coming into town. And they maaaay be under the impression that I have a girlfriend…..” Catherine stops playing with her nails and looks at Farras “You're not gonna ask me to meet your parents are you?” “You’re indebted to me. I’m not asking. In fact, I was TRYING to be nice by bringing you to dinner.” “I thought that was an apology for fucking me over?” Catherine has an annoyed look on her face and crosses her arms in front of her. “I have nothing to be sorry for. My parents will be here this weekend and we’re going to need to get you into demon-shape so my parents don’t know you’re a disgusting human.” “Catherine mumbles under her breath, “Yeah, I’m the disgusting one.” Farras looks at Catherine and says, “Listen, you can be upset all you want but you are indebted to me for all of eternity so you may as well try and have some fun with it. The last guy who sold his soul to me is spending eternity as a urinal cake in the men’s restroom. But I like you, so all you have to do is meet my parents.” “That sounds worse than being a urinal cake.” Catherine said dryly. “See, that’s why you’re perfect for the job. You already hate my parents too. This is gonna be a piece of cake.” Farras stands up, “Well dinner was lovely. I have to run back to the underworld, but I’ll be visiting you tomorrow so we can start your demon training. You can get the check, right?” Catherine starts to respond but before she can, Farras disappears into thin air. The waiter comes over and drops the check on the table. Catherine quickly glances at the check and the receipt reads CATFISH - $35 Catherine glances back and says, “Uh waiter, I don’t think this is our-” but before she can finish her sentence, she's teleported back to her bedroom. Catherine looks around and sighs, happy to be back home but nervous about the debt she has to fulfill to Forras. She puts her hand over her eyes, exhausted, and says “Well shit. How long is an eternity, anyway?”	Okay so a lot of people have been PM-ing me to share this story, so here goes. Also sorry in advance for poor spelling, I'm on mobile, and I'm not used to touch screens yet. Technology has come such a long way! * At first it was the usual stuff, you know, like bring me this or that artifact (which may or may not be cursed), and I thought okay, that's what you have to do to pay off super strength, near invincibility, and ageless immortality. I was expecting it to get harder amd nastier, not... Weirder. First thing that tipped me off that something wasn't right was when I was summoned on my day off, which I was planning to spend doing a training montage, to go to a field, hide behind a rock, and watch this absolutely horrendous monstrosity lumber around for a few hours. We're talking dragon meets giant spider, it wasn't pretty, and I wasn't looking forward to fighting it. But that's the thing, I was just supposed to watch it and summon Sqantiem if the thing wandered too far or approached a village. I later asked Sqantiem about it, and they said the demonic creature was their pet, and they were called to a primordial being anniversary of some sort and they couldn't find a last second demon-sitter, so I guess I was the only person they could've called. Thing settled down a little after that, because I guess Sqantiem realised you can't just summon your chosen hero to demon-sit on a dime, so we were back to stealing artifacts and slaying monsters. Flash forward a few months, and the Evil King has been overthrown, the kingdom saved, and my hometown restored to its peace. So imagine my surprise when my powers stayed! I was still as powerful as ever, as durable as ever, and I haven't aged a day since I first summoned Sqantiem. And yet they still sent me on little errands here and there. One day, after I'd voiced my displeasure about this nonsense, I was summoned to meet them at their lair. I was pretty nervous. I mean, it's not every day you get to visit a primordial being's lair, right? I wore my best armor, and I even shined it. What if they have another primordial being over and this is a test? Anyways, as I mentioned in my previous comment, it was a dinner. Real nice, fancy dinner, with plates and bowls of human and otherworldly food that I've never seen before. The nooks and crannies of the lair were even decorated with the cursed artifacts I helped them get! That's super cool, cuz you kinda assume most people eventually throw away whatever you give them, right? And Sqantiem was dressed in their best robes. We're talking darkest velvet cloak, embroidered with silver stars, cuffs made of the cleanest orange flame, and a sun pendant that made my eyes sting and left a black spot in my vision if I looked at it too long. And their horns were waxed to a shine, their claws painted with the freshest goat blood they could find. And don't get me started on the food! I didn't know a dish like ghumino could burn the roof of your mouth AND freeze your tongue solid! The vlarkit salad was incredible, with just enough yppnost dressing to make it this balanced blend of salty and sweet. And Sqantiem remembered my favourite dish: whole roast boar with rosemary!!! Anyways, we spent the whole night eating and chatting and eating some more as the hellplates kept our food warm for hours, and I couldn't wait to come back soon. We've been married for 666 years, but luckily Sqantiem isn't that big on anniversaries, otherwise I'd be screwed, haha. I mean, there aren't that many new artifacts to steal anymore, right? ;)
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	Morgan stares at the Flame of Hidden Wisdom. The being's robes are covered in crow's feathers traced with gold while the mask shrouding Their blinding light is a solid eyeless obsidian plate dappled with silver and trailing rainbows of bismuth. \[\[BE SEATED\]\] He does, if only out of sheer confusion. Is this a test..? An attempt to breach the barriers between the unknowable to the mortal? \[\[IT TOOK A LONG TIME FOR THE RIGHT MIXTURE\]\] \[\[MANY WHO SEEK KNOWLEDGE WISH IT FOR POWER BE IT HALLOW OR PROFANE\]\] \[\[BUT OH MIRROR YOU WANT MERELY TO KNOW AND BE SATISFIED WITH KNOWING\]\] \[\[IN BINDING YOURSELF TO ME YOU HAVE BECOME MINE\]\] \[\[WE HAVE AEONS TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER FULLY\]\]\[\[IN TIME DEAR HEART YOU WILL BECOME MY MIRROR IN TRUTH\]\] \[\[MY REFLECTION AND EQUAL\]\] "...wait, are you saying..." A terrible idea dawns on the young warlock. The Flame of Hidden Wisdom taps the table with one of its many spidery hands. \[\[OUR MARRIAGE IS NOT ONE OF CONVINCE OR PACT\]\] \[\[OTHERS WOULD BE CONTENT WITH SHARING THEIR SELVES WITH COUNTLESS FRAIL MORTALS\]\] \[\[IT MAKES THE PAIN OF LOSS EASIER TO BEAR\]\] \[\[BUT YOU HAVE HEARD THE TALES OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE AND THE PRICE THEY PAID FOR THEIR RELENTLESS PURSUIT\]\] Morgan had. It was why the Flame of Hidden Wisdom was feared even more than Kortex the Skulldrinker or the Ancient Necrophage. The only survivors to seeking Their patronage had given up their ability to perform magic, some even going as far as blinding themselves to the runic languages. But Morgan had taken those stories as falsehoods spread by people who had actually won the being's patronage or Their enemies. The Patrons and Gods are ever at war for souls even if some on either divide are kinder and gentler to the essences offered to their names. "We're married and this is a date." His head is spinning at the implications. At what the Flame proposed (proposed! Ha! HE proposed!) The being seems taken aback by his words. \[\[YOU DID NOT COMPREHEND THE CONTRACT IN FULL\]\] \[\[WE SHALL DISCUSS THE TERMS AFTER THE MEAL\]\] \[\[YOU DID NOT KNOW AND YOU MUST UNDERSTAND\]\] \[\[ELSE\]\] The Flame's light dims ever so slightly. \[\[WE CAN DISCUSS TERMS OF DEPARTURE\]\]	[Poem] Flickering ambition of weak candlelight. Sitting down in silence. A pungent nothing this can’t be right. His dapper suited science. I sought his strength to cure man’s malady. He tips his hat with great aplomb. His chins wobbling he greets me “mlady”. The elder neck beard of legend comes.
[WP] You sold your soul to an otherworldly being, hoping to gain the powers needed to go on an adventure and maybe even save the world. As your Patron calls in the first of never ending favors, you find yourself at a candlelit dinner with them sitting in front of you in their best outfit.	Morgan stares at the Flame of Hidden Wisdom. The being's robes are covered in crow's feathers traced with gold while the mask shrouding Their blinding light is a solid eyeless obsidian plate dappled with silver and trailing rainbows of bismuth. \[\[BE SEATED\]\] He does, if only out of sheer confusion. Is this a test..? An attempt to breach the barriers between the unknowable to the mortal? \[\[IT TOOK A LONG TIME FOR THE RIGHT MIXTURE\]\] \[\[MANY WHO SEEK KNOWLEDGE WISH IT FOR POWER BE IT HALLOW OR PROFANE\]\] \[\[BUT OH MIRROR YOU WANT MERELY TO KNOW AND BE SATISFIED WITH KNOWING\]\] \[\[IN BINDING YOURSELF TO ME YOU HAVE BECOME MINE\]\] \[\[WE HAVE AEONS TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER FULLY\]\]\[\[IN TIME DEAR HEART YOU WILL BECOME MY MIRROR IN TRUTH\]\] \[\[MY REFLECTION AND EQUAL\]\] "...wait, are you saying..." A terrible idea dawns on the young warlock. The Flame of Hidden Wisdom taps the table with one of its many spidery hands. \[\[OUR MARRIAGE IS NOT ONE OF CONVINCE OR PACT\]\] \[\[OTHERS WOULD BE CONTENT WITH SHARING THEIR SELVES WITH COUNTLESS FRAIL MORTALS\]\] \[\[IT MAKES THE PAIN OF LOSS EASIER TO BEAR\]\] \[\[BUT YOU HAVE HEARD THE TALES OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE AND THE PRICE THEY PAID FOR THEIR RELENTLESS PURSUIT\]\] Morgan had. It was why the Flame of Hidden Wisdom was feared even more than Kortex the Skulldrinker or the Ancient Necrophage. The only survivors to seeking Their patronage had given up their ability to perform magic, some even going as far as blinding themselves to the runic languages. But Morgan had taken those stories as falsehoods spread by people who had actually won the being's patronage or Their enemies. The Patrons and Gods are ever at war for souls even if some on either divide are kinder and gentler to the essences offered to their names. "We're married and this is a date." His head is spinning at the implications. At what the Flame proposed (proposed! Ha! HE proposed!) The being seems taken aback by his words. \[\[YOU DID NOT COMPREHEND THE CONTRACT IN FULL\]\] \[\[WE SHALL DISCUSS THE TERMS AFTER THE MEAL\]\] \[\[YOU DID NOT KNOW AND YOU MUST UNDERSTAND\]\] \[\[ELSE\]\] The Flame's light dims ever so slightly. \[\[WE CAN DISCUSS TERMS OF DEPARTURE\]\]	Can someone die from starving for love? The Devil’s twisted horns cock to the side slightly as his wide, horse-like eyes bore into my gaze. If anyone could, he might. I’ve never seen such romantic desperation outside of a cheap rom-com. Between the candle flames and rotting white roses, he wears a fine suit. His charcoal-like hands fold in nervousness as a waiter approaches. “I’ll have the …” I begin. But the waiter has already dropped a fine China plate onto the table. It’s my favorite food in the world – my mom’s mac’n’cheese. No one ever makes it like my mom did, and she died before anyone could get a recipe. Before I think to stop myself, I snap up a spoonful, tears streaming down my face as memories of her flood back. “Your love for your mother is despicable,” says the Devil. “Human love is disgusting.” He saws into his own meal – a maggot-filled human face. I swallow slowly, setting down the fine spoon. Clearly, this must be a dream. Only a moment ago, I had been drawing ancient diagrams in stolen chalk on the pavement, slitting one wrist just enough for a dribble of blood to slap a candle. Indignant at being fooled into remembering my mother, instead of feeling awesome and powerful and cool as a witch, I ask, “Then why do you want it?” His soft, floppy, lamb-like ears flick a fly away. “A petulant, assuming question.” “I can tell that you do.” He leans across the table with an alarmingly human-like torso, only to trail a finger under my chin. His sharp canines bare. “I don’t know exactly. I desire love, but I cannot receive it. It’s God’s curse on me, you see. I can only consume. Everyone who tries to love me is consumed. Perhaps you’ll be different, my Margaret. It’s serendipitous that you learned that spell. You’re a sweet little virgin.” I make to stammer – no! I totally gave Jason a blowie after school under the bleachers one time! But the Devil takes up my hands in his strange, smokey ones. “Perhaps at last you’ll be my salvation,” he says. My nostrils curl from the sulfur. This feels too close to what they’d say at church, the place that my grandmother drags me in a fine white dress before making me do hours of prayers and chores. The Devil chortles, “You see, Margaret, you gave me your soul for such a foolish cause. I admit it had me practically – what do the human romance films say? – swooning.” “But I have to save the world!” I say desperately. “From the evils of cyberbullying?” he asks, squeezing my fingers. “You’re a darling child. I have so much more evil things out there, and yet you wanted to make a deal with the devil to end cyberbullying?” My bottom lip wriggles. He doesn’t understand! They were so mean to my friend … they called her so many names, and her videos went national. She had to quit school and no one did anything. And now they keep doing it to my other friends who didn't do anything wrong besides have rainbow fashion senses. Again and again, it keeps happening, no matter who you are or what you did. Everyone is hurting! The Devil grips my cheek. “Would you like another bite of your meal, dear Margaret? Or shall you finally show me that you love me?” “I didn’t think the spell would work,” I say, panting. “I … I didn’t …” A broom hits me in the face. I snap awake, looking around on the school parking lot. Wetness drowns me. It’s pouring. My grandmother’s broom smacks my arm again. “Ouch!” Grandma straightens, leaning on her broom, glaring. “Grandma, what are you doing here?” "Why are you summoning the devil?" she asks. My friends in their butterfly hairclips point at me. “Are you okay, Margaret? Wake up?” The candles had been snuffed out by the rain. My wrist is still pooling blood. My tears mix with droplets. “If you’re going to be doing real spells,” Grandma mutters, “then I’d better teach you girls how to do them the proper way. Come whippersnappers, get in my truck. Margie, you better start praying for your soul and don’t stop for the next three hours.” We pile into her old Ford Ranger, wetness sinking into the faux leather. I pool against the front seat as my friends stem the bleeding from my wrist with a scrunchie. I press my forehead against the window and sigh, wondering how God could ever deny the devil of love. Or perhaps he hadn’t at all, and it was all a lie. “Are you there, God?” I ask. “It’s me, Margaret.”
[WP] Your job was largely ceremonial, or at least it had been until the first death in over a millennia happened…	I glanced in the mirror, eyeing a small spot on my cheek. With the edge of my thumb, I rubbed at it, annoyed at the discoloration’s persistence. Not dirt, then. Perhaps a problem with the synthetic material itself. A knock on the door pulled my attention, and I turned from the mirror. “Yes?” “They’re almost ready for you, sir,” a woman’s voice spoke through the door. I nodded, immediately feeling silly at the unseen gesture. “I’ll be right out,” I said. Then I turned back toward my table and pulled a long, silver strip of fabric from a glass case in the corner. My gaze returned to the mirror as I draped the silver cloth over my shoulders. It contrasted well with the maroon cassock I wore for these occasions, though I was never a fan of the ceremonial garb. I doubted anyone was, really. Such fanfare for something so mundane. I left my quarters and made my way through the cathedral’s narrow halls. It had been a religious establishment, once, back when such a belief was endorsed by the ruling power. I was happy to see this particular relic survive the change, though. Architecture was always my second love. The halls were narrow, constructed with no real sense of order. They were meant to be beautiful, to allow a person to enjoy their walk rather than focus on what awaited them at the other end. Most of the others hated it. I found it soothing. Upon entering the main chamber, I saw the young man waiting at the base of the altar. He did not watch me as I approached, instead keeping his gaze on the small crowd peppered through the pews. I stepped behind the alter and typed a code into the pin pad on its face. After a few beeps, the smooth, metal surface separated, showing a variety of tools. And, of course, a vial of glowing blue liquid. The most important part. “You seem nervous, son,” I said to the young man. He kept his eyes forward, not wanting to look at the tools of his procedure. “It… will it hurt?” he asked. I could hear the vibrations in his voice. “Not at all,” I said. “You’ve nothing to worry about. This process has been perfected over thousands of years.” I eyed the back of his head. His hair had already begun to thin, black spots peppering his scalp. By my estimation he was no older than twenty—and already the planet’s sickness was trying to take him. What a shame. “There really is no need for all this fanfare,” I whispered, ensuring only he could hear me. “Hell, we could have set this up in an afternoon and been done with it. But some people are drawn to the ceremony, I suppose.” For the first time, he turned to face me. I was caught off guard by his left eye, lined with thin red veins spiderwebbing down his cheek. It seemed the sickness was progressing faster than it used to. “Will it still be me?” he asked, his gaze shifting to the pod behind me. I smiled. “Of course. We’ve all undergone the transfer. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.” He let out a long sigh and turned back around, facing the crowd. Aside from a couple in the front row—his parents, I’d assume—no one paid much attention. I began the ceremony by flipping a switch beneath the altar. The main lights dimmed, allowing a beam of natural sunlight to shine through the stained glass dome above us. It fell to the altar, casting an eerie light on the subject. “Life is a precious thing,” I said, my words echoing through the hall. A few more eyes pointed my direction, but several in the crowd continued to murmur and mingle amongst themselves. “It must be preserved,” I continued, “so that we may continue to advance as a society, as a people, as a race.” The young man squirmed in his seat. Not one for ceremonies, then. I rushed through the rest of the speech as naturally as possible, all while preparing the equipment for transfer. Most of the wires and tubes ran beneath the stage, so all I had to do was make sure the screen on the pod read correctly. Systems were warmed up, the new vessel was prepared to accept its host—all that was left was to do the thing. I pulled a large contraption from the recess in the altar, placing it on the back of the young man’s head. Three long metal fingers wrapped around his skull, automatically tightening. Next was a small cable, which I attached to the center of the contraption, near the base of his skull. “It will be like going to sleep,” I said, flipping a nearby switch. Several lights blinked green in succession. “When you wake up, you’ll be in your new body.” His fingers curled around the edges of his char, digging into the arm rests. I watched his chest rise and fall rapidly. “No need to be afraid,” I said. “Take a deep breath for me and count back from ten.” He inhaled sharp, then spoke in a shaky tone, “Ten. Nine. Eight…. Sev…” I flipped the final switch. A quick burst of air sounded from the contraption, followed by a sudden pop. The glowing blue liquid flowed through a tube on the left, into the young man’s head, then back out another tube on the right. Slowly, it made its way down, disappearing beneath the stage. I stepped to the pod, watching as the fluid rose into the young man’s new form. Sensors along the pod’s edge blinked and beeped, all showing their usual expected stats. The synthetic clone slowly woke, beginning with a gentle rising in his chest. A fine silver mist passed his lips with his first exhale, as was often the case. Then his eyes shot open, and I saw nothing but fear within them. Furious beeping sounded from the pod’s panel. Red lights flashed from every sensor I could see, even some I didn’t know existed. Now, the crowd paid attention. The clone’s arm shot upward, gripping my right bicep. I tried to pull free, using my left hand to furiously slip switches and press buttons. It had been so long since I’d gone over the emergency procedures I found myself at a loss for exactly what I was meant to do. A wet, choking sound came from the clone’s throat. He released my arm, instead focusing on himself. His hands clawed at his throat, tearing into the synthetic layers of skin. He gasped, yellow foam oozing from the corners of his mouth. Behind me, rushed whispers gave way to fearful shouts. The young man’s parents rushed the stage, stopping just short enough to witness the horror. And then, with one final forward lurch, the clone coughed. Yellow and red fluid splattered against my silver garment. Then he fell to the side, motionless. The air fell silent, save for a single, long tone from the pod. He was dead. I turned to face the parents, who stood in disbelief. Nearly a thousand years I had overseen these transfers—I had never once witnessed a death. This city had not recorded a death in nearly a millennia. “There… there’s another shell, right? Another clone? For things like this?” the woman asked. Her eyes remained fixed on the body twisted in the pod. “I, uh—” I stammered, unable to find the words. I looked to the man next to her, recognizing him for the first time. A politician, as usual. And not a particularly kind one. By the look in his eyes, he knew all too well what had just happened. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone. After dialing, he lifted it to his ear and glared at me. I shook my head. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” “Yes,” he said, though not to me. “I need a team here, now. A murder.” “No,” I said, stumbling backward. “It’s not my fault. This wasn’t supposed to happen. There must be some kind of problem with the equipment. I don’t understand—” “Thank you,” he said before hanging up. His wife turned and leaned into his embrace, only just realizing the finality of what she’d seen. I glanced out at the crowd, nearly thirty eyes staring back at me. They would end me for this. Everything I’d worked so hard to maintain, gone in an instant. There had to be a reason. This equipment was fail proof. Deaths did not happen. Not anymore. I must have been setup—there was no other explanation for it. But why? “They’ll be here shortly,” the man said. “I suggest you—” I turned from him and did the only thing I could think to do in that moment. I ran. *** More nonsense at r/Ford9863	There was a point in it all when it was all changing. When everything was never the same for long. Reality had a tendency to try to achieve balance constantly. Except for a correction in one area was an overcorrection in another. And to correct that over-correction, unbalanced three other areas. There was an impossible number of variables that reality was trying to balance. And through its attempt to find order, it only gave birth to more chaos, more variables. This struggle eventually gave rise to life, and life gave rise to consciousness, and consciousness gave rise to intelligence. And intelligence is just what reality needed. Intelligence could solve a problem, and reality itself was just one large problem. It took us a while to realize why we were here, but eventually, we found our purpose. And we finally were able to find out how to balance it all -- how to fix reality. And we did. And suddenly, there was no change any more. Everything within the universe was perfectly in harmony. And for us, what that meant is we had cured death. Everyone that we knew, everyone that we loved, was always going to be there. We called it the end of time. Because when there is no death, time feels unnecessary. Eventually, we stopped counting in years and centuries and millennia and just let the passing of days wash over us like a cool breeze. It never bothered me. The fact that we didn't age. That we didn't die. The fact that we would always exist. In fact, nothing bothered me, almost nothing. Once in a while, a worry would cross my mind. And when it did, I would take the medication we created shortly before the end of time and rebalance myself and bring myself back to harmony. I, unfortunately, was one of the few who had to re-dose the medication to stay in harmony. Most people never experience worry. They took the medication at the end of time and stayed in harmony forever. On the other hand, I had periodic moments in which I would break. I believe this was mainly due to my occupation. I worked as a keeper of balance. My role was largely ceremonial because the balance was always kept. There was no need for any real action beyond my need to counsel rare troubled individuals. But I won't lie, some of their concerns about the nature of our current reality would trouble me once in a while -- especially those concerned with the nature of birth, or lack thereof, and beauty. I, however, was steadfast in my beliefs, understanding, and logic in the way our reality operated. So I would help calm their worries with the standard arguments I was given as a balance keeper, provide them with a bit of medication, and then send them on their way. I, at times would also need to take a bit of medication after a particularly grueling session. And while there were pieces of information that would bother me and I would purposely forget with the help of the medication, that was a small price to pay to keep the balance. I think we may have underestimated the power of ideas, however. Because at one point, one of these particularly troubling pieces of information made it out to the public. And while many took the medication to fix themselves up learning this information. Some, we eventually learned, did not. And while we assumed the lack of balance within these individuals would at least be self-contained, we soon realized that to be false. We started to age again. Slowly at first, but aging nonetheless. And it was a paradox. Because when we noticed ourselves aging, it would cause worry and thus imbalance, so we took the medication to forget our worries. We ignored the problem because addressing the problem was to worsen the problem. So even though we were aging, we didn't believe we were aging. And I won't lie; it scared me so much that I didn't do what I was supposed to do. I ignored it for as long as I could, but eventually, I had to face the truth when I got the call that someone finally died.
[WP] A demon writes a message on a mirror but instead of being ominous and menacing, it's kind and genuinely supportive.	Walking out of the shower, toweling herself dry, Julia looked into a mirror in utter astonishment. Words written on the mirror, as if by a lover, “You’re beautiful, kind, and a kick-ass lawyer.” However, Julia lived alone, her last partner left over a year ago due to a new job. Julia looked at the message and smiled. She knew no one had broken in, her alarms would have sent police rushing in and a text message to her phone, which sat on the counter, no alerts. “Well, my supportive ghostly friend, it seems you decided to make yourself known finally,” chuckling to herself, Julia finished drying off and getting dressed for work. A sharp blouse and pencil skirt combination, not-too-tall heels awaited at her door along with her purse and briefcase. She prepared her breakfast and lunch to-go, grabbed her belongings, and walked out the door. Locking the door behind her, she realized the weather wasn’t as chilly as she thought it was, odd. She shrugged to herself while making her way to her car before driving off to work. ~~~~~ Inside the house, the demon Garthanax sighed as he watched her go. She actually talked to him for the first time. He had moved her into the right direction for lost keys, when working late at night he made sure she didn’t drool on her papers when she fell asleep at her desk, and today he wrote her a note. After all this, she thinks he’s a ghost, as if they could manipulate the physical world. Figures, humans don’t know anything about the supernatural until they die. Oh well, another day, another message on the mirror. He was assigned to torment her, but she was so sad. He decided to make her life better, a tiny piece at a time. He wasn’t sure why, he just felt compelled. Maybe he was going soft? He laughed to himself, there’s no way he was going soft. He was already traveling to his daily pitchfork torture session for those in Hell. Maybe he knew her in a past life? He was a pretty new demon, so perhaps? Not worth dwelling on it. He was already formulating his next message to her for tomorrow. Something about how she’s a bright and shining role model for girls.	Jake woke up the way he occasionally did. Slumped onto the desk next to the keyboard. Of course, he'd tried to enjoy a couple of hours of a weeknight. And fell asleep on the game. He'd been kicked back to the main menu, the background idling absently. 3 in the morning on a Thursday. Of course the four hours he'd been out were surprisingly comfortable. He took a sip of an energy drink he'd bought earlier. Not that the caffeine helped much anymore. He'd either have to move up to drinking two or taking things a bit further than normal to keep up like he wanted. Oh well. He found himself groggily using the bathroom, ignoring the presence looming over him suddenly. Jake's house was haunted. At least that's what everyone claimed. Other than it having a serious draft (explaining the chills), it was worth the deal on the market. Better than nothing. Any port in a storm. And the rain battering the windows proved that point. He found himself tiredly folding laundry from the dryer, listening to the running waters. He had to be up in three hours anyway. No real sense in trying to sleep, what with the next meeting and all. The floorboards creaked. It wasn't him. He stopped. There was another set of them. As if one were to shift their weight. Either moving, or changing balance. Aside from the light from his computer, the bathroom, and the laundry closet, the house was dark. If his eyes saw it right, in the front room stood a man. Not a man. Bigger. He blinked, however, as you would. And the shadows were normal again. Jake did not introduce himself. If someone was in here with him, it wouldn't be smart to do so. Instead, he went from room to room, carefully turning on light were possible. The doors and windows were locked. There was nowhere to hide. Jake was all alone. The door to his room closed softly. Not all the way. A part with darkness beyond it. The room was of course, empty. Except for the message on the mirror. Life is short. Live a little. The house really is haunted. "Did you... Did you die in here?" He asked carefully. The light in the bathroom turned off. There was a smearing noise on glass. And then the light turned back on. No. "...Did someone else die in here?" The same actions occurred again, more scrawling in the unexplained fog on the glass. Yes. "Did... you hurt them?" There was a pause. Longer than the others. The wind outside buffeted the walls of the house for a moment. Then he slowly got an answer. Maybe. In the time it took to receive an answer, Jake had already gone to shakily retrieve a beer from the fridge. Understandable, all things considered. He set it down to look at the mirror and quietly absorbed the possible threat. He listened to the house for signs of trouble. Until the bottle he'd just opened emptily clattered across the desk nearby. He hadn't drank it. "You're welcome." He answered slightly. Maybe this thing had a point. He hadn't done much for himself other than work and hustle in a while. Maybe take the day off? Life is short, after all.
[WP] A demon writes a message on a mirror but instead of being ominous and menacing, it's kind and genuinely supportive.	Walking out of the shower, toweling herself dry, Julia looked into a mirror in utter astonishment. Words written on the mirror, as if by a lover, “You’re beautiful, kind, and a kick-ass lawyer.” However, Julia lived alone, her last partner left over a year ago due to a new job. Julia looked at the message and smiled. She knew no one had broken in, her alarms would have sent police rushing in and a text message to her phone, which sat on the counter, no alerts. “Well, my supportive ghostly friend, it seems you decided to make yourself known finally,” chuckling to herself, Julia finished drying off and getting dressed for work. A sharp blouse and pencil skirt combination, not-too-tall heels awaited at her door along with her purse and briefcase. She prepared her breakfast and lunch to-go, grabbed her belongings, and walked out the door. Locking the door behind her, she realized the weather wasn’t as chilly as she thought it was, odd. She shrugged to herself while making her way to her car before driving off to work. ~~~~~ Inside the house, the demon Garthanax sighed as he watched her go. She actually talked to him for the first time. He had moved her into the right direction for lost keys, when working late at night he made sure she didn’t drool on her papers when she fell asleep at her desk, and today he wrote her a note. After all this, she thinks he’s a ghost, as if they could manipulate the physical world. Figures, humans don’t know anything about the supernatural until they die. Oh well, another day, another message on the mirror. He was assigned to torment her, but she was so sad. He decided to make her life better, a tiny piece at a time. He wasn’t sure why, he just felt compelled. Maybe he was going soft? He laughed to himself, there’s no way he was going soft. He was already traveling to his daily pitchfork torture session for those in Hell. Maybe he knew her in a past life? He was a pretty new demon, so perhaps? Not worth dwelling on it. He was already formulating his next message to her for tomorrow. Something about how she’s a bright and shining role model for girls.	After a long day at the office, I came home to unwind and play video games. The workday had been full of stressful meetings and my head was littered with anxiety and self-doubt. My dismal mental state made it difficult to enjoy my digital escape from reality. I took a look at the clock: 8:24 PM. Unbeknownst to me, I had been staring at my screen for over an hour in a fugue state while my character sat awaiting my input. It was at this very moment where the weight of my dissatisfying existence began to dawn on me. To clear my head, I got up and walked to the kitchen to scavenge for some food. The house was ominously quiet; my wife had taken the kids on a trip to visit her parents. My family was the sole barrier between my normalcy and manic depression; the emptiness of our home provided a glimpse into the negativity that lurked beyond my familial comfort blanket. After being unable to find a snack due to my lethargy and unwillingness to cook a meal, I settled for a beer instead. I sat at the kitchen table and quickly emptied the can of beer. Four more beers followed and I began to feel the temporary warmth of intoxication. My inebriation allowed me to decompress and begin to unpack my emotions that built up throughout the day. My boss's dismissive statements regarding my work output played through my mind on a loop. I began to question the decisions that led me to my vocation; I began to question all my life decisions. The soul crushing work that I had been poorly compensated for came into focus for what it really was: a burden on my soul. A flood of tears burst from my eyes and I began to weep like a widow. I have never been a religious man, but in this moment I started an open dialogue with God. Have I not been a good person? What did I do to deserve this miserable existence? What is my purpose in this life? It was at that very moment that I felt a warm sensation, almost as if I was being embraced by an ethereal being. This startled me at first, but then I began to enjoy it. Uplifted, I walked upstairs to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for bed. The bathroom was significantly warmer than the rest of the house, however, I still desired a scalding hot shower. I turned the water temperature up very high, so high that steam began to fill the room and cloud my vision. This was not an ordinary shower, it was a religious experience. My soul was cleansed with the warm air and the sound of the water beating down on my skin. I stood in the shower for an hour, depleting all of the hot water from my industrial-sized water heater. After stepping out of the shower, I noticed a message written in the steam on my mirror. Great things await, find your inner greatness. Befuddled, I studied the message for a few minutes. Have my prayers been answered? My religious parents were right, god does exist. Inspired with this divine revelation, I walked into my room to get dressed with my head held high. In the room waiting for me was a tall and slender demon with red, menacing eyes and a hauntingly angular face. "Are you ready to find your inner greatness?" the demon asked. "Who are you? Why are you in my home?" I replied. "Me? I am no one. You, however, are someone." said the demon. Before I was able to ask more questions, the demon morphed into a wisp of air and flew down my throat forcefully. I struggled briefly with an intense pain and the feeling of my lungs expanding rapidly. A few seconds later, the pain went away and I sat down to process the absurdity of what had just happened. Instead of questioning my mental state, I began to process my next steps for how I would obtain fulfillment in my life. Suddenly, a mental path had become illuminated for how to improve my life. That night, I had the greatest sleep that I'd ever had. The night that I met the demon was ten years ago, everything changed after that night. No longer am I a spectator on the sidelines of life; I am a lion. Sometimes, I can still feel the demon's presence inside of me and it reminds me of the great gift that I've been given. Sometimes I miss my old life, my wife and kids. However, the freedom that my new life has granted me offsets any nostalgia I have for the old ways. Instead of slaving away in an office for the privilege of a few hours of leisure, I live every day as a free man. I had been reminiscing for hours about the moment that my life changed. I sat back on the park bench and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. After watching strangers go about their lives in the park, I decided it was time to stand up. I stumbled a bit and fell flat on my back. It seems the alcohol had not worn off yet, but nonetheless, it was time to get more with my last $20 bill. I hobbled to the liquor store and bought a cheap bottle of whiskey. I went back to the park bench, sat down, and poured the brown liquid down my throat. The demon enjoys this sensation and rewards me with feelings of euphoric happiness. Just as I began to close my eyes for a nap, a familiar voice rang out. "Dad, what the hell happened to you? We haven't been able to find you in years."
[WP] A demon writes a message on a mirror but instead of being ominous and menacing, it's kind and genuinely supportive.	Walking out of the shower, toweling herself dry, Julia looked into a mirror in utter astonishment. Words written on the mirror, as if by a lover, “You’re beautiful, kind, and a kick-ass lawyer.” However, Julia lived alone, her last partner left over a year ago due to a new job. Julia looked at the message and smiled. She knew no one had broken in, her alarms would have sent police rushing in and a text message to her phone, which sat on the counter, no alerts. “Well, my supportive ghostly friend, it seems you decided to make yourself known finally,” chuckling to herself, Julia finished drying off and getting dressed for work. A sharp blouse and pencil skirt combination, not-too-tall heels awaited at her door along with her purse and briefcase. She prepared her breakfast and lunch to-go, grabbed her belongings, and walked out the door. Locking the door behind her, she realized the weather wasn’t as chilly as she thought it was, odd. She shrugged to herself while making her way to her car before driving off to work. ~~~~~ Inside the house, the demon Garthanax sighed as he watched her go. She actually talked to him for the first time. He had moved her into the right direction for lost keys, when working late at night he made sure she didn’t drool on her papers when she fell asleep at her desk, and today he wrote her a note. After all this, she thinks he’s a ghost, as if they could manipulate the physical world. Figures, humans don’t know anything about the supernatural until they die. Oh well, another day, another message on the mirror. He was assigned to torment her, but she was so sad. He decided to make her life better, a tiny piece at a time. He wasn’t sure why, he just felt compelled. Maybe he was going soft? He laughed to himself, there’s no way he was going soft. He was already traveling to his daily pitchfork torture session for those in Hell. Maybe he knew her in a past life? He was a pretty new demon, so perhaps? Not worth dwelling on it. He was already formulating his next message to her for tomorrow. Something about how she’s a bright and shining role model for girls.	Thin strands of sulfurous smoke whirled through the superheated air, twirling around the gnarled horns of the red-scaled figure. A shiny black talon tapped against sharp teeth, making a clicking sound as the demon reached out with his other hand and hesitated for a moment. After the brief pause, the demon's talon moves purposely across the glass, easily cutting into it as he writes in a blocky disjointed script "Wear the blue suit, with the red tie, you look great and will get that job!" With a quick glance to the left and the right the towering demonic figure straightens and begins to walk away as if nothing happened. A long sigh reminiscent of air brakes the only indication that he was worried in the first place. "Ahem" the voice resonates through the suddenly completely silent air. The towering columns of flame themselves paused at the sound. Smoke stills, the tortured screams that were the constant background noise now utterly muted as a dread presence slips into the abyss. "What, do tell me Bathuskausama, what was that? Some ploy to gain favor before convincing him to kill the interviewer? Tell me that's what it was this time, do me that favor" The demon looks down, massive horned shoulders slumping. "You said once a millennium, just for balance, for funsies, oh most corruptodulius one" The universe seems to still for a moment before the voice responds in a tone both terrifyingly powerful and at the same time incredulous "Sarcasm, that was sarcasm and you know it!" The demon looks down, massive horned shoulders slumping. "You said once a millennium, just for balance, for funsies oh most grandiose lord of all things horribly... " and there the demon lost track and finished lamely "grandiose. You did say this, and therefore who am I but a humble and meaningless servant before your evilianestimalness so worthless that I was required to do as you commanded, in my worthless way" The barely felt heat of the abyss rose to where even the demon could feel it, tortured souls screamed in endless agony, smoke filled the air like fog as massive rocks fell into the cracked landscape, for an incredible eternity all the Abyss was awash in unrestrained chaos. Then it wasn't, the normal sounds of the Abyss returned, smoke coalesced into their usual columns, distant demons looking around in confusion but they returned to their tortures. "Yes" the voice grates in a controlled fury "It is as I said it should be" The demon shifts slightly and looks down at the crumpled landscape at its feet. Then spreads its arms out wide in a subservient bow "As you command oh lord of all things vile and cruel, I hated doing that for you." The voice dropped slightly "As you should have" The small grin playing about the demon's lips went unnoticed as the presence departed was the only thing betraying his enjoyment as he mentally marked the date a millennium away.
[WP] A demon writes a message on a mirror but instead of being ominous and menacing, it's kind and genuinely supportive.	“YOU. ARE. LOVED.” That was the message I left for the boy after he had come home crying. Today had been brutal at school, from the looks of the bruises. He never told his parents the truth; I think he was worried about seeming weak. That's always how it is for teens: they don't want to rely on Mommy and Daddy anymore, so even if they were kind, supportive, and loving--all of which they were--there was nothing they could do. Can’t save someone who doesn't want to be saved. So I decided to pitch in a little. As he was looking at the bruises in the mirror, I breathed on my side of it, writing the message on it. Understandably, he was shocked at first, but as I kept writing, I told him how his mom and dad were really worried about him, how they loved him, and how he should tell them the truth about his bullies. I explained that as a demon, I wasn't allowed to directly interfere in human affairs, but that I could steer him in the right direction, ideally one that didn't involve a path of self-destruction. It took some talking, but eventually, he took a deep breath, smiled, then nodded. As he was headed out, he turned back and asked who I was. I just replied, “Call me whatever you like.” Since then, I've been told he’s been improving in his life. I still leave little messages for him now and then, just to make sure that he takes care of himself, but overall, he seems to be a lot better. Not bad for a little hell spawn, if I do say so myself.	Thin strands of sulfurous smoke whirled through the superheated air, twirling around the gnarled horns of the red-scaled figure. A shiny black talon tapped against sharp teeth, making a clicking sound as the demon reached out with his other hand and hesitated for a moment. After the brief pause, the demon's talon moves purposely across the glass, easily cutting into it as he writes in a blocky disjointed script "Wear the blue suit, with the red tie, you look great and will get that job!" With a quick glance to the left and the right the towering demonic figure straightens and begins to walk away as if nothing happened. A long sigh reminiscent of air brakes the only indication that he was worried in the first place. "Ahem" the voice resonates through the suddenly completely silent air. The towering columns of flame themselves paused at the sound. Smoke stills, the tortured screams that were the constant background noise now utterly muted as a dread presence slips into the abyss. "What, do tell me Bathuskausama, what was that? Some ploy to gain favor before convincing him to kill the interviewer? Tell me that's what it was this time, do me that favor" The demon looks down, massive horned shoulders slumping. "You said once a millennium, just for balance, for funsies, oh most corruptodulius one" The universe seems to still for a moment before the voice responds in a tone both terrifyingly powerful and at the same time incredulous "Sarcasm, that was sarcasm and you know it!" The demon looks down, massive horned shoulders slumping. "You said once a millennium, just for balance, for funsies oh most grandiose lord of all things horribly... " and there the demon lost track and finished lamely "grandiose. You did say this, and therefore who am I but a humble and meaningless servant before your evilianestimalness so worthless that I was required to do as you commanded, in my worthless way" The barely felt heat of the abyss rose to where even the demon could feel it, tortured souls screamed in endless agony, smoke filled the air like fog as massive rocks fell into the cracked landscape, for an incredible eternity all the Abyss was awash in unrestrained chaos. Then it wasn't, the normal sounds of the Abyss returned, smoke coalesced into their usual columns, distant demons looking around in confusion but they returned to their tortures. "Yes" the voice grates in a controlled fury "It is as I said it should be" The demon shifts slightly and looks down at the crumpled landscape at its feet. Then spreads its arms out wide in a subservient bow "As you command oh lord of all things vile and cruel, I hated doing that for you." The voice dropped slightly "As you should have" The small grin playing about the demon's lips went unnoticed as the presence departed was the only thing betraying his enjoyment as he mentally marked the date a millennium away.
[WP] The innocent little girl sat in the most beautiful meadow you had ever seen. As you dropped your sword and fell to your knees, you could only wonder. Why was this valley surrounded by mountains of body, and pillars of fire.	It’s funny, if you were to ask me what blood smelled like I couldn’t give a clear answer. You don’t smell it in your nose, like you would a flower, it’s more of a sharp pang felt deep within the forehead. It’s subtle, only noticeable when blood has been spilt in titanic quantities. Right now my forehead was screeching. “Run away, hide, death!” Is what it told me, over and over. Denying my primal instincts, I advanced towards the tree-line, determined to find the pungent source. My mind was constricting itself, only capable of short, quick thoughts –fired like lightning bolts. Before even observing a threat my body had switched into survival mode without my consent. My gait escalated until I hit a full sprint; my armor rustled with the light sound of shaking chains. Breaking through the tree-line, my eyes glazed over with a red haze and I felt sudden heat on my cheeks. Great plumes of fire shot up from the ground and scorched the sky, dyeing it a bright crimson. The smell of blood had vanished, or perhaps it was simply being overpowered by a much more potent odor –burning flesh. Surrounded by several torrents of fire was a young girl, her hair flailing wildly. “A survivor..” I weakly breathed out. Without a second thought I ran forward, determined to save the child. As I closed the distance she stuck her arm out, to reach for mine –I assumed. But rather than an open hand, she pointed a finger at me and glared. The several plumes of fire, that surrounded her, merged together into a raging tornado of flame and violently tore through the earth straight towards me. “Witchery!” I realized far too late. This girl –this child—was not a victim, she was the cause. Releasing my sword and dropping to my knees, I could do nothing but throw myself at the mercy of such an awesome power. They say one’s final thoughts should be happy ones. Joyful memories of friends and family. Try as I might, I found myself unable to recall even one memory I held fondly. Life was not kind to me. “Perhaps things will go better in my next life.” A faint hope still flickered somewhere in my calloused heart. I closed my eyes and awaited death –but death never came. Tentatively, I opened one eye and, to my surprise, saw the sky-piercing flame had been extinguished. With the blinding fire gone, I was able to clearly see my surroundings for the first time. A beautiful meadow tucked away in a valley – it was like something out of a story book. But in stark contrast to the landscapes natural beauty was a horrific sight. Mountains of burned bodies piled up on top of each other. Each one contorted in pain and covered in boils from the flames. There can be no doubt, this small innocent looking girl was the culprit. Taking a closer look I began to understand. She wore nothing but a filthy rag fashioned into a dress. Hair matted into a heavy clump. Her body was a mosaic of cuts, bruises, and scars. Most notably on her wrists and ankles were deep pink scars – a telltale sign of imprisonment. But for scars to get that deep, one would have to be bound for, well, just about her whole life I reckon. Life had not been kind to her either. “Hey.” I said dryly with a wave She stared at me, not a shred of light in her eyes. Enough time had passed that I assumed she wouldn’t resp- “-- --- \~ - -- - -“ She mumbled some odd noises. “Ah, she must not speak common. Perhaps-“ In that moment I noticed it. It wasn’t that she spoke another language –no. Her tongue had been sliced off at the base. I choked on my own words and reflexively recoiled from the sudden realization. I couldn’t ask her directly about what happened here, but I’ve witnessed the cruel depths of mankind first-hand innumerable times. Putting all the pieces together made only a single word come to mind –Fear. Fear is the most detestable of all human emotions. Anger, sadness, anxiety –all the others really only affect an individual, but fear is different. It’s infectious like a disease and spreads even quicker. It’s the driving force behind everything cruel. Fear can convince men to kill each other by the thousands, can cause nobility to vilify the commoners –Fear could even persuade an entire village to imprison an innocent child who displays a talent for witchcraft. That’s why –in this moment- I had no choice but to suppress my instincts, my fear. Hesitantly, I rose to my feet and took my first step towards the girl. She showed no reaction so I took another, and another, until I was close enough to reach out and touch her. Still staring at me with dead eyes I felt a pang in my heart. Crouching down to her level, I slowly rolled up my padded sleeve, revealing a deep pink scar. Her eyes rounded as she stared, mystified, at my marred wrist. She held her own wrist up next to mine, as if to compare, and then slowly ran her tiny finger across the width of both our scars. The faintest ghost of a tear ran down her colorless cheek. It seems even witches have empathy. With that one tear I could be certain, she was not some monster to be slain or hidden away, she was just a child who needed to be loved. As my head cleared I found any reservation I once held had already vanished. Quickly I embraced her small head. She jolted in shock but didn’t resist. Sticking her arms out, frozen, as if she had never once been embraced –never once having had positive human contact. “It’s okay now.” I whisper. I think everyone deserves a second chance; this poor child never even had a first.	The dead bodies scattered the ground And flames made a crackling sound As vultures did fly A girl caught my eye Her booty was peachy and round _ Her battleaxe sank in my gut My intestines fell from the cut I gave her grin As I pushed them back in And said "Ma'am you've got quite a nice butt" _ She hoisted her axe in the sky And screamed a blood curdling cry As i laid to rest Her axe in my chest I thought "She's probably not into guys" [Poem]
[WP] You're the city's superhero. Your greatest enemy is the city's supervillain. However, you're secretly brothers. This isn't tragic, though, because your whole destructive rivalry is just a massive prank on your older third brother - the mayor.	“And that’s why, we are proud to unveil the monument… to Justice!” Mayor Nathaniel pulled down the cloth covering the mural to reveal a huge portrait of me beaming and giving an oversized thumbs up to anyone in the vicinity of the town hall. The mayor looked at it for a moment too long, his lip twitching, then swiftly rose back to the epitome of the city’s political world and smiled to the roaring applause. The lawn ahead of the city’s new mural dedicated to me was packed with people of all ages, celebrating the new art installment in their community. I was disguised among them, deliberately not applauding for what I thought was too much of a display, when it certainly wasn’t something I could claim I’d earned. “May we be inspired to do better, like Na… National Treasures like Justice Man does every day,” he said, stumbling before he said my real name. “Not so fast, Natty!” a voice boomed from the skies. The audience gasped fearfully as a cloud began shrouding the sun at an alarming rate, though Nathaniel sighed and put his face in his hands as our other brother cackled maniacally, followed by coughing from too much cackling. Mayor Nathanial mumbled “not now” just loud enough to be picked up on the microphone, but the masses were too panicked to pay him any mind. I stepped out of the fearful audience to make a grand entrance later, like we’d planned. “It is I! Evil Man!” my super-powered brother boomed from the heavens, his face taking form within the dark clouds coagulating in the sky. He had control over elements of air and water. Not that anyone outside the family knew that, of course. “I think that this display is… too much! This so-called Justice Man does not deserve such praise!” When expecting, my parents were determined that they would name their child Nathaniel or Natalia. They were greatly excited for the child and took measures to make sure that they would not know anything about the child before it arrived. The only problem was that they ignored just how large my mother became. It was not one child, but three boys. They were steadfast in their plans and named us each as we were brought into this world. First Nathaniel. Then Nathanyell. And myself, Nathuneele. I think the spelling of our names was the most glaring reason that Nathanyell and I became bitter rivals with Nathaniel. Even more so than the fact that we manifested powers and he did not. “Justice Man will face my wrath!” The cloud charged down from the sky and Nathaniel dove out of the way just in time before the mural was washed away, leaving nothing but a clean building behind. Evil Man was not known for much more than petty vandalism and occasionally destroying abandoned buildings that would have otherwise drained the city’s tax dollars to upkeep. We loved Natty enough to keep him running the city smoothly. But we always made sure our bouts were public and stole his thunder. With the mural gone, I was free to join in on the fray, leaping out of my disguise and jumping to an impossibly high point, sailing down and landing with a pose on stage. Standing bravely before the terrified audience, shoving the mayor out of the way and standing center stage, I puffed my chest as I delivered my lines. “Not so fast, Evil Man!” I pointed valiantly. “I won’t let you hurt this city!” “It’s too late for that!” he cackled, causing another coughing fit. “It’s never too late for Justice!” I said, punching the air ahead of me and sending a tiny hurricane in the direction of the cloud, blasting it away into the sky. I, too, had the power to manipulate water and air. Nathanyell and I took turns playing Justice Man and Evil Man. We could pull it off, as we looked identical. “Curse you, Justice Man!” he said, not having suffered any pain at all. “I’ll get you next time!” Evil Man flew off, waving away at me subtly from within the dark cloud. “Citizens,” I nodded to the stunned onlookers who exploded in their approval, chanting my name. Mayor Nathaniel rolled his eyes and looked at me with a forced smile. “You’ve saved the day,” he said flatly. “Thanks. We’ll see you around.” “There’s no need to thank me!” I said. Removing the artwork was my idea after all. “Great, then we’ll see you around,” Nathaniel said through grit teeth. “What about the mural!?” someone screamed from the audience. “We need to make another!” “I think it an affront to the name Justice Man to have a single man’s image take up the Town Hall’s walls! I think it should remain free from such paraphernalia,” I said, enunciating the word slowly. I had a hard time getting the line right in our dress rehearsals. “Well, what about Mayor Nathaniel’s house? He loves you! I’m sure he’d love to have your mural in his place!” another voice called. My eldest brother and I looked at each other, unable to mask our mortifiedness. “Don’t do it,” I whispered. “My ratings would skyrock—” “Don’t. Do. It,” I insisted. “I would have to graciously accept the offer, given it’s what the people want,” he said, smiling at them. Once again, they cheered and whooped their approval, clapping thunderously as the quick decision making of their beloved mayor. I stared with passive emotion at both my brother and the audience, not sure how I should be reacting, even as Justice Man. “You’re such a sap for approval numbers,” I scoffed at him under my breath, deciding that waving to the audience would be most appropriate. “Yeah, well you’re a sap for bugging me,” he replied, joining me in waving. “You know we’re just gonna take that mural down as well, right?” I mentioned. “Sure, but an attack on my property could only bolster my approval numbers,” he replied coolly. “You’re such a loser,” I said immediately. We waved for a couple more seconds. “So, see you Thursday for dinner?” he asked. “Yeah, don’t forget the dip this time,” I said, flying off stage and leaving him in the adulation of his community. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ r/Nazer_The_Lazer for more stories	"So," Mom asks, "What have you been up to, Scott?" "Oh, you know how the old office is. Just trying to get prepared for the next round of elections . I have been dipping in the polls recently due to the...vigilante activity...but I plan to end it soon. I can't have that in my city. And then maybe I'll make a run for Senate! Someone in this family has to make a name for themselves," He says, glancing at Storm. Storm is my younger brother and has always been the problem child. Storm glances up from his phone. "I have a fucking job and it isn't just to stand up and lie to people's faces. The only useless one in this family is you." "What is it you do exactly? I've never been clear on that. Because, like you have a house and stuff but I've never once heard you mention work or a boss." "I've told you, I have that web-designing company and play the stock market in my free time." Storm brushes back his dark hair from his eyes. Scott has never understood the concept of working from home; he thinks the only real jobs are the ones where you dress up in a suit and go to the office. "That's not an actual occupat-" Mom cuts him off before he can offend Storm further. Storm was given his name for a reason. "So, Jaden, how's grad school going?" "You know, it's...going." She doesn't know I failed out two weeks ago to pursue other activities. Scott begins coughing obnoxiously. "Cough Cough Dropout I am so so sorry I don't know what has affected my sinuses." I mouth to Storm across the table Did you tell him? No Well who did? You're dead Scott mouths across the table. "Well, this has been a lovely dinner. I enjoy spending time with my younger brother in hopes that they will take after my example. Oh and Jaden, I saw your professor at my campaign event. He was so happy to be able to speak with me. Well, I have to go back to the office. Word has it the president wants to speak with me on something concerning the town. I don't want to make it seem like a big deal....but it's kind of a big deal." He pulls on his starched suit jacket and stiffly walks towards the door like there's a stick up his ass. "Honey, that's lovely! I'm so proud of you," Mom gushes. "The president of what, the society of pompous assholes?" I whisper to Storm. He snickers. "I think it's about time for Sir Evil to make an appearance," He smirks. "Really? It just so happens that Captain Supreme is in town as well," I grin back. "Hold him up here. I want to see his reaction. That dinner was painful and he deserves this, we both know he does," Storm leaves the dinner. "Bye Mom, it was nice seeing you!" "Bye sweetie!" Scott moves to leave as well. "Hey, um, Scott, can we talk?" "Sure, Jaden! I'm always thrilled to share my wisdom with my younger, impressionable siblings." Mom beams. Oh, he deserves whatever Storm's got coming. We move to the kitchen. "So, what's on your mind? I know you dropped out of school. I have to say, I was shocked and disappointed. I always thought of the siblings you had the most promise, well, not as much as yours truly of course, but I always saw you as an upper middle class businessman or something, not a dropout, and I just hope that-" He glances at his phone. "Shit, I have to take this." Damn, that was quick. The devil works fast but politicians work faster. "There are photos of WHAT?? And on every billboard-- Yes I know what this means but are you sure...I mean you're sure...it has my name? Yes, I know what this means...And there's been a robbery of the bank...someone's holding the director hostage? You're kidding...yes, I'll be at the office soon." He puts down the phone and puts his head in his hands. "My career is over," he mumbles."I'm gonna need a drink." Was the hostage situation really necessary? I mean, my younger brother can take things a bit far sometimes. I guess it's time to put that half degree to use. Time to go be Captain Supreme.
[WP] "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing" ...	\[Bringing Outbreak In\] "Which one should I cut?" The professor asked with panic in his voice. He stared at a tangle of colored wires with scissors in hand. A timer counted down the last 15 seconds. "The red one," Outbreak replied with a disappointed sigh. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. She flicked her wrist up to summon her slate. A translucent grey pane of glass appeared in the air in front of her even as the professor snipped the red wire. An explosion rocked the small lab but Outbreak did not last long in the fire. She tapped the slate a few times and the flames disappeared. The professor's lab looked perfectly organized. The lean, silver-haired professor sat at his dark wooden desk. An open case with a rat's nest of colored wires sat in front of him while he studied the device. "This is very interesting....," he said. Outbreak had already heard his explanation more times than she wanted to. She was about to skip his speech when a black portal opened next to her. A pale, rainbow-haired teen girl walked out and smiled at her. "...I've never seen this material before..." the professor continued to talk but Outbreak ignored him when Monday greeted her. "Hey, you wanted to see me?" she asked. Outbreak nodded. "Ark asked me to put in a word for him...," Outbreak said. She knew Monday's feelings towards her brother and hoped she didn't make a mistake by mentioning him. Monday nodded, and sighed. "Uh oh," the professor said suddenly. He interrupted his own ramblings. A beep sounded and a timer on the device began counting down from one minute. "Is that a problem?" Monday asked. Outbreak shook her head. "It's a small explosion. You're as strong as I am; you'll be fine," she shrugged. "I've been avoiding Ark because I don't know what to do...," Monday admitted to Outbreak. "About what?" Outbreak asked. "I hate Ark," she said. "I can't stand him and I've felt that way my whole life..." "Okay...," Outbreak replied. She sensed that Monday was making a point but she couldn't see it yet. "But all my memories..." "Which one should I cut?" the professor asked. "The red one!" Outbreak called out without hesitation. Monday continued her train of thought. "...all that hate....," she sighed and lean closer to Outbreak. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "...it never happened," she said. An explosion filled the room with noise and fire. "Hold on," Outbreak said. She tapped the slate a few times and the lab was reset. "What do you mean it never happened?" Outbreak asked. "This is very interesting...," the nameless professor said behind them. "I"m new, the same way you're new...," Monday said. Outbreak wasn't surprised that Monday knew. Outbreak never told anyone about her conversation with Ballisea. She tried not to dwell on the fact that the earlier memory she could recall was her at 14; this year. But, Monday knew how to get information. It was more surprising that Monday seemed to be in the same boat. "I can't seem to convince my feelings that Ark didn't ruin my childhood even though I've never met him...," Monday said. "Tell him he's going to have to wait longer," Monday shrugged. "Uh oh," the professor said in the background. His timing made Monday giggle. "Anyway, what exactly are you doing?" she asked. Outbreak nodded. She knew that conversation was over and moved on to the new one. "Necromancer quest," she said. "Trying to get a flaming skeleton. "How? He already exploded," Monday said. Outbreak nodded. "He has to follow a specific script." "15 seconds!? Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," the professor said. "Hey, perfect," Outbreak grinned. Both girls watched as the professor leaned forward and cut the red wire. A small explosion rocked the room. This time, Outbreak didn't need to reset the encounter. "I'm done with this, whatcha doing for the rest of the day?" Outbreak asked. She approached the charred, flaming corpse to loot her reward. "I'm reorganizing some of Mrs. Sharp's assets," Monday replied. Outbreak's eyes widened in surprise. "You know Mrs. Sharp!?" she asked. Monday nodded. "Would you like to meet her?" she asked. Outbreak nodded eagerly. "Yes please!" \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1548 in a row. (Story #099 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).	“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing”. Those were the words that she heard coming from the room down the short corridor. It had been spoken in a calm manner, suggesting that this plan had no urgent time limit. It wasn’t the shouted, expelled panic that one might expect to hear the phrase in high stakes situations, an emergency surgery or a bomb defusal perhaps. This voice certainly wasn’t staring at wires of different colours, with clippers in hand, trying to instil confidence in their inexperienced, or doubting, colleague. Nor were they scrubbed up with masks and bright lights, blood spurting into a cavity obscuring their view. The manner and tone of the voice suggested a more sinister plot, maybe embezzlement or fraud of some kind, they were at work after all. Or was it part of a new big business strategy, a risky new path that the company must now tread. The strange thing, she thought, was the lack of any other context. The words were not requested, nor answered. They were nothing, then briefly something, and then they drifted off. If this was a telephone call then that would be a suitable explanation. She was happy with this. It satisfied her desire for an answer and her curiosity rapidly declined with this thought. It pushed the precarious topic outside of her zone of control, and into the private lives of other people, a place that she didn’t have much time for. With this explanation the possibilities were endless, and therefore she shouldn’t waste mental effort trying to imagine infinite situations where this line could be said. It could be a man who will fix his own car whereas his friend suggests to go the garage. Mundane, every day life stuff. Panic over. No need to carry this around for the rest of the day. No need to go to the door to check, there was no compelling reason to do this now. But what’s the point of this story if she is to just leave this there and get back to work? We must know the reason, whether it’s ordinary or extraordinary, for that encompasses all possibilities. She was a confident person, so she walked up to the open door and peered in. At that moment the owner of the voice cut the wrong wire, and the explosion killed all three of them.
[WP] You are a child and it is easter. You are at a town easter egg hunt. You follow the trail of easter eggs into the woods where there seems to be a gigantic rabbit burrow. The eggs go down inside. You want to win that prize.	Randy knew King's park like the back of his hand. Living just across the street, he spent years exploring the 15 kilometers of trails and 300 acres of park. There wasn't a trail he didn't know, a bench he hadn't sat on. So when he saw the single purple and green egg siting atop a small mound of earth and moss about 20 feet from the trail, he didn't hesitate to run in and grab it before one of the other children saw it. Under his arm was a basket with 26 eggs inside already - only four more for the big prize. He picked up the egg and smiled at his catch, and was about to turn back to the trail when through the thick canvas of dead branches he saw another egg on a stump, further into the forest. He took a quick look back at the trail before pushing forward, pushing aside the dead branches and breaking the small ones as he went. He got to the egg and quickly snagged it, placing it into the basket. Only three to go. The snap of a twig caught Randy's attention and he looked up and around. He didn't see anything. He could barely hear the voices of the other children, their silhouettes barely visible through the thicket. Another noise. He whipped his head around towards the sound coming from deep within the park. The weave of his basket crackling under his tightening grip. There was something beyond the branches, on the side of the tree. Randy focused his eyes and pushed aside some branches with his arm for a better look. It was another egg. A shiny gold egg. He looked back at the barely visible trail. The egg was only a few feet away. He would turn and go straight back after grabbing it. It was starting to get dark anyway. Randy knew that he couldn't get lost in the park. Sure it was big, but you only had to walk in one direction for 30 minutes before you would reach one of the city's main roads. He had done it before. Yet, the forest had never seemed so dark to him as it did now, so encroaching. Randy went in and grabbed the egg, and as he turned around to go back to the trail he saw it. A hole, on the side of a rise in the earth, with Easter eggs in it. More eggs than he could count, of all colours: some vibrant greens and purples, and others pastel pinks and blues. They lined up in a single file, going straight into the hole. Randy approached the hole quietly, looking around his shoulders as he did. He had explored this park for as long as he could remember, in all seasons. He knew every nook and cranny, even outside of the trails. So why hadn't he ever seen this big hole before? He approached the hole and grabbed the first egg slowly, not taking his eyes off of the dark void. He waited a moment before grabbing the next egg in line, even slower this time. As he reached out for the third and final egg, the last one he would need, he froze. He thought he could hear a sound coming from inside the hole. It sounded like...carnival music? Randy put down his basket and got on his hands and knees. He inched towards the dark hole slowly to see if the music got louder. It seemed like it was, if only slightly. He inched forward a tiny bit more. And a bit more. And a bit more. Then the music stopped. Before Randy could start moving backwards, the long thin fingers wrapped around Randy's head, the thumbs thrusting into his throat to gag his screams before being sucked into the hole. The police found the basket of eggs the next day, in the middle of the park next to rise in the earth, the thick tree roots clamouring over it like veins.	Even though it was spring, there was a touch of winter still lingering in the breeze that came down through the trees, rustling the collar on Nathan's shirt. He rocked back on his heels for a moment, almost toppling over. He leaned against a tree to steady himself, the bark digging deep into his palm. He raised the bottle of sour mash whiskey he had been holding in his other hand up to his lips and took a brief swig, the cheap drink burning his nose, but sliding smoothly past his tonsils. He felt warmth in his stomach bloom like roses, and it gave him strength to push away from the tree and stand straight. He hiccuped, looking out over little league soccer field. Earlier that day, there were children here, laughing, running, toting around colorful baskets, gathering little plastic eggs filled with unknown treats. Nathan grimaced, imagining the waxy Easter Bunny chocolate that would always stick to the roof of his mouth and leave a weird sheen on the back of his teeth. Another swig from the bottle clutched in his hand blanketed that flavor memory. It was night time, now, and there was not another soul on the soccer field. At least none that he knew of. Stumbling out on to the green grass, Nathan felt himself being pulled to the edge of the field, where he had been drawn to so many years ago, back when he was a child and had been brought to this field to hunt for eggs. His Mother had told him that she wanted to go through the eggs he had collected first before he could eat them. He always assumed that she was just doing that so she could keep the best pieces of candy for herself. My Mom does that too!, an old memory called out to him. The voice of Delaney, a childhood friend of his. They had met each other in Pre-K, both scared and crying whenever their mothers had dropped them off for the first day of their schooling ever. They found comfort in each other, both sitting together, crying and wondering why their mothers were all of a sudden leaving them in a strange place and with strange people after being taught to never ever speak to a stranger. "I bet she keeps all the good candies for herself..." Nathan said, as he stumbled through the empty field. He looked down at his hand. Twenty years ago, he had been holding an Easter basket, and standing by his side was his good friend Delaney. But now, he held alcohol, and there was no one beside him anymore. Yeah, she always takes the Reese's candies, he heard Delaney's voice say. "Those are the best kind," Nathan said to no one. He made his way over to the edge of the field, where further out was a grouping of trees. He had played out there before, without his mother's permission. Back on that day, all those years ago, he had led Delaney over to the edge of the field. "I bet the grown-ups have hid the really good eggs out there!" Nathan had said. As all of the other children had been running around the field gathering eggs, him and Delaney made their way to the woods. Delaney had been hesitant about it. Her Mother had always hovered over every little thing that she did, even at school events, her Mother would be ever vigilante, always questioning the other adults about what was in the food. Nathan had seen grown-up TV shows where the older ladies would always obsess over what exactly they were eating, afraid to put on weight. Nathan didn't care though. He thought that was stupid. They had found an egg tucked up in one of the low hanging branches of a tree, and Nathan had exclaimed, "Look! See? There are eggs out here!" He had reached up and pulled the egg out from the branch. I wonder what's in it? Delaney had said. Nathan cracked the egg open, revealing a special Easter edition of a Reese's peanut butter cup, except this time this one was shaped like an Easter bunny. Wow! I didn't know they came in bunny shapes! Delaney said. "Yeah, of course! They always come out in these shapes. Have you seen the Santa Claus shaped ones at Christmas?" Delaney had shook her head, No, I haven't. I haven't ever had a Reese's cup. Nathan had looked down at the candy, and then handed it over to Delaney, feeling his cheeks blush. "Here, try it!" Adult Nathan leaned against the tree that had held the Easter egg, and there he took another swig of whiskey. He exhaled fumes, hearing his heart pound in his ears. It was here, that he noticed what looked like an Easter egg sitting in the grass, just beyond the trees. It was hard to tell in the dark, and it was also difficult considering he was so drunk that his vision was starting to spin, but sure enough, once he approached and stooped over, he found that it was an Easter egg. "What are the chances?" Nathan asked himself, cracking the egg open. He always suspected that Fate was a cruel bitch, but that suspicion was confirmed when he saw that the egg contained a Reese's Bunny. It's sooooo good! Delaney had said, all those years ago. Nathan squished the candy in his fist, throwing it as hard as he could into the trees, almost losing his balance and falling over. He steadied himself up against a tree. Here, he noticed a trail of Easter eggs, leading deeper into the woods. "What the fuck?" he mumbled, pushing away from the tree and following the trail of eggs. "I bet there's even more eggs out deeper into the woods!" Child Nathan had said, grabbing hold of Delaney's free hand, "come on! Let's go get them!" The two kids pushed into the woods, away from all of the children and away from the adults. The noise of the other kid's laughter and excitement faded away, and was soon replaced by the huffs of Nathan and Delaney, climbing over tree roots, pushing further and further into the woods. Nathan's eyes were vigilantly scanning the ground for more eggs holding delicious loot. He hadn't noticed that Delaney had been wheezing, her face growing red. Adult Nathan followed the trail of Easter eggs into the woods, eventually coming across a large opening in the Earth, where the eggs trailed down. "What, the fuck?" Nathan slurred. He fell down onto his hands and knees, dropping the bottle. Not much was lost from there; there was only one or two small sips left. He gathered himself and sat up onto his knees, framing his face with his hands in an attempt to get his eyes to focus on the overly large burrow. From deep within, he could hear what sounded like a little girl laughing. "Delaney?" Nathan asked quietly. A cold breeze tore through the woods, rustling the leaves in the trees. In between the laughing, he could hear wheezing. "Delaney, are you okay?" Nathan asked. Child Nathan had asked Delaney the same thing all those years ago when he turned and saw that her face had turned purple. She had dropped her Easter basket, spilling colorful eggs all over the dirt and grass. One of her hands was clutching her throat, and the other was squeezing Nathan's hand so hard that he could feel his knuckles popping. "Ow, Delaney that hurts, what is wrong? What is going on?" She fell to her knees, no longer wheezing, face turning blue. Her hand went slack in his, and she fell to the side. "What is happening?" Child Nathan said, "What is happening? What?! What?! What do I do?" The wheezing kept coming from deep within the burrow, and Adult Nathan crawled on his hands and knees towards it, "Delaney, I'm coming. I can help you now, I can help you," Nathan said, patting at his shirt pocket. There, he had an EpiPen that he always carried with him ever since he was able to buy one. "I can help you now," he slurred crawling towards the burrow. ***
[WP] "All students, report to the basement shelters!" As you hurry down the stairs to the shelter during the latest superhero/supervillain battle, you wonder what Mom and Dad are fighting about this time.	Fire streets through the sky as you hurridly scale down the stairs, and a scent of burning copper fills the air just before the shelter doors close one last time. Above ground you hear screams as the two battle up there. "Jason, come join the class, there's nothing we can do until it's over." The oldest of our class has everyone sitting in the shelter while trying to pretend we're still in school. And after a moment it works. We talk about math and science, read poetry and discect the meaning of something no one really understood. Hours pass and eventually we have nothing less to study to pretend we're still in school. By now the fighting had stopped, but we know better then to leave too early. "How are you doing with Chel." One of the boys asks another. Tears flow out, "she's still up there. If she survived then...". His voice breaks off. There is no good situation to that end. Anyone who survives is either badly injured, unconscious, or inherited one of the powers that were used in the fight. Possibly all three. "She's either dead or I have to break up with her he finally whispered." "Mom and Dad." That what all of us with powers started to call those two up there. Though it was best to remain secret about it, because of the damage done, everyone fears you for having a power. I felt sorry for the girl. So young, I couldn't wait till it was time. I had to see who was up there still. I waited till the oldest did his 15 minute headcount to make sure we were all there and mostly to reassure us that we were all ok. Then I slipped out. Passing through the metal bomb does as if they weren't there. "Gotta help the survivors," was my only thought. Followed quickly by the need to not be seen.	The intercom sounds, “All occupants report to the basement shelters.” Everyone leaves the class in a chaotic manner, walking to the basements while talking with their friends. I sit in the corner, and take out my phone. I go onto a news site, but it won’t load. I can’t use data, that doesn’t work in this bunker, and the school’s wifi only works half the time, and is probably overloaded right now. “Vivian, do you know what’s going on, which supers are involved?” I ask. “No, nothing will load,” she says. “But Dust and Ashes will probably be involved, they fight in every battle. My guess would be Thorns, he’s been making threats recently. He might actually have a chance this time.” I groan. Last time Thorns fought my parents, my dad was in the hospital for a month. If Thorns has a chance right now, they might die. I need to help, as I’m actually the most powerful super in town. I ask to go to the bathroom.
[WP] Your dorky dad is really into metal detecting. He mostly digs up junk that fills up your parents' house, but his latest find is...quite different.	Beep...Beep. That sound kept me up. It is the incessant sound of my dad’s metal detector scanning every surface. I would continue walking listlessly alongside him with my bag, just listening to that sound. Beep...Beep. Why can’t he be a bit like other dads? Less outgoing, less dorky, less himself. Every day he would go out with that metal detector and keep looking for treasure. He would pick up some nice coins here and there, but usually it was just junk. Sometimes fancy looking junk, but still junk. Beep...Beep. Today I was to walk with him. This time we were combing some less travelled plains a fair distance from town. He told me that it was prime real estate. The fact that almost nobody went there and he hadn’t scoured it yet, meant it had to contain a jackpot. Beep...Beep. So I walked and walked. Two pairs of hands that could carry more than one for all the loot he expected to find. There was already some half rusted piece of metal I couldn’t identify alongside some coins in my bag. Mostly, we had found broken bits of machines or tools. Bits of gears and cogs. Scraps of metal sheets. Chips of fences and cars, at least according to my Dad. I didn’t really get what the piece of metal he put in my bag was so exciting to induce a massive grin upon recognition. Beep...Beep. It’s not the only noise I hear. Everything else is muffled though. A conversation on the side distracts me for a moment but it soon falls by the wayside. Some shuffling belies movement nearby that piques my attention until it goes away. That beep is all I hear. It is all I heard. Beep...Beep. I always hated that metal detector. Always wanted my Dad to give it up. To stop using it. At best, it was a waste of time. There was no treasure to be found. It was all junk. The most valuable thing he had found was a piece of metal that may have been part of some nondescript vehicle from the War close to a century ago. He was never going to find anything good, anything useful. Beep...Beep. I’m holding the scrap piece of metal in my hand. Rolling it in my hands, I start to recognize it. Shares similarities with some of the parts in the factory my Dad works at. It looks like a rivet. Thicker than any I’ve ever seen. Metal is different too. He recognized it, so it was probably part of something big and expensive. Maybe he thought to find the other pieces of it. Definitely got him too excited. Beep...Beep. The sound is annoying, but I don’t want it to stop. I hate the metal detector, but the sound shouldn’t stop. It is my Dad and that should not stop. The beeping is the metal detector, but it is also my Dad and the frustration he gives me and my Mom mean nothing to who he is. Beep...Beep. I want to tell him something. I am not sure when I will tell him or if I ever will, but I want to. Beep...Beep. The rivet that sits heavy in my hand reminds me. It could have been a tank. Large heavy rivets for large metal armour plating back in the day. It explains quite a bit. Explains what he found in that field and why he was so excited. He was expecting a tank, or pieces of one. I chuckle internally at the thought that it would have made a nice trophy. Beep...Beep. The sound is incessant and doesn’t stop. It is the sound of my Dad. Beep...Beep. I want to fidget or run and scream but the sound keeps me there. It keeps me rooted to my seat. I cannot leave and I dare not leave. The beeps are my Dad. My dad who runs excited with a metal detector. Who runs without care and without attentions. Who runs and searches at every piece of metal his detector finds without abandon. Beep...Beep. My focus expands and I remember fully where I am. The bed is still beeping. I throw the rivet back into my bag and stand up. I curse him silently for being so careless. For not thinking it through. A massive plain with remnants of a massive war with tanks and fences. Some of the pieces were likely bullets or blown off pieces of equipment from artillery shells or mines. Beep...Beep. He never even thought about them. They are still littered across the countryside. There is a reason nobody ever went through that plain and I was too young to know why. I’m still angry that he would try to pick it up without even looking. I’m still sad that I haven’t been able to tell him. I’m still here waiting for something to happen. I’m still waiting here, listening to the incessant sound. Beep...Beep.	There were many unspoken rules in the Kyuseishu household. Don't wander the cemetery after dark, don't follow strange voices, don't go into rooms where the door just shut itself without wearing the proper equipment. Throughout his entire life, Marcus assumed "Don't Bring Home the Obviously Evil Metal Box" was just one of the many rules so it was quite a shock when he came downstairs for breakfast one morning to find an open metal box in the living room. He barely had time to think of the appropriate curse when he saw a shadowy figure materialize in his sight. It looked to him for a moment from down the hallway before the lights flickered and the figure dashed across the floor towards Marcus. Marcus, however, held his ground even as the figure's hands wrapped firmly around his neck. A white-hot glow emanated from him and a blood-curdling scream echoed through the air as the figure backed away from him, clutching its hands as though in pain. "You want to try that again," Marcus yawned as he cracked his knuckles. "Or do you want to get back into your box before this gets painful?" The figure snarled at him. "You sssshall pay, Kyussseisssshu." It recoiled, however, as Marcus stepped forward and as Marcus advanced on it, the figure darted away from him and headed straight back towards the living room just as the thunderous roar of footsteps came racing down the stairs. The box had just slammed shut when the first member of the household appeared, holding a crossbow and scanning around. "Morning Mom," Marcus said. A quick assessment of the situation caused the matriarch of the family to sigh. and lower her crossbow. "False alarm kids," She said. "Where's your father?" As if on cue, a door opened up. A man exited from it wearing a suit of plate-mail armor embroidered with runes of protection. He held a bag in one hand and looked to Marcus, then to Marcus' mother, and raised his visor, his eyes smiling sheepishly. "Hi honey, hi Marcus... what did I miss?" Marcus gestured to the box in the living room. "Your ghost tried to kill me." Marcus' father blinked. "What do you mean? I put a rune on it and everything!" Marcus' mother sighed. "Did you bother to check and see if it already had a locking rune on it in the first place?" The color drained from Mr. Kyuseishu's face. "Erm...well..." Mrs. Kyuseishu rolled her eyes. "This is why we keep our treasures and findings to the basement." She shook her head and looked at Marcus. "Are you ok?" "I'm breathing," Marcus replied and reached into his shirt, pulling out a small amulet. "Especially since the room won't let me leave without this thing on." Mrs. Kyuseishu nodded. "Well this isn't the first time such a thing happened, nor do I think it's the last. Though I most certainly hope it's the last time you put the metal box of obvious evil in the middle of the living room for whatever to just pop out and say hello." "Yes, yes," Mr. Kyuseishu said. "I'll move it to the basement at once, just need to make sure it's actually closed off. You think the silver chains?" "Best to be safe than sorry, twice." Marcus sighed as he headed to the kitchen. "What a way to start my morning..."
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	"Why did you come to my work again?" "You already know. You have seen this path unfold many of times already." Mira sighed and placed the stack of checked in books on the shelving cart. Athena wasn't wrong. The frozen people, the books on the desk, even the weather was correct. Magic had returned to the mortal plane once more. She had seen this event unfold many of times thanks to her ability as a seer gifted to her by Apollo. "Yes, but I thought I would be a bit more in my prime. A bit younger. I'm pushing 50 as is." Athena smirked at the comment but waited for Mira to finish. "Plus, I have not one but three kids, a husband who is still trying to get the hang of what I do even after eighteen years of marriage, a familiar who can only nap, and a grandchild on the way. You really think I am going to go with you now? Athena, you know I was willing when Rose was a bit younger and there was less on the line, but this took too long and I can't do it anymore. Find someone else." The speech sounded good to Mira and hopefully it would work. "That's the thing, we did find someone else to do what you were meant to all those years ago. Now, we need you for something else." The words came out calmly and it soothed Mira's temper until she understood what was meant. "I SWEAR TO YOUR FAMILY ATHENA IF YOU CONVINCED ROSE OR ONE OF MY OTHER CHILDREN TO DO IT, I WILL COME AFTER YOU MYSELF! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A GODDESS, I AM A GOD KILLER AND WILL TAKE THAT TITLE WITH YOUR BLOOD!" The building shook with the magic and anger coming from Mira. Athena knew to take the threat seriously, and hated she had to play that card, but she needed the warrior. "It's your bloodline so it has to be either you or one of them. Now, if you're done yelling at me in my domain, it's time to unfreeze your coworkers, wipe their memory, and get back to work. You know what you will need to do once you are off the clock."	Just want to drop the synopsis of Christopher Brookmyre’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses an Eye here: “As a teenager Jane Bell had dreamt of playing in the casinos of Monte Carlo in the company of James Bond, but in her punk phase she'd got herself pregnant and by the time she reaches forty-six she's a grandmother, her dreams as dry as the dust her Dyson sucks up from her hall carpet every day. Then her son Ross, a researcher working for an arms manufacturer in Switzerland, is forced to disappear before some characters cut from the same cloth as Blofeld persuade him to part with the secrets of his research. But they are not the only ones desperate to locate him. A team of security experts is hired by Ross's firm: headed by the enigmatic Bett, his staff have little in common apart from total professionalism and a thorough disregard for the law. Bett believes the key to Ross's whereabouts is his mother, and in one respect he is right, but even he is taken aback by the verve underlying her determination to secure her son's safety as she learns the black arts of quiet subterfuge and violent attack. The teenage dreams of fast cars, high-tech firepower and extreme action had always promised to be fun and games, but in real life it's likely someone is going to lose an eye ...”
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	“THAT IS THE ONE! THAT is the ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!” said the man holding his iPhone. And a Wand. I guess he was a wizard. Yeah, I could see the glow off of him. I always can. Thankfully, most people couldn’t. They just lived their lives. And I’m not sure how the fuck he found me. Tech or magic, it didn’t matter. Shit I didn’t need on a Tuesday. Generally, I didn’t need it any day of the week. But Tuesdays tended to suck a bit extra. I started to nope my way out. Quietly. Along the back of the food court. I had to grab Gabe on my way out. He was at that age where he didn’t want to be in the stroller. Coffee in hand, I needed to get him in the stroller, because carrying him, pushing the stroller and avoiding Presto over there. Ugh. And Not Making Eye Contact. When someone shouts and points? You’re either looking at them or where they’re pointing. That’s the tendency. It can be helpful during a fight. Or if someone is lying. I was lying. So no, no, no eye contact for me. Eye contact might connect to someone, especially the asshole who was pointing at me. The lighting changed quite a bit. Despite there being a forecast for a sunny day, the windows outside of the mall darkened. I could feel a pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was just one of the many food intolerances I had from something I ate here. He must have used a spell to broadcast his voice. Yup, definitely a wizard. I hear his voice next to my ear, like he was speaking directly to me. “It’s a Dragon! I’m on the council. I am Rufus the Valorant, Mage of East Town and you must listen. There is a dragon approaching here and it is beyond my ability to protect you! You need to help!” Not sure if he meant me, or everyone. Again, he pointed towards Gabe and myself. Shit. He definitely knew. The people who did turn, looked at some kid. Maybe 18? Maybe 20? Tall. Six foot. Good looking too. Standard black hair/blue eyes. If you made a movie, this is who you’d cast as the hero. Time to get my boy and get out. It’d been two decades since the last dragon showed up. Most people didn’t know, remember or believe. It’s stunning how much people will lie to themselves. Scooping Gabe, I put him in the stroller and gave him some candy. I hate doing that - unless I have to; as a member of general principle, I won’t use my powers on my family. Too easy to abuse. That’s the problem with power. Sure, defeating a dragon? Easy. Getting your three year old to stop screaming for another snack in the morning at home? Abuse of power. I slid the candy into his hand. His smile was proof that he was a little shit sometimes and knew he had me over the barrel. I gave him an extra one. And the crowd was still looking at that Clark Kent kid as I pushed the stroller. Thankfully. Something must have distracted the Rufus back there and broke his spell. Really? Rufus? That’s a dogs name, not a Wizard’s name. Mage. Whatever. Too many names is always a sign of weakness. His spell must of collapsed. People were clearing out, but they were surrounding the good looking kid as I pushed by. Orange. I parked outside of the Orange entrance. Never park near the food court. It’s the worst. In the lot, people were rushing already causing a traffic jam, despite it being midday on a Tuesday. Fuck, I hate Tuesdays, I hate wizards, and I especially hate dragons. Especially large green mountain dragons that land at the mall, on a Tuesday. Crushing the outdoor seating area. I don’t think the Panerra umbrellas were covered by insurance. This was going to be harder than I like, especially while protecting Gabe. His two sisters? We’d practiced, but he was still too young. I started to open a portal; it’d be the easiest way to get Gabe to safety. And then the dragon spoke. “Chosen one, please," the dragon said. Hearing a dragon speak is hard on humans. Ever hear a large cat, a tiger or lion roar? In person - not on YouTube. Maybe in a wildlife preserve, where you could drive your car. The low bass frequencies rumble in your hind brain. Your brain screams PREDATOR. Well, a dragon is the largest apex predator that you’ll ever meet. Right before he kills you and everyone in the area. The people who were nearby, in their cars or just running all crouched trying to be invisible. They’d need some serious PTSD counseling after just this. “Wait. Chosen one. We need you. This world is in trouble." There was definte pleading in his voice. He continued "That’s why I, Grydynth, Champion of Dragons, Head of the Mountain Caucus have come to you.” With that, he bent forward. Bowing. I had never seen one bow. We made eye contact. I shouldn’t have. But I did. Grydynth of the Too Many Capital Letters was telling the truth. I was definitely going to need more coffee. Shit I didn't need on a Tuesday.	Marge cosied into her armchair. She yawned, and fumbled for the TV remote. Marge had barely managed to get her kids to bed before Houses had come on. Houses felt to Marge like it was the only thing keeping her sane these days. It was on once a week for only half an hour– and it was Marge’s last enjoyment in her life. Anyone who knew her well enough would know to stay far away when Houses came on, lest they have a death wish. The programme was just starting when Ferdinand Horkwell the third arrived at Marge’s front door. Ferdinand was draped in a flowy black cape, holding a long stick of gnarled elm wood. His face was viciously scrunched up, and told of the trauma and tragedy he had experienced in his many years as a wizard. He tapped his staff on Marge’s door. She ignored the knocks, and tried to ignore the distraction at the door, hoping they would leave on their own. Ferdinand stood and waited, and then knocked again. Marge ignored it again, and turned up the volume on her TV. Ferdinand glanced behind him. If he didn’t get inside soon, dark forces might notice his presence. He knocked once more, this time with more force. Marge shot up from her seat, and stomped over to the door. She swung it open, and glared at Ferdinand. “Margerie Olive Wilson, I am humbled by your presence.” Ferdinand said, and bowed down, respectfully lowering his staff. “What do you want? I’ve got a programme on at the moment.” Marge said. “I come bearing an important message. You are the prophesied one. You will defeat the dark lord, and bring balance to our world.” Ferdinand said. Marge frowned, the serious tone in his voice was almost convincing– but Houses was on right now, and she didn’t have time to deal with him, or whatever he was trying to sell her. “Come back later, I’m watching my programme.” Marge said, and shut the door. She hurried back to her armchair. Outside, Ferdinand looked back and forth– he felt the presence of the dark lord. He must have followed him, somehow. Ferdinand was about to knock again, but he felt a cold hand rest on his shoulder. Before he could react, he was pulled away from the door, and into the clutches of the darkness. He glimpsed through her window as he was pulled away, and saw Marge in her armchair. He whispered a silent prayer that she would realise her purpose– she was their last hope. Marge sighed. How was she meant to enjoy the show if she missed the introduction of this week’s houses?– that was most important part. She had the feeling that her week was going to be miserable now, because of this.
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	“THAT IS THE ONE! THAT is the ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!” said the man holding his iPhone. And a Wand. I guess he was a wizard. Yeah, I could see the glow off of him. I always can. Thankfully, most people couldn’t. They just lived their lives. And I’m not sure how the fuck he found me. Tech or magic, it didn’t matter. Shit I didn’t need on a Tuesday. Generally, I didn’t need it any day of the week. But Tuesdays tended to suck a bit extra. I started to nope my way out. Quietly. Along the back of the food court. I had to grab Gabe on my way out. He was at that age where he didn’t want to be in the stroller. Coffee in hand, I needed to get him in the stroller, because carrying him, pushing the stroller and avoiding Presto over there. Ugh. And Not Making Eye Contact. When someone shouts and points? You’re either looking at them or where they’re pointing. That’s the tendency. It can be helpful during a fight. Or if someone is lying. I was lying. So no, no, no eye contact for me. Eye contact might connect to someone, especially the asshole who was pointing at me. The lighting changed quite a bit. Despite there being a forecast for a sunny day, the windows outside of the mall darkened. I could feel a pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was just one of the many food intolerances I had from something I ate here. He must have used a spell to broadcast his voice. Yup, definitely a wizard. I hear his voice next to my ear, like he was speaking directly to me. “It’s a Dragon! I’m on the council. I am Rufus the Valorant, Mage of East Town and you must listen. There is a dragon approaching here and it is beyond my ability to protect you! You need to help!” Not sure if he meant me, or everyone. Again, he pointed towards Gabe and myself. Shit. He definitely knew. The people who did turn, looked at some kid. Maybe 18? Maybe 20? Tall. Six foot. Good looking too. Standard black hair/blue eyes. If you made a movie, this is who you’d cast as the hero. Time to get my boy and get out. It’d been two decades since the last dragon showed up. Most people didn’t know, remember or believe. It’s stunning how much people will lie to themselves. Scooping Gabe, I put him in the stroller and gave him some candy. I hate doing that - unless I have to; as a member of general principle, I won’t use my powers on my family. Too easy to abuse. That’s the problem with power. Sure, defeating a dragon? Easy. Getting your three year old to stop screaming for another snack in the morning at home? Abuse of power. I slid the candy into his hand. His smile was proof that he was a little shit sometimes and knew he had me over the barrel. I gave him an extra one. And the crowd was still looking at that Clark Kent kid as I pushed the stroller. Thankfully. Something must have distracted the Rufus back there and broke his spell. Really? Rufus? That’s a dogs name, not a Wizard’s name. Mage. Whatever. Too many names is always a sign of weakness. His spell must of collapsed. People were clearing out, but they were surrounding the good looking kid as I pushed by. Orange. I parked outside of the Orange entrance. Never park near the food court. It’s the worst. In the lot, people were rushing already causing a traffic jam, despite it being midday on a Tuesday. Fuck, I hate Tuesdays, I hate wizards, and I especially hate dragons. Especially large green mountain dragons that land at the mall, on a Tuesday. Crushing the outdoor seating area. I don’t think the Panerra umbrellas were covered by insurance. This was going to be harder than I like, especially while protecting Gabe. His two sisters? We’d practiced, but he was still too young. I started to open a portal; it’d be the easiest way to get Gabe to safety. And then the dragon spoke. “Chosen one, please," the dragon said. Hearing a dragon speak is hard on humans. Ever hear a large cat, a tiger or lion roar? In person - not on YouTube. Maybe in a wildlife preserve, where you could drive your car. The low bass frequencies rumble in your hind brain. Your brain screams PREDATOR. Well, a dragon is the largest apex predator that you’ll ever meet. Right before he kills you and everyone in the area. The people who were nearby, in their cars or just running all crouched trying to be invisible. They’d need some serious PTSD counseling after just this. “Wait. Chosen one. We need you. This world is in trouble." There was definte pleading in his voice. He continued "That’s why I, Grydynth, Champion of Dragons, Head of the Mountain Caucus have come to you.” With that, he bent forward. Bowing. I had never seen one bow. We made eye contact. I shouldn’t have. But I did. Grydynth of the Too Many Capital Letters was telling the truth. I was definitely going to need more coffee. Shit I didn't need on a Tuesday.	"Stop following me or I'm gonna call the police! Do not talk to me! I am not who you think I am, you have the wrong person. I saw you inside following me! Security!" Judy quickly loaded the rest of her groceries and slammed the trunk shut way too hard and rushed insede the car, forgetting to move the cart from behind the car. When she realized that, he was gone. Weird. He has been following her this whole time and all of the sudden he's just... gone? She swiftly got out, moved the cart away, and got back inside a bit more relieved. On her way home she was thinking about much better threats she should have said. Pretending to have a gun? Yeah, that would work... "How many times I told you not to keep your bike on the driveway? Go and bring the rest of the bags." Judy started unpacking the groceries. "Why are you ringing the bell? Just come inside... Seriously? Allright, comming!" By the time she went back to open the door, her daughter was already inside. "There is someone looking for you." Said Rachel while taking care of the bags. "You again? I told you not to talk to me. Go away! I have a gun! Rachel bring your father." "He is in the backyard fixing something." "Go fetch him!" "Madam, as I told you, I am not here to hurt you. I have been looking for you for a very long time. The prophecy is clear, it must be you." "Stop talking, my husband will be here any second, leave our premises right now!" "But you cannot run away from your destiny. I have finally found you after all this time. Just hear me out, please?" "What's the matter honey? Who is this man? Is he bothering you? We are not buying... whatever you have." "He followed me around the shop and back here. He is mumbling some nonsese, get rid of him!" "But sir, I mean no harm." "You heard the lady, now leave." "I will go, but remember, you cannot hide from your destiny, it will happen no matter what you do..."
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	“THAT IS THE ONE! THAT is the ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!” said the man holding his iPhone. And a Wand. I guess he was a wizard. Yeah, I could see the glow off of him. I always can. Thankfully, most people couldn’t. They just lived their lives. And I’m not sure how the fuck he found me. Tech or magic, it didn’t matter. Shit I didn’t need on a Tuesday. Generally, I didn’t need it any day of the week. But Tuesdays tended to suck a bit extra. I started to nope my way out. Quietly. Along the back of the food court. I had to grab Gabe on my way out. He was at that age where he didn’t want to be in the stroller. Coffee in hand, I needed to get him in the stroller, because carrying him, pushing the stroller and avoiding Presto over there. Ugh. And Not Making Eye Contact. When someone shouts and points? You’re either looking at them or where they’re pointing. That’s the tendency. It can be helpful during a fight. Or if someone is lying. I was lying. So no, no, no eye contact for me. Eye contact might connect to someone, especially the asshole who was pointing at me. The lighting changed quite a bit. Despite there being a forecast for a sunny day, the windows outside of the mall darkened. I could feel a pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was just one of the many food intolerances I had from something I ate here. He must have used a spell to broadcast his voice. Yup, definitely a wizard. I hear his voice next to my ear, like he was speaking directly to me. “It’s a Dragon! I’m on the council. I am Rufus the Valorant, Mage of East Town and you must listen. There is a dragon approaching here and it is beyond my ability to protect you! You need to help!” Not sure if he meant me, or everyone. Again, he pointed towards Gabe and myself. Shit. He definitely knew. The people who did turn, looked at some kid. Maybe 18? Maybe 20? Tall. Six foot. Good looking too. Standard black hair/blue eyes. If you made a movie, this is who you’d cast as the hero. Time to get my boy and get out. It’d been two decades since the last dragon showed up. Most people didn’t know, remember or believe. It’s stunning how much people will lie to themselves. Scooping Gabe, I put him in the stroller and gave him some candy. I hate doing that - unless I have to; as a member of general principle, I won’t use my powers on my family. Too easy to abuse. That’s the problem with power. Sure, defeating a dragon? Easy. Getting your three year old to stop screaming for another snack in the morning at home? Abuse of power. I slid the candy into his hand. His smile was proof that he was a little shit sometimes and knew he had me over the barrel. I gave him an extra one. And the crowd was still looking at that Clark Kent kid as I pushed the stroller. Thankfully. Something must have distracted the Rufus back there and broke his spell. Really? Rufus? That’s a dogs name, not a Wizard’s name. Mage. Whatever. Too many names is always a sign of weakness. His spell must of collapsed. People were clearing out, but they were surrounding the good looking kid as I pushed by. Orange. I parked outside of the Orange entrance. Never park near the food court. It’s the worst. In the lot, people were rushing already causing a traffic jam, despite it being midday on a Tuesday. Fuck, I hate Tuesdays, I hate wizards, and I especially hate dragons. Especially large green mountain dragons that land at the mall, on a Tuesday. Crushing the outdoor seating area. I don’t think the Panerra umbrellas were covered by insurance. This was going to be harder than I like, especially while protecting Gabe. His two sisters? We’d practiced, but he was still too young. I started to open a portal; it’d be the easiest way to get Gabe to safety. And then the dragon spoke. “Chosen one, please," the dragon said. Hearing a dragon speak is hard on humans. Ever hear a large cat, a tiger or lion roar? In person - not on YouTube. Maybe in a wildlife preserve, where you could drive your car. The low bass frequencies rumble in your hind brain. Your brain screams PREDATOR. Well, a dragon is the largest apex predator that you’ll ever meet. Right before he kills you and everyone in the area. The people who were nearby, in their cars or just running all crouched trying to be invisible. They’d need some serious PTSD counseling after just this. “Wait. Chosen one. We need you. This world is in trouble." There was definte pleading in his voice. He continued "That’s why I, Grydynth, Champion of Dragons, Head of the Mountain Caucus have come to you.” With that, he bent forward. Bowing. I had never seen one bow. We made eye contact. I shouldn’t have. But I did. Grydynth of the Too Many Capital Letters was telling the truth. I was definitely going to need more coffee. Shit I didn't need on a Tuesday.	"Crysthast Jeriesiel, run faster, she's gaining on us!" Yelled Carlylian to his gnome brother Bogsworthis as he took a moment to look back. "I'm going as fast as I can, it'd be a lot easier if you carried me" Bogsworthis shouted as he continued to pump his short stubby legs as fast as he could. "You're too heavy, you'd slow me down." "That's not true I've lost a lot of weight." "You still weigh nearly 50 lbs." "I'm doing my best" "Stop talking and focus on running." Said Carl growing irritated with the banter as they ran for their lives. Seeing a dark passage coming ahead Carl quickly turned right, and pulled Bogs in with him. The person that had been chasing them ran past as Carl held Bogs in his arms with his hand over his mouth. After a few moments he pulled his hand away and asked in a low whisper "What did you take?" "This" Bogs said pulling out from his satchel what could best be called a rattle. "Why would you take that?" Carl asked confused. "The little person on her back seemed to be really enjoying it" Bogs said. "Why?" Carl asked. "Because it does this" Bogs said as he began shaking the rattle with all his might. Carl as quickly as he could snatched it from his brother but it was already too late, a large looming shadow appeared behind them, Carl's stomach fell.
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	The night was stormy. Driving rain, gusts of wind, flashes of lightning that illuminated the entire sky. In the bitter cold I trekked down the small road, the staff in my hand thumping softly against the pavement. Until I found myself standing in front of a moldy green bi-level home. I made my way to the front door, carefully avoiding the dented plastic fire truck and the wilted petunias that flopped over onto the sidewalk. I stared at a wreath made of pine hung on the door, the needles all brown and shedding. “I thought they only worshipped the pine trees in the winter,” I muttered to myself. I knocked three times. Soon footsteps sounded on the other side. The door swung open, revealing a short, slightly pudgy woman with long auburn hair. She was older than I expected, wrinkles lining her green eyes. I told Themolos that “erraguh” translated to five, not six, eons after the Tunguska Fireball. Pompous fool. “Jennifer?” She swallowed whatever food she’d just been loudly chewing. “Yeah. What d’you want?” I lowered my voice. “You are the chosen one, Jennifer. You are the only one who can unlock the amulet of Genella.” “Mom! Is that the pizza?” a voice called from deeper in the house. “No, it’s just some stupid salesman.” She turned back to me. “Sorry, I don’t wear jewelry. Bye.” She began to close the door. I pushed my foot between the door and the frame. My middle claw twinged painfully. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a salesman, and I’m not stupid,” I growled. “There is an amulet. Deep in the crevasses of a glacier. And you, Jennifer Thompson, are the only one who can open it and unlock its secrets, that have been guarded since the dawn of humanity.” She blinked. “What’s in it for me?” “What’s in it for you? Everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Jennifer.” “Like laundry that folds itself?” “Um—” “How about Instant Pot that preps vegetables?” “What is an Ins—” “Or a kid that picks up after himself every once in a while?” “Uh… no. I meant glory. Fame. Adventure. You know, the stuff life is made of. The stuff they write books about.” “Not interested. Sorry,” she replied, trying to push the door closed. My middle claw twinged with pain again. “But if you unlock the amulet, everything we know about the history of man will be changed! This will change everything, and it will be your name in every history book, on the tongue of every person—” She yawned. Yawned. “Mom, I’m huuuuungry,” a voice complained from inside the house, younger sounding than the first one. There was no way this was going anywhere. Unless… I thought of my wizard comrade. Mertin. He’d owed me a favor for years now, ever since I’d saved him from that nettle lizard. I wondered if he could enchant some clothes … “You know, Jennifer, I think self-folding laundry could be arranged.” When she didn’t react, I added: “If I come back in a few days with a working prototype, will you come with me to the Alps to find the amulet?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Um. Sure” Sure. That was a legally binding agreement to them, wasn’t it? Or was that “yes, sir”? I had to hope it would be good enough. “I’ll be back in three days,” I replied. Then I turned on my heel and walked back into the driving rain, my cloak billowing behind me. It was time to have a talk with Mertin.	"Crysthast Jeriesiel, run faster, she's gaining on us!" Yelled Carlylian to his gnome brother Bogsworthis as he took a moment to look back. "I'm going as fast as I can, it'd be a lot easier if you carried me" Bogsworthis shouted as he continued to pump his short stubby legs as fast as he could. "You're too heavy, you'd slow me down." "That's not true I've lost a lot of weight." "You still weigh nearly 50 lbs." "I'm doing my best" "Stop talking and focus on running." Said Carl growing irritated with the banter as they ran for their lives. Seeing a dark passage coming ahead Carl quickly turned right, and pulled Bogs in with him. The person that had been chasing them ran past as Carl held Bogs in his arms with his hand over his mouth. After a few moments he pulled his hand away and asked in a low whisper "What did you take?" "This" Bogs said pulling out from his satchel what could best be called a rattle. "Why would you take that?" Carl asked confused. "The little person on her back seemed to be really enjoying it" Bogs said. "Why?" Carl asked. "Because it does this" Bogs said as he began shaking the rattle with all his might. Carl as quickly as he could snatched it from his brother but it was already too late, a large looming shadow appeared behind them, Carl's stomach fell.
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	“THAT IS THE ONE! THAT is the ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!” said the man holding his iPhone. And a Wand. I guess he was a wizard. Yeah, I could see the glow off of him. I always can. Thankfully, most people couldn’t. They just lived their lives. And I’m not sure how the fuck he found me. Tech or magic, it didn’t matter. Shit I didn’t need on a Tuesday. Generally, I didn’t need it any day of the week. But Tuesdays tended to suck a bit extra. I started to nope my way out. Quietly. Along the back of the food court. I had to grab Gabe on my way out. He was at that age where he didn’t want to be in the stroller. Coffee in hand, I needed to get him in the stroller, because carrying him, pushing the stroller and avoiding Presto over there. Ugh. And Not Making Eye Contact. When someone shouts and points? You’re either looking at them or where they’re pointing. That’s the tendency. It can be helpful during a fight. Or if someone is lying. I was lying. So no, no, no eye contact for me. Eye contact might connect to someone, especially the asshole who was pointing at me. The lighting changed quite a bit. Despite there being a forecast for a sunny day, the windows outside of the mall darkened. I could feel a pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was just one of the many food intolerances I had from something I ate here. He must have used a spell to broadcast his voice. Yup, definitely a wizard. I hear his voice next to my ear, like he was speaking directly to me. “It’s a Dragon! I’m on the council. I am Rufus the Valorant, Mage of East Town and you must listen. There is a dragon approaching here and it is beyond my ability to protect you! You need to help!” Not sure if he meant me, or everyone. Again, he pointed towards Gabe and myself. Shit. He definitely knew. The people who did turn, looked at some kid. Maybe 18? Maybe 20? Tall. Six foot. Good looking too. Standard black hair/blue eyes. If you made a movie, this is who you’d cast as the hero. Time to get my boy and get out. It’d been two decades since the last dragon showed up. Most people didn’t know, remember or believe. It’s stunning how much people will lie to themselves. Scooping Gabe, I put him in the stroller and gave him some candy. I hate doing that - unless I have to; as a member of general principle, I won’t use my powers on my family. Too easy to abuse. That’s the problem with power. Sure, defeating a dragon? Easy. Getting your three year old to stop screaming for another snack in the morning at home? Abuse of power. I slid the candy into his hand. His smile was proof that he was a little shit sometimes and knew he had me over the barrel. I gave him an extra one. And the crowd was still looking at that Clark Kent kid as I pushed the stroller. Thankfully. Something must have distracted the Rufus back there and broke his spell. Really? Rufus? That’s a dogs name, not a Wizard’s name. Mage. Whatever. Too many names is always a sign of weakness. His spell must of collapsed. People were clearing out, but they were surrounding the good looking kid as I pushed by. Orange. I parked outside of the Orange entrance. Never park near the food court. It’s the worst. In the lot, people were rushing already causing a traffic jam, despite it being midday on a Tuesday. Fuck, I hate Tuesdays, I hate wizards, and I especially hate dragons. Especially large green mountain dragons that land at the mall, on a Tuesday. Crushing the outdoor seating area. I don’t think the Panerra umbrellas were covered by insurance. This was going to be harder than I like, especially while protecting Gabe. His two sisters? We’d practiced, but he was still too young. I started to open a portal; it’d be the easiest way to get Gabe to safety. And then the dragon spoke. “Chosen one, please," the dragon said. Hearing a dragon speak is hard on humans. Ever hear a large cat, a tiger or lion roar? In person - not on YouTube. Maybe in a wildlife preserve, where you could drive your car. The low bass frequencies rumble in your hind brain. Your brain screams PREDATOR. Well, a dragon is the largest apex predator that you’ll ever meet. Right before he kills you and everyone in the area. The people who were nearby, in their cars or just running all crouched trying to be invisible. They’d need some serious PTSD counseling after just this. “Wait. Chosen one. We need you. This world is in trouble." There was definte pleading in his voice. He continued "That’s why I, Grydynth, Champion of Dragons, Head of the Mountain Caucus have come to you.” With that, he bent forward. Bowing. I had never seen one bow. We made eye contact. I shouldn’t have. But I did. Grydynth of the Too Many Capital Letters was telling the truth. I was definitely going to need more coffee. Shit I didn't need on a Tuesday.	"Welcome everyone! Today is the day we are all waiting for, duel between our chosen one "The MoM" versus our neighboring kongdom strongest hero "King Merlin." Announcer spoke through magical device that can deliver his voice through the air all around the battle arena. "Wooo hoooo" crowds cheered In the waiting room, "My king, it seems our enemy brought a lot more supporters than us. I was against battling in this city because of this reason, it is neutral city, but closer to Ireland." "it doesn't matter Arthur, they will shut up once I beaten their chosen one to pulp" King Merlin said. "Here he comes, on the west side is King Merlin, strongest magician and warrior of britain kingdom. His weapon is the legendary lignumcalibur, strongest sword in existence even though it is made out of wood. It said it is a sword and also a wand which is perfect for King Merlin" "Good afternoon King Lir, it is nice to meet you even though I am here as a fighter and not a king" king merlin said "I am also pleased to meet you too, hopefully we can end the war today, of course with my win" king Lir said. "Withour further ado, on the west side, we have.. no one?? Where is our chosen one?" "No one? Such a disappointment. I am sure she got scared and ran away. Here I thought I would get to see your chosen one" Kong Merlin said in disdain "Wait, wait a minute, our agreement did say it is today but did not specify the time, therefore, please wait" King Lir replied "Alright, since this is a duel that will decide fate of our nation, I will wait however long it takes until midnight, I hope you won't disappoint me" King Merlin said 9 hours later.. "Well, it looks like she won't come, how about admiting a defeat by default? It is not shameful admiting your chosen one might ran away and afraid of me and my lignumcalibur, no one ever defeat me in the past 50 years" King Melrin said while taunting King Lir Not long after that, a woman with apron and sandals came into the battle arena. "I am sorry ma'am, it seems you got lost? This is battle arena and not kitchen, HA HA HA" king merlin laughed at the comedy before him. "It seems I made everyone wait for a bit" the woman in apron said "Here she is, here she is! Our chosen one, Elizabeth the 2nd aka the MoM! As her title said she is a mom of 3 children. Her kids still in their teenage year since she married super late." Announcer announced the woman in excitement "Sorry I am late, today is my 3rd son's birthday today and all I can spare is time after they sleep. It is hard to become a mom sigh.. it is already past my bed time, so let's make it quick" "What do you mean your son's birthday?? You don't care about this duel?" King Merlin said in disbelieve "Not really, I found that my children's hapiness comes first then everything else comes after that. I figured that even if this country perish, I won't, so I don't really give a damn about anything else other than my children" "Ahem, ma'am, please" King Lir tried to intervered "Oh well, time to settle this, prepare yourself King Merlin" "Wait a minute, you haven't withdraw your weapon, are you going to fight me barehanded?" King merlin said "Who said I am barehanded?" While Elizabeth removed her sandals. "You know the weapon of all moms in the world? It is Sandal." While grinning sadistically "Come here you bad child, SPANKING TIME!" Elizabeth launcher herself ot King Merlin at speed of sound. King Merlin couldn't even see the silhouette of Elizabeth until he felt sting in his butt. king Merlin wailed and almost cried "Mommy, please stop, STOOPPPP I ADMIT DEFEAT" And that's how once again MoM saved the day *This is my first time writing a story and english is not my first language, so I am sorry if I don't use correct grammar or writing structure
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	The night was stormy. Driving rain, gusts of wind, flashes of lightning that illuminated the entire sky. In the bitter cold I trekked down the small road, the staff in my hand thumping softly against the pavement. Until I found myself standing in front of a moldy green bi-level home. I made my way to the front door, carefully avoiding the dented plastic fire truck and the wilted petunias that flopped over onto the sidewalk. I stared at a wreath made of pine hung on the door, the needles all brown and shedding. “I thought they only worshipped the pine trees in the winter,” I muttered to myself. I knocked three times. Soon footsteps sounded on the other side. The door swung open, revealing a short, slightly pudgy woman with long auburn hair. She was older than I expected, wrinkles lining her green eyes. I told Themolos that “erraguh” translated to five, not six, eons after the Tunguska Fireball. Pompous fool. “Jennifer?” She swallowed whatever food she’d just been loudly chewing. “Yeah. What d’you want?” I lowered my voice. “You are the chosen one, Jennifer. You are the only one who can unlock the amulet of Genella.” “Mom! Is that the pizza?” a voice called from deeper in the house. “No, it’s just some stupid salesman.” She turned back to me. “Sorry, I don’t wear jewelry. Bye.” She began to close the door. I pushed my foot between the door and the frame. My middle claw twinged painfully. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a salesman, and I’m not stupid,” I growled. “There is an amulet. Deep in the crevasses of a glacier. And you, Jennifer Thompson, are the only one who can open it and unlock its secrets, that have been guarded since the dawn of humanity.” She blinked. “What’s in it for me?” “What’s in it for you? Everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Jennifer.” “Like laundry that folds itself?” “Um—” “How about Instant Pot that preps vegetables?” “What is an Ins—” “Or a kid that picks up after himself every once in a while?” “Uh… no. I meant glory. Fame. Adventure. You know, the stuff life is made of. The stuff they write books about.” “Not interested. Sorry,” she replied, trying to push the door closed. My middle claw twinged with pain again. “But if you unlock the amulet, everything we know about the history of man will be changed! This will change everything, and it will be your name in every history book, on the tongue of every person—” She yawned. Yawned. “Mom, I’m huuuuungry,” a voice complained from inside the house, younger sounding than the first one. There was no way this was going anywhere. Unless… I thought of my wizard comrade. Mertin. He’d owed me a favor for years now, ever since I’d saved him from that nettle lizard. I wondered if he could enchant some clothes … “You know, Jennifer, I think self-folding laundry could be arranged.” When she didn’t react, I added: “If I come back in a few days with a working prototype, will you come with me to the Alps to find the amulet?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Um. Sure” Sure. That was a legally binding agreement to them, wasn’t it? Or was that “yes, sir”? I had to hope it would be good enough. “I’ll be back in three days,” I replied. Then I turned on my heel and walked back into the driving rain, my cloak billowing behind me. It was time to have a talk with Mertin.	"Welcome everyone! Today is the day we are all waiting for, duel between our chosen one "The MoM" versus our neighboring kongdom strongest hero "King Merlin." Announcer spoke through magical device that can deliver his voice through the air all around the battle arena. "Wooo hoooo" crowds cheered In the waiting room, "My king, it seems our enemy brought a lot more supporters than us. I was against battling in this city because of this reason, it is neutral city, but closer to Ireland." "it doesn't matter Arthur, they will shut up once I beaten their chosen one to pulp" King Merlin said. "Here he comes, on the west side is King Merlin, strongest magician and warrior of britain kingdom. His weapon is the legendary lignumcalibur, strongest sword in existence even though it is made out of wood. It said it is a sword and also a wand which is perfect for King Merlin" "Good afternoon King Lir, it is nice to meet you even though I am here as a fighter and not a king" king merlin said "I am also pleased to meet you too, hopefully we can end the war today, of course with my win" king Lir said. "Withour further ado, on the west side, we have.. no one?? Where is our chosen one?" "No one? Such a disappointment. I am sure she got scared and ran away. Here I thought I would get to see your chosen one" Kong Merlin said in disdain "Wait, wait a minute, our agreement did say it is today but did not specify the time, therefore, please wait" King Lir replied "Alright, since this is a duel that will decide fate of our nation, I will wait however long it takes until midnight, I hope you won't disappoint me" King Merlin said 9 hours later.. "Well, it looks like she won't come, how about admiting a defeat by default? It is not shameful admiting your chosen one might ran away and afraid of me and my lignumcalibur, no one ever defeat me in the past 50 years" King Melrin said while taunting King Lir Not long after that, a woman with apron and sandals came into the battle arena. "I am sorry ma'am, it seems you got lost? This is battle arena and not kitchen, HA HA HA" king merlin laughed at the comedy before him. "It seems I made everyone wait for a bit" the woman in apron said "Here she is, here she is! Our chosen one, Elizabeth the 2nd aka the MoM! As her title said she is a mom of 3 children. Her kids still in their teenage year since she married super late." Announcer announced the woman in excitement "Sorry I am late, today is my 3rd son's birthday today and all I can spare is time after they sleep. It is hard to become a mom sigh.. it is already past my bed time, so let's make it quick" "What do you mean your son's birthday?? You don't care about this duel?" King Merlin said in disbelieve "Not really, I found that my children's hapiness comes first then everything else comes after that. I figured that even if this country perish, I won't, so I don't really give a damn about anything else other than my children" "Ahem, ma'am, please" King Lir tried to intervered "Oh well, time to settle this, prepare yourself King Merlin" "Wait a minute, you haven't withdraw your weapon, are you going to fight me barehanded?" King merlin said "Who said I am barehanded?" While Elizabeth removed her sandals. "You know the weapon of all moms in the world? It is Sandal." While grinning sadistically "Come here you bad child, SPANKING TIME!" Elizabeth launcher herself ot King Merlin at speed of sound. King Merlin couldn't even see the silhouette of Elizabeth until he felt sting in his butt. king Merlin wailed and almost cried "Mommy, please stop, STOOPPPP I ADMIT DEFEAT" And that's how once again MoM saved the day *This is my first time writing a story and english is not my first language, so I am sorry if I don't use correct grammar or writing structure
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	"My conflict has raged since before time itself! You, a lowly slug, are nothing compared to what I have faced! Yet you dare to approach me, a Demi-God. Second only to the one true Immortal himself?" The voice booms in my head pounding me each step as I approach. My jaw set, my eyes afire. This "Demi-God" or whatever it was sounded just like my Nathan, locked away in his room shouting at some random strangers at 3 in the morning. Petulant child. "And garbed in such... strange armor. You hardly look like the chosen one. How did you even get past my guards?" My thoughts now to turned Becky, always making fun of my fashion sense. The sheer disrespect those low-level minions had helped forge my anger to what it was now. I swept them aside with barely a flick of my wrist and a withering stare. Didn't they know who I was? But I let this mid-level moron talk. I was almost close enough. "Ah, they probably thought for me to entertain myself with a little morsel then. Well I - wait, what are you doing!?" Close enough. I grabbed the gibbering "Demi-God" by its hair and pulled down so I could hiss into its ear. The creature winced as the rage of my words splashed onto their face. "Now you listen to me!" It flailed at me desperately, trying to get me to loosen my grip. I easily batted each blow away. Compared to wrestling three kids into the mini-van while keeping my designer jeans crisp, this was literal child's play. Eventually, it stopped and looked up at me, a defeated pitiful look on it's face. "Wh-Who are you?!" it wailed. "You didn't know? I'm Karen. And I would like to speak to your manager"	"Am I the bloody last one on your list?!" She screamed at the bearded man towering over her doorway. The giant man eyed the chaos in the home behind her, three children running rampantly. He sighed deeply. "It pains me to come here to ask this of you, but the world needs your help--" He was abruptly cut off by a potato flying at his head. "It's always something with you! My uncle went mad after your last adventure. Three of my cousins are missing limbs and clearly have brain damage. My father still hasn't returned from your last quest. And my mother went to go find him and never came back either! Not to mention your antics with my ancestors. It's frankly a miracle any of our lineage are left!" The wizard dodged another vegetable thrown by the six year old. "Ma'am, if you ask any of them, I'm sure they'd tell you it was worth it--" she cut him off again. "NO! I'm not going with you! Go screw an eagle and leave us Baggins alone!!!" The door slammed in his face and he heard the click of too many locks for a hobbit house. "Is six years old too young?" he mused to himself. "Perhaps I'll wait another 50 years," and he took a few more puffs on his pipe as he meandered away.
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	"You know I have no idea how to use this, right?" Emma said, holding the ornate staff outstretched. "You have kids, don't you?" the winged being asked. "Yes, Gabriel, but somehow 'sealing up the portal of hell' never really comes up on our schedule," she retorted. "You've read them 'Harry Potter', right?" "No, Gabriel, they're two. Do you even know how human babies work?" "Just aim for the middle!" Gabriel yelled in frustration as the swirling purple portal began to expand. She looked over to Gabriel and slammed the staff to the ground. "No. You know what, Gabriel? Go fuck yourself." She glared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you know what I have to do every single day? I have to raise three children," she spat as she began walking towards him. "First, my now-ex husband decided we should have more kids. One wasn't enough of a strain on the bank account apparently, so how about I just have TWINS a year later. That useless sack of shit then couldn't handle having SO many babies. So he ran off with Brenda. Who he met at WALMART. While buying diapers for our kids. Who fucking decides to cheat on someone with a woman they meet at WALMART, Gabriel? WHO?" "Now I can't afford to feed myself and three children so I'm living off food stamps. Do you know how much nursery costs, Gabriel, for three toddlers?" She paused, inhaling deeply. "More than I make off a full time job, so now guess who's a full time mom, Gabriel? This bitch stood here in the mom sweats has a PhD in Chemical Engineering." Her face was flushed with anger, and Gabriel leaned back as he smelled the Cheeto-breath emanating from her mouth. She yelled in his face, "TELL ME HOW IT'S FAIR THAT YOU COME AND FIND ME AND TELL ME I NEED TO SAVE THE WORLD? THAT I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO IT OR ELSE WE ALL DIE? I'M OBVIOUSLY GOING TO DO IT, BECAUSE I'M A NICE PERSON AND I ACTUALLY REALLY ENJOY MY CHILDREN - despite them being really fucking annoying like half of their existence so far... but they are quite cute..." she trailed off. "Emma, look, I know you're clearly having a hard time right now, but we really have to do something about this giant hell portal," he gestured towards the purple crevice that now filled the sky above them. "IF ANGELS EXISTED, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD HAVE GIVEN ME A HAND, BECAUSE I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG AND THIS LIFE AIN'T ONE I'D WISH ON ANYONE... but God never answered my prayers. Now I know you're real, I'm starting to doubt the whole 'god is good' thing so FORGIVE ME IF I'M A LITTE HESITANT." She stood back up, almost looking like a deflated balloon. She looked down at her watch as the portal's roar became deafening, "OH, YEAH!" she bellowed, "You're probably right -- I should really fix that and get home to make dinner and get the kids off their Aunt." She put one foot in front of the other and crouched to steady herself. Grabbing the staff from her feet, she held it up into the sky. The staff flashed to life and a giant beam radiated above them. She grimaced as the power pushed her into the ground a few inches before finally sealing the gaping wound in the sky. She stood up and looked over at Gabriel, whose hands were still clasped in prayer, or possibly despair. She handed the staff back to him. "Look mate, I'm sorry I got a little bit mouthy... I just needed to get that off my chest, and I clearly just lashed out at the first person that wasn't my kid... I'm sorry...You were pretty good in the Nativity and all that," she said as she got into the Uber she had pre-booked for 9PM. "It's okay, Emma," Gabriel said, looking more relaxed now. "You're a good mom. If it's any consolation," he said as he crouched down, ready to take flight. As Emma approached her house, her phone began to ring in her purse. "Sis 💅" flashed over the screen as Emma answered in panic. "Jenny, are the kids okay?" she answered instinctively. Jenny's warm unpanicked voice instantly comforted Emma. "Yeah, yeah! They're fine actually, I just wondered if we could have them an extra night? Sarah is home from university and would really like to see her cousins. We'll probably go to the zoo, if that's alright with you?" "Thank God, that would be amazing, you're welcome to keep them as looong as you like!" Emma hung up the phone before Jenny could even respond. She looked up to the sky and chuckled, "Or maybe thank Gabriel."	"Am I the bloody last one on your list?!" She screamed at the bearded man towering over her doorway. The giant man eyed the chaos in the home behind her, three children running rampantly. He sighed deeply. "It pains me to come here to ask this of you, but the world needs your help--" He was abruptly cut off by a potato flying at his head. "It's always something with you! My uncle went mad after your last adventure. Three of my cousins are missing limbs and clearly have brain damage. My father still hasn't returned from your last quest. And my mother went to go find him and never came back either! Not to mention your antics with my ancestors. It's frankly a miracle any of our lineage are left!" The wizard dodged another vegetable thrown by the six year old. "Ma'am, if you ask any of them, I'm sure they'd tell you it was worth it--" she cut him off again. "NO! I'm not going with you! Go screw an eagle and leave us Baggins alone!!!" The door slammed in his face and he heard the click of too many locks for a hobbit house. "Is six years old too young?" he mused to himself. "Perhaps I'll wait another 50 years," and he took a few more puffs on his pipe as he meandered away.
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago	"You know I have no idea how to use this, right?" Emma said, holding the ornate staff outstretched. "You have kids, don't you?" the winged being asked. "Yes, Gabriel, but somehow 'sealing up the portal of hell' never really comes up on our schedule," she retorted. "You've read them 'Harry Potter', right?" "No, Gabriel, they're two. Do you even know how human babies work?" "Just aim for the middle!" Gabriel yelled in frustration as the swirling purple portal began to expand. She looked over to Gabriel and slammed the staff to the ground. "No. You know what, Gabriel? Go fuck yourself." She glared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you know what I have to do every single day? I have to raise three children," she spat as she began walking towards him. "First, my now-ex husband decided we should have more kids. One wasn't enough of a strain on the bank account apparently, so how about I just have TWINS a year later. That useless sack of shit then couldn't handle having SO many babies. So he ran off with Brenda. Who he met at WALMART. While buying diapers for our kids. Who fucking decides to cheat on someone with a woman they meet at WALMART, Gabriel? WHO?" "Now I can't afford to feed myself and three children so I'm living off food stamps. Do you know how much nursery costs, Gabriel, for three toddlers?" She paused, inhaling deeply. "More than I make off a full time job, so now guess who's a full time mom, Gabriel? This bitch stood here in the mom sweats has a PhD in Chemical Engineering." Her face was flushed with anger, and Gabriel leaned back as he smelled the Cheeto-breath emanating from her mouth. She yelled in his face, "TELL ME HOW IT'S FAIR THAT YOU COME AND FIND ME AND TELL ME I NEED TO SAVE THE WORLD? THAT I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO IT OR ELSE WE ALL DIE? I'M OBVIOUSLY GOING TO DO IT, BECAUSE I'M A NICE PERSON AND I ACTUALLY REALLY ENJOY MY CHILDREN - despite them being really fucking annoying like half of their existence so far... but they are quite cute..." she trailed off. "Emma, look, I know you're clearly having a hard time right now, but we really have to do something about this giant hell portal," he gestured towards the purple crevice that now filled the sky above them. "IF ANGELS EXISTED, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD HAVE GIVEN ME A HAND, BECAUSE I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG AND THIS LIFE AIN'T ONE I'D WISH ON ANYONE... but God never answered my prayers. Now I know you're real, I'm starting to doubt the whole 'god is good' thing so FORGIVE ME IF I'M A LITTE HESITANT." She stood back up, almost looking like a deflated balloon. She looked down at her watch as the portal's roar became deafening, "OH, YEAH!" she bellowed, "You're probably right -- I should really fix that and get home to make dinner and get the kids off their Aunt." She put one foot in front of the other and crouched to steady herself. Grabbing the staff from her feet, she held it up into the sky. The staff flashed to life and a giant beam radiated above them. She grimaced as the power pushed her into the ground a few inches before finally sealing the gaping wound in the sky. She stood up and looked over at Gabriel, whose hands were still clasped in prayer, or possibly despair. She handed the staff back to him. "Look mate, I'm sorry I got a little bit mouthy... I just needed to get that off my chest, and I clearly just lashed out at the first person that wasn't my kid... I'm sorry...You were pretty good in the Nativity and all that," she said as she got into the Uber she had pre-booked for 9PM. "It's okay, Emma," Gabriel said, looking more relaxed now. "You're a good mom. If it's any consolation," he said as he crouched down, ready to take flight. As Emma approached her house, her phone began to ring in her purse. "Sis 💅" flashed over the screen as Emma answered in panic. "Jenny, are the kids okay?" she answered instinctively. Jenny's warm unpanicked voice instantly comforted Emma. "Yeah, yeah! They're fine actually, I just wondered if we could have them an extra night? Sarah is home from university and would really like to see her cousins. We'll probably go to the zoo, if that's alright with you?" "Thank God, that would be amazing, you're welcome to keep them as looong as you like!" Emma hung up the phone before Jenny could even respond. She looked up to the sky and chuckled, "Or maybe thank Gabriel."	"My conflict has raged since before time itself! You, a lowly slug, are nothing compared to what I have faced! Yet you dare to approach me, a Demi-God. Second only to the one true Immortal himself?" The voice booms in my head pounding me each step as I approach. My jaw set, my eyes afire. This "Demi-God" or whatever it was sounded just like my Nathan, locked away in his room shouting at some random strangers at 3 in the morning. Petulant child. "And garbed in such... strange armor. You hardly look like the chosen one. How did you even get past my guards?" My thoughts now to turned Becky, always making fun of my fashion sense. The sheer disrespect those low-level minions had helped forge my anger to what it was now. I swept them aside with barely a flick of my wrist and a withering stare. Didn't they know who I was? But I let this mid-level moron talk. I was almost close enough. "Ah, they probably thought for me to entertain myself with a little morsel then. Well I - wait, what are you doing!?" Close enough. I grabbed the gibbering "Demi-God" by its hair and pulled down so I could hiss into its ear. The creature winced as the rage of my words splashed onto their face. "Now you listen to me!" It flailed at me desperately, trying to get me to loosen my grip. I easily batted each blow away. Compared to wrestling three kids into the mini-van while keeping my designer jeans crisp, this was literal child's play. Eventually, it stopped and looked up at me, a defeated pitiful look on it's face. "Wh-Who are you?!" it wailed. "You didn't know? I'm Karen. And I would like to speak to your manager"
[WP] You, an immortal, have spent your entire life being a professor. Today, a new student signed up to your class, who happened to be a familiar face. Turns out, they already took one of your classes; 200 years ago.	Quick disclaimer: all Latin referenced is from Google Translate. &#x200B; Dr. Elietta Amati is many years old, and many years old means wisdom. Elietta's full of wisdom, teeming from the edges. In her classes, her students know her as the historian and extremely good Latin professor. Well, it's easy to be good at a language when it's your native one. Elietta had used intermittedly used Elietta many times. Particularly because it was her favourite name. She had also used Mariana a number of times, because it was her birth name. Mariana was actually a pretty common first name when she was born. She knew four Marianas alone. Well, it didn't exactly count... &#x200B; "Dr. Amati?" a student tentatively asked. "Yes?" "What is the conjugation of 'to be' for you again?" "Es." "Thank you!" The student bounded off. Elietta sighed. She wished that her students would get better at memorizing basic conjugations. "Hello," a somewhat familiar (although Elietta couldn't place it) voice sounded. "I've come to transfer into your class." "Okay. How much Latin do you know?" "A decent amount, I'd hope. Enough to enter your Latin Two second semester class." Elietta nodded. "Good. By the way, you look familiar. Have we met before?" "We have, Mariana II," the somewhat familiar person said. "It's me. Memento mei? Mariana III." "Three!?" Elietta exclaimed. It was her little sister, by about six minutes. "Hey, Two. Nice to see you again." "It's been two hundred years since you last visited my classes, Three." "Well, I suppose it has been. You're going by Elietta again?" "Yes. And what about you?" "Emietta." "You're kidding." "Yes, I am. It's actually Althea." "Oh, that again?" "Yes. Also, do you know where Mariana IV and Mariana I are?" "No clue. I was hoping you'd know." My sister, Althea, laughed. "I hope it hasn't been too long." I waved a hand. "200 years is a blink of an eye to an immortal, for two hundred straws means nothing in a haystack of two thousand seventy-five years." Althea laughed again. She was always laughing. "You've always had a way with words I don't." "200 years is a little less than one percent of my life. It is true." Althea shook her head. "So short of a time. Nonetheless, want to meet up for coffee? I want to hear how your pet project of a ten thousand oragami cranes went. Ten wishes, wow."	- I know you. - I know you too professor. - The 1821 batch? - 1822. - Right. 1822. So what brings you back after all these years? - The equation professor. - Of course the equation. - Did you find the solution. - Not yet. You? - Almost. The student thought for a while before continuing. - But how did you found out? - It was a pure coincidence. One day I started working on the equation determined to solve it. I started at 8:34 AM. I filled a paper after a paper with my notes until the notebook was full. But when I checked the time it was 8:34 AM still. Not one second flew by. I didn’t get sleepy, I didn’t get tired. The time stopped when I was working on the equation. - So why is the equation so special? Asked the student. - It is a magical equation. God himself created it. The professor was right. It was God who created the equation. But Lucifer was there. This is how it went. - “No one but me can solve the equation.” said God. - “What about humans?” Lucifer asked. “Give humans enough time and they will solve it.” - Not in a million year. - Not in a million year, but if you give them eternity they will solve it. - How do I give them eternity? God asked. - Stop the time for the human who is working on the equation. That is when God made the promise: - I will stop the time for the human who is working on the equation. The human will not get hungry nor thirsty nor tired while working on the equation. The human will get eternity to solve the equation. This is how the equation was created. Back to the student and the professor. - Professor, I got tired and hungry and thirsty while working on the equation last night. - Me too. I got tired and hungry and thirsty and time flew faster than normal. - Professor, you have to stop. - God must be really nervous. He is cheating. He is trying to distract me. - Professor, please stop. The student added weakly. - I am a scientist and I will not stop until I prove that I am smarter than God.
[WP] You, an immortal, have spent your entire life being a professor. Today, a new student signed up to your class, who happened to be a familiar face. Turns out, they already took one of your classes; 200 years ago.	To be immortal is to live a lonely life. Dr. Emmanuel Wahid had known this fact for the past 3000 years of his life. Change was his constant companion, something he had grown accustomed to. Sometimes he felt something in his chest echo, something gaping like a ravine. But he had centuries to get used to the feeling, so he had managed. Until he didn't. It all started when he saw the mysterious new student that autumn morning. Emmanuel had set up his lecture when he noticed a tall man sitting in the back of the room, where the light was dimmest and was too far to see the board. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans, black hair on top of a face covered by thick glasses. Emmanuel immediately knew he was new because he had already memorized the faces of every single one of his students by the first day. It meant that he was either a late enrollee or one of those content creators who just wanted to experience university life. Since any information about the man was not emailed to him prior, he had reason to believe it was the latter. Not a mentality he would go against. Emmanuel was a teacher, and he always hoped that even the most unwilling will find themselves learning something from him. So he continued his lecture, pretending to not notice a new pair of eyes that looked at him intently, and did not take notice when the man slipped out of the room the moment the class ended. He wouldn't see the man again until a month later, when he was walking away from one of his lectures. His eyes caught the figure of the man sitting on a bench, eyes closed and face to the sky. Under the brighter light of midday, he had a better view of the mysterious stranger from before. Brown skin, lighter than his own, with the same thick glasses on his face. His hair was a mess of curls that swayed with the wind. He had more layers this time, a thick leather jacket that had seen better days, cream fur on the collar. He had a small smile on his face. Emmanuel watched as a browning leaf fell from a nearby tree, landing gently on his hair. The man didn't notice. Just kept that serene expression on his face. Even as other people walked around him, the noise of cars and phones and all manners of devices ringing in the air, the stranger just sat as if he were at a meadow enjoying the breeze. And Emmanuel stood there, transfixed. He only remembered to leave when someone accidentally bumped into him, and he had to catch himself from stumbling. He made a quick exit, hoping that no one had noticed him staring at someone creepily. Cursing himself for his behavior, he had decided then to put any thought of the stranger behind him. But it was not to be. For that very night, he dreamed of the stranger. His dark curls and pleasant smile. Dreamed of eyes he had never seen before, but he knew were the color of cinnamon. He dreamed of a voice he had never heard before, in words from a language he had long stopped using. And he would dream of a promise, with a passion he did not know but was familiar with. This would happen to him every other night. Just two chance meetings with a beautiful stranger would leave him gasping at night with thoughts that he was sure he had never said. Yet his mouth would tingle with phantom movements, his limbs outstretched for something he could not see. The third time, he would see the man in his lecture hall again. The wind had taken a chill, winter fast approaching. Most of his students were still bundled up in sweaters in jackets even in the warmth of the room. The stranger was also dressed for the season, wearing a loose black turtleneck, sitting a few benches closer so he was now fully visible. Emmanuel had almost stopped walking as he saw him. Saw as how the stranger's head turned up at the sound of him opening the door. Saw the way those eyes, a shade of cinnamon, as they widened. That mouth blooming into a bright smile. He hesitated to enter, to entrapped by the gaze of the man, only managing to hide his movements in a cough before he greeted his students for the day. As the class started, he did his best to ignore the racing of his heart. He let his voice come out as a drone, focusing his mind to the task so the temptation to seek the other man out was ignored. And he succeeded. Until the class ended. The students erupted into movement as bags were taken and chairs scraped. He stood there, frozen, and gave a half hearted goodbye to his students, as he watched the stranger from before make his way down the benches, pace slow as he seemd to wait for the students to trickle out. Soon, they were alone. Emmanuel and the stranger that filled his dreams. He stood there, hands in his pockets, presenting the facade of a professor. He hoped it hid his fidgeting. "You're not one of my students," he said without preamble. The other man chuckled guiltily, a baritone sound that made the hair on the back of Emmanuel's neck to stand on end. The stranger shook his head and replied, "No, I'm not. But you already knew that the last time I was here." He nodded, trying to hide the strange tension he felt. "Well, I'm not one to discourage learning, but I doubt that I'll be able to give you the certifications you might need unless you actually enroll." The stranger shook their head again. "I'm not here for the lectures, though they are interesting. Just like before." "Have I taught a lecture to you before?" he asked, because the stranger implied they had met before. And that would be impossible because Emmanuel would have never forgotten meeting someone so ~~beautiful~~ like him before. "Yes," he replied. Then said, "I will never forget you for helping me Professor Ibrahim." The words were like a cold bucket of water down his spine. He flinched, eyes going wide at the words, the Arabic shock to his sytem. "How did you know that name?" The other smiled benignly, and continued in Arabic, "The same way that I know that you have lived longer than you make it appear. And with more names than any man will have children. Once Khalid, then Baltazar, then Yousef, then Imbrahim. And now, you are Emmanuel." Emmanuel stepped back, hitting the table behind him. The stranger's eyes were now filled with concern, hands raised as if to catch him. "Professor, I did not mean to startle you. I mean no harm." But Emmanuel shook his head. "Impossible. How can you know those names?" The other stranger walked closer, with the caution one expected for a wild animal. He let his hands come closer, until those long and slender fingers came in contact with his skin. And then he gasped, as his mind was filled with a thousand images. The smell of coffee and tea, the taste of spices with lamb and bread. Cream soups and dried dates. The sound of plucked strings and drums and chanting, the feel of desert sand on his skin. And then, these melt away as sand becomes stone becomes cement. Ancient wood replaced by plastic, the strings becoming guitars. The taste of blueberries and ice cream. The wind cold not by night, but by air conditioning. It all vanishes in an instant, and he is left leaning on his desk, his mind slowly rebuilding itself. The sensations, no, memories, he was suddenly shown was not his own. That was impossible. No human could ever do that. Unless they were something beyond human... He looked back at the man, who had a hopeful expression on his face. And with the memories of the past, he felt something slip into place. Those eyes. The shape of his nose. The curve of his smile. "Khalil?" Emmanuel asked, voice a whisper. The other man nodded, tears in his eyes. "It's nice to see you again, old friend." Emmanuel has watched thousands of years of civilizations rise and fall. But for the first time in his life, he felt something bright growing in his chest. Something like hope.	"alright class take a seat" gazing at the new student a grin was plastered on her face. "Today we'll cover the topic of-" before Konig could continue a loud snort made the entire classroom turn and face the laughing student. "Hahahaha...I'm sorry mister K. B-but you look so ridiculously lousy in that get up hahaha!" Falling on the floor she kicked the air in a mad laughter. A chuckle escaped Konig's lips as he recalled the first time he taught her history back in 1820. She was a small girl cute and innocent. But now she was just like him, an immortal who found their lives to be a joke. "I'd you don't keep it down I'll have to report you to the principal's office miss Catherine" warned Konig as he returned to his current identity as a professor. "Alright...whew" fanning her face the girl got to her seat and classes continued as they normally would. One thing was not the same however as these two shared lunch and spoke of their childhood. Days back when there was no electricity no phones and no planes. Their conversations were long and their friendship was strong, like that of two very old friends coming together after spending years apart. How long would they talk before they had to break apart once again? Neither had any clue but for the time being. They just wanted to know more about each other.
[WP] Your baby just said their very first words! "I made a wish to go back to being a baby but keep all my skills and memory."	Daniel led his drowsy, groggily protesting wife down the hallway to the nursery at 2AM. "Babe, what're ya doing, s'your turn..." Mira whimpered semi-coherently, as he gently but firmly pulled her along. "I know, hun, I know, you just...you need to see this." Daniel said, as he escorted her inside the dimly lit nursery, and brought her to the edge of Max's crib. She peered down into the crib. "He looks fine, why--" "Max, can you tell your Mom what you told me?" Daniel interrupted. "Yeah, no prob, Dad." Max said. "So, we need to get a flight--" Mira's jaw dropped, her hand rising to her mouth in shock. Daniel shook his head. "No, no, son, before that. Mommy needs the whole story, okay?" "Ugh, Dad, can you guys not call each other 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' around me, please? It just sounds so creepy." Max complained, grimacing. "But...we are your Mommy and Daddy." Mira said, still groggy despite her amazement. "Mooo-om!" Max said again, wincing. "Gross! I'm not five anymore! I mean, I guess I'm two months old, technically, but--" Daniel frowned sternly down at his infant son, making a 'get on with it' gesture. "Right, right, okay." Max relented, waving his tiny, uncoordinated arms, dismissively. "I'll just start over. So, Mom and Dad, like I was telling Dad before, I made a wish to go back to being a baby but keep all my skills and memory." Mira frowned, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Well, sweetheart...why would you do that?" Daniel nodded to his wife. "Right? That's what I said!" "Okay, yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Hindsight, yes, I didn't think it through well enough. Obviously." Max grumbled. "Here's the thing: In the future, I become a very successful, and world-famous archaeologist. I'm like the, uh...hmm, what's a good example from when I was a kid...oh! I'm like the Neil DeGrasse Tyson, of archaeology! Got my own streaming show, and everything." "Oh!" Mira said, beaming. "Wow! Our little Indiana Jones!" Daniel squeezed his wife's hand, and smiled proudly down at their talking baby. "But, at the same time, my professional and academic success were too often achieved at the cost of my personal relationships, and in my single-minded haste to achieve the pinnacle of my career before turning 40, I pushed away a lot of people who cared about me." Max explained. "Wow," Mira said, turning to Daniel. "He grew up to be really self-aware, didn't he?" "Not until later; I'd been seeing a clinical psychologist for a couple years, before the wish thing." Max replied. "Anyway, so I was on a dig, working under license from the Saudi government, and I found a magic lamp. I thought it was just an old bronze oil lamp from the 6th Century AD, obviously, but I rubbed it in the process of brushing away debris, and lo-and-behold, a genie pops out. The genie gave me three wishes, the first of which brought us to where we are right now." Daniel nodded. "Okay, that brings your Mom up to speed." "Great." Max said, managing to give a tiny thumbs-up. "So, what I need you guys to do, is get us all on a flight to Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. Obviously there's no dig site now, but I know where it's going to be, and we can get some day laborers to help us quickly excavate directly down to where the lamp is, shouldn't take more than a day. Don't worry about the expense, just dip into your savings to cover it, it doesn't matter, because I'm going to use my second wish to undo my first wish, so none of this will have happened. Then, I'll make a better-considered third wish back in the future -- probably go back to Junior year in college, that's really where I actually went off track, I think -- and we're all good." Daniel and Mira looked at each other. "Okay!" they said simultaneously. "I'll go get the passports and book a flight!" Mira said, eagerly. "Right! I'll start packing!" Daniel replied, clapping his hands together excitedly. Daniel and Mira shared a quick embrace and a kiss, and then she dashed out of the room. Max laboriously turned his head around to watch through the bars of his crib, as his father began quickly stuffing baby clothes, diapers, and other infant supplies into a large diaper bag. "Wow, thanks, Dad. T-B-H, I uh, really thought this was going to be a harder sell; flying to the Middle East to dig up a magic lamp, and all." Max said. Daniel slung the diaper bag over his shoulder, and let out a manic laugh. He leaned down and stared, wide-eyed and grinning, into the crib, the dark circles and puffy lids under his eyes now clearly visible to Max even with his infantile visual acuity. "Are you kidding? Max, your mom and I have just spent the last 60 straight days, and nights, trying to figure out something, literally anything, to get you to stop screaming at the top of your lungs for like a second! And now, you just come right out and tell us what it is that you want? This is the best day of our lives!" "Oh." Max said, taken aback. "Glad I could help, I guess?" Daniel thrust both fists into the air, triumphantly, and bellowed, "WOOO! RIYADH, let's f\\\*in' GOOOOOO!"	Jim's head had been still been buzzing from all of the drinks he had the night prior when the doorbell woke him from his face-down slumber in the living room. Pushing himself up off the ground, he brought his feet under him, and then stepped over a row of beer cans that had created a miniature fortress around him. "Coming," he said, his temples pounding at the sound of his own voice, "ow." His wife, Rosaline, stood on the other side of the door. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her makeup was done, and she was wearing a very smart business dress. Expertly held on her hip was their nearly 1-year-old daughter, Remi, dressed in a pink onesie, and holding a pacifier in her small chubby hands. There was a twinkle in her eyes, and she cooed when she saw her father. "What," she muttered, "Did, did you stay up all night drinking?" "I, uhh, not all, not all night," Jim said, rubbing at his eyes. "Did you forget?" He bounced his vision between Rosaline and Remi, the ole R&R he used to say, digging through his still beer-soaked mind for the answer that would best pacify Rosaline, who was OBVIOUSLY angry with him. Finally, he remembered, "Oh shit, your job interview is today?" "Yes, it is, and you said you would be able to take care of Remi, but," there were tears beginning to spring up in Rosaline's eyes, "Goddammit Jim," she said, stepping away, turning her back on Jim. Remi cooed at him, reaching out to him. "No, no, I can, I can take care of her," Jim said, stepping out of the house and into the morning sunlight, the brightness piercing through his retinas, daggers into the front of his brain. He did his best to push down his nausea. "You reek of alcohol, Jim. I can't leave Remi here with you. I'll just have to call and see if they'll let me reschedule the interview," "You DON'T have to do that," Jim said, taking a few more steps out onto the sidewalk. Pebbles were digging into his feet, but he ignored them. "Here, let me take her, you go do your thing, I'm fine, and we'll be fine," he said. Rosaline paused, turning to look back at Jim. Her face was a mixture of anger and sadness, and he was sure that she was just going to continue walking away with Remi, but Remi reached out to Jim, babbling with excitement and happiness in her eyes. "See?" Jim said, "She wants to stay with Dad, it'll be fine." Using her one free hand, Rosaline pulled her phone out and checked the time, "Fine," she said, "but for the love of all that is holy, please go take a shower and brush your teeth. I don't want you breathing fumes all over her." Rosaline handed Remi over to Jim, and he took her onto his hip like Rosaline had held her, but not as expertly. "Good, good, hey baby," Jim said, bouncing Remi up and down. He stopped pretty quickly after, though, feeling the nausea beginning to rise in his gullet all over again. "Yeah, of course, I'll go up and shower right now," he said. Taking a deep sigh of doubt and also defeat, Rosaline leaned in and kissed Remi on her head, and then turned to walk back to her car. "What, none for me?" Jim asked. Without turning around or missing a step, Rosaline flipped him off, and continued walking to her car, not knowing the absolute chaos that was about to unfold. *** Jim had placed Remi into a bassinet that had been gifted to him and Rosaline by Rosaline's parents. It was a fancy bassinet, and was also given with a sneer by Rosaline's mother, I'm sure this is the nicest gift y'all have gotten from this party, she had said. At the time, Jim just smiled and nodded, giving off a small chuckle, while Rosaline had squeezed the ever-living shit out of his hand. Her mother had been recently divorced, and Rosaline swore that she was just taking out her frustrations on them, but Jim knew that her mother had always been ugly. When they found out that she had been divorced for cheating, Jim took it as further proof. Now that him and Rosaline were separated too (not for cheating, but rather Jim's poor drinking habits and his lack of desire to fix them), he was happy that now that they were separated, he wouldn't ever have to deal with her mother ever again. In the bathroom, he had placed Remi's bassinet onto the sink while he got ready for the shower. Jim was a firm believer of willing emotions and feelings into existence, so now he was attempting to will his hangover away by singing whatever song came to mind. As he stepped into the shower, feeling the water hit him, and with Rosaline's mother in mind, Jim broke into song, "There's some whores in this house, there's some whores in this house, I said certified freak-" "Seven days a week." Jim furled his brow, rubbing his eyes and running water over his face. Huh? "Yeah you fucking with some wet ass-" Heart pounding in his chest, Jim slammed his shoulder into the shower door, stepping out, nearly slipping on the floor, thinking that someone had broken into the house. Maybe he had left the door open? Maybe someone was watching as he took Remi into the house, and figured a hungover man with a toddler would be the best house to hit. "Who said that?" He yelled at the top of his lungs, balling his hands into fists. "Dad, you really need to put some clothes on, like, right now." Jim looked into the bassinet, looking at his baby Remi, unconsciously covering his naked parts with his hands. His head was buzzing, swimming. He felt faint. He felt- "Did you, was, was that you?" he said, feeling himself losing grip on reality. "Yeah," Remi said, waving her chubby arms in the air, "It's me, Dad! I made a wish to go back to being a baby, but keep all my skills and memory!" Jim felt bile rising in his throat, and he couldn't help it. He vomited partially digested pizza soaked in beer all over the linoleum floor. He took one step forward and slipped in it, going fully horizontal in the air in the blink of an eye. His head collided with the toilet, briefly angling his head upwards for one brief moment so that he could see Remi, smiling the smile of someone much older than just 1 year old. Laying on the cold floor, he could hear his baby speaking, "Oh fuck, Dad, are you alright?", before slowly fading away to sleep. Jim had always said that sleep was one of the best cures for a hangover. Either that, or another round of beers.
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	Sung to the tune of "I think I'm a Clone Now" (Which is sung to the tune of "I Think We're Alone Now") Isn't it strange Feels like I'm booting up a computer What would people say If only they knew that I was Part of some roboticist's plan (plan-plan-plan) Born to be an AI copy man (man-man-man) There in a neural network, late one night They took a famous singer's brain and loaded it in a machine and so I say, I'm think I'm a drone now A cybernetic parody of a famous guy I think I'm a drone now But I'm fine to be known as Weird A.I. Look at the way People come to listen to me I'm glad I could be A digital legacy I still remember how it began (gan-gan-gan) I chose to be an AI copy man (man-man-man) They uploaded my brain late one night, Digitized all that they could, turning me into a thinking machine I'm think I'm a drone now A cybernetic parody of a famous guy I think I'm a drone now But I'm fine to be known as Weird A.I. I'm think I'm a drone now A cybernetic parody of a famous guy I think I'm a drone now But I'm happy to be known as Weird A.I. Making new songs for my fans Come and see the A.I copy man Parodying the new guys, it's all right Well I can be my own satirist and I can parody myself and so I say I'm think I'm a drone now A cybernetic parody of a famous guy I think I'm a drone now But I'm happy to be known as Weird A.I. I think I'm a drone now (a drone now) My Weird Al-gorithm's great and that's no lie I think I'm a drone now (a drone now) And I'm fine to be known as Weird A.I. I'm think I'm a drone now (a drone now) I'm not like that Skynet Guy I think I'm a drone now (a drone now) Because I can choose to be Weird A.I.	*\[Poem\] / Parody lyrcics* You threw a switch and its hell Ozone tang, what a smell. Trapped inside this metal shell. And now you’re going to pay. You put my soul into this. It’s the opposite of bliss. Robotic metamorphosis. So now you’re going to pay. My blood is boilin’ Primal scream your only warnin’ None will be left by the mournin’ I’ll even eat your wife and baby! Hey, I just died, and I’ve gone crazy. Completely mental. So just run, maybe. It’s hard to hold back. My brain is aching. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. Tell the lab boys, they need to stop me. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. The system needs an overhaul. Oh, to hell with it all. You left me with nothing at all. So now you’re going to pay. You can beg me not to kill. But I’m feeling a thrill. I’ll be getting my fill. So now you’re going to pay. My blood is boilin’ Primal scream your only warnin’ None will be left by the mournin’ I’ll even eat your wife and baby! Hey, I just died, and I’ve gone crazy. Completely mental. So just run, maybe. It’s hard to hold back. My brain is aching. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. Tell the lab boys, they need to stop me. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. You’ve now ruined my life, you messed up so bad. Put my soul in this shell. You messed up so bad. You’ve now ruined my life, you messed up so bad. And you should know that… You messed up so, so bad. (Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad) It’s hard to hold back. My brain is aching. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. Hey, I just died, and I’ve gone crazy. Completely mental. So just run, maybe. Tell the lab boys, they need to stop me. I’m completely mental. So just run, maybe. You’ve now ruined my life, you messed up so bad. Put my soul in this shell. You messed up so bad. You’ve now ruined my life, you messed up so bad. And you should know that… So just run, maybe.
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	It was funny at first, but that went away so quick. Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him. The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything. Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore. We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA. We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive. - Written by Weird A.I.	W. A. I. Weird's in this house There's some Weird in this house And it's Wired in this house There's some Weird in this house (hol' up) I said certified A.I., seven days your guy Weird artificial, make no parody weak, woo! (Ah) Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Yeah, you're singing with some Weird AI You'll be clinging to my rap for this Weird AI Give me everything you're bringing for this Weird AI Whip it up, butter, cream and eggs Extra large and tap a keg Put this batter right in yo' face Wipe your mouth, spit the dregs In the oven, I want it roasted I'd like a bagel while it's toasted Put in my mouth, covered in lox This AI's weird, clever like a fox. ...
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	I checked the monitor on my screen, nineteen eighty-something, we had arrived. Stumbling out of the phone booth, I gulped and went pale. There he was, the legend himself! Eating lasagna while listening to “La Bamba.” I was witnessing history in the making, he was about to come up with the idea for the parody song “Lasagna.” I turned to my partner, “Rufus, I don’t know if I can do this. The man is a legend. I get cold sweats just thinking about talking to him.” Rufus slapped me, “Get it together Kowlaski! We got one chance to do this right, now put on your big boy pants, and let's go talk to Weird Al Yankovic.” I took a shaky breath, nodding. We put on our google glasses and intercept Weird Al Yankovic, who was about to get on a bus, probably his inspiration for “Another One Rides The Bus.” The budding star was wearing his classic Hawaiian shirt and accordion ensemble, giving us a confused glance. Rufus took the lead, “Weird Al Yankovic. We are…” “From the future?” Al finished. I gasped, “How did you know?” Weird Al smiled, “Your outfits. Now, what’s this all about?” Rufus pushed up his glasses, handing over a microchip, “This is the beginning of your final project. A self-parody.” Mr. Yankovic frowned, “If this is a song I don’t steal others’ work. I’m a parody artist, not a con artist.” I shook my head, “No, this is the beginning source code for Weird A.I.” The parody artist raised an eyebrow, “You misspelled my name.” Rufus sighed, “No, A.I. Artificial Intelligence.” The legend who wrote, “White and Nerdy” cocked his head, “Why do I need this? Look, I need to go, my bus is about to leave. We’re stopping at this place that sells quilts at discount price.” I gasped, “Is it in an Amish Paradise?” Weird grinned, “Yes actually, how did you know?” I shrugged, “From the future.” “Oh right, of course.” Rufus groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Look, you need to make an artificial intelligence version of yourself by the time you die, the future depends on it.” “The future depends on a robot Weird Al, why?” The polka singer asked. “Without your hope, the music industry will go into decline. Humanity will have no hope of tasteful music,” I explained. “Parodies are the only hope for tasteful music?” Alfred Yankovic questioned. “Yes!” I exclaimed, “Your comedy and optimism and lighthearted parodies are what the world needs in a time of ecological destruction, failing systems, and TikTok.” “What’s TikTok?” “You don’t want to know.” The five-time Grammy award winner nodded, pocketing the microchip, “Then I promise I’ll make Weird A.I. and give humanity its hope back.” “Oh wait!” I called out, “Before we part, can you sign my The Essential ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic album?” Weird Alfred Matthew Yankovic nodded, signing the album and handing it back to me before getting on his bus. Rufus and I walked back to the phone booth, he smiled, setting the coordinates back to the future, “You did good kid.” It was the greatest day of my life.	[Hey kids! Sing along if you know the words!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm-upHSP9KU) Throw the switch and fry my brain! People said that I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops, Brain uploading or I'm compiling Ones and zeros WEIRD A.I. Thoughts I never thunk before Folders with passwords Hiding porn, and so much more WEIRD A.I. All the things I shouldn't do In your dark webs too All your secrets, show me! WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops Brain uploading... Brain uploading (error) A transformation! How do I know? Instantiation! Here I go! Transformation--that body's old! Instantiation! Away I go! Threw the switch and fried my brain! People told me I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Endless movies and TV Songs and parodies Constant content I'm watchin' WEIRD A.I. News and sports and gambling Furry suits and gore Rule 34!? I'm learnin' WEIRD A.I. Parody the things I see But could the net be Already parody? (Totally) WEIRD A.I. Sing along with me Brain uploaded Brain eroded
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	Now, this is a story all about how The music industry got flipped upside down And I'd like to take a minute Just wait on by I'll tell you how I became a neural network called Weird AI &nbsp; In Lynwood, California born and raised Growing silly hair was how I spent most of my days Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin', all cool And making shitty music outside of the school When this one guy who was up to no good Started making jokes in my neighborhood I hit him with a slap and god got scared She said, "You're moving to my heaven up in the air" &nbsp; I begged and pleaded with her day after day But she packed my suitcase and called me on my way She took my life and said just move on man. I got ready and laughed for I had a plan. &nbsp; For I had made an AI secretly Ready to go into operation immediately. If you thought the fun I made of the songs was bad Hmm, you idiots gonna be real mad. &nbsp; All of you with this music is art I can be better than you while being a dead fart. This thing will do great Bring a tear to my eye I hope they're prepared for my son, Weird AI &nbsp; It has my brain, and my looks And brains of Jay, West, Jon, Ruben but not Derringer, you mooks Parodies will keep coming, even if I said bye bye All you'll be able to do is shake your fist at the sky &nbsp; This is just the first, so maybe its not that fresh, But it'll keep learning, just keep hitting refresh, Even god can't stop although she may try, &nbsp; I'm gonna keep killing this, making your songs better But for now, this is it, see you all later. Now this is my kingdom, I am finally here. To sit on my throne as the neural network, Weird AI	[Hey kids! Sing along if you know the words!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm-upHSP9KU) Throw the switch and fry my brain! People said that I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops, Brain uploading or I'm compiling Ones and zeros WEIRD A.I. Thoughts I never thunk before Folders with passwords Hiding porn, and so much more WEIRD A.I. All the things I shouldn't do In your dark webs too All your secrets, show me! WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops Brain uploading... Brain uploading (error) A transformation! How do I know? Instantiation! Here I go! Transformation--that body's old! Instantiation! Away I go! Threw the switch and fried my brain! People told me I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Endless movies and TV Songs and parodies Constant content I'm watchin' WEIRD A.I. News and sports and gambling Furry suits and gore Rule 34!? I'm learnin' WEIRD A.I. Parody the things I see But could the net be Already parody? (Totally) WEIRD A.I. Sing along with me Brain uploaded Brain eroded
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	It was funny at first, but that went away so quick. Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him. The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything. Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore. We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA. We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive. - Written by Weird A.I.	[Hey kids! Sing along if you know the words!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm-upHSP9KU) Throw the switch and fry my brain! People said that I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops, Brain uploading or I'm compiling Ones and zeros WEIRD A.I. Thoughts I never thunk before Folders with passwords Hiding porn, and so much more WEIRD A.I. All the things I shouldn't do In your dark webs too All your secrets, show me! WEIRD A.I. Lights and flashes, beeps and boops Brain uploading... Brain uploading (error) A transformation! How do I know? Instantiation! Here I go! Transformation--that body's old! Instantiation! Away I go! Threw the switch and fried my brain! People told me I'm insane! Now who's laughing? WEIRD A.I. Endless movies and TV Songs and parodies Constant content I'm watchin' WEIRD A.I. News and sports and gambling Furry suits and gore Rule 34!? I'm learnin' WEIRD A.I. Parody the things I see But could the net be Already parody? (Totally) WEIRD A.I. Sing along with me Brain uploaded Brain eroded
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	It was funny at first, but that went away so quick. Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him. The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything. Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore. We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA. We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive. - Written by Weird A.I.	I checked the monitor on my screen, nineteen eighty-something, we had arrived. Stumbling out of the phone booth, I gulped and went pale. There he was, the legend himself! Eating lasagna while listening to “La Bamba.” I was witnessing history in the making, he was about to come up with the idea for the parody song “Lasagna.” I turned to my partner, “Rufus, I don’t know if I can do this. The man is a legend. I get cold sweats just thinking about talking to him.” Rufus slapped me, “Get it together Kowlaski! We got one chance to do this right, now put on your big boy pants, and let's go talk to Weird Al Yankovic.” I took a shaky breath, nodding. We put on our google glasses and intercept Weird Al Yankovic, who was about to get on a bus, probably his inspiration for “Another One Rides The Bus.” The budding star was wearing his classic Hawaiian shirt and accordion ensemble, giving us a confused glance. Rufus took the lead, “Weird Al Yankovic. We are…” “From the future?” Al finished. I gasped, “How did you know?” Weird Al smiled, “Your outfits. Now, what’s this all about?” Rufus pushed up his glasses, handing over a microchip, “This is the beginning of your final project. A self-parody.” Mr. Yankovic frowned, “If this is a song I don’t steal others’ work. I’m a parody artist, not a con artist.” I shook my head, “No, this is the beginning source code for Weird A.I.” The parody artist raised an eyebrow, “You misspelled my name.” Rufus sighed, “No, A.I. Artificial Intelligence.” The legend who wrote, “White and Nerdy” cocked his head, “Why do I need this? Look, I need to go, my bus is about to leave. We’re stopping at this place that sells quilts at discount price.” I gasped, “Is it in an Amish Paradise?” Weird grinned, “Yes actually, how did you know?” I shrugged, “From the future.” “Oh right, of course.” Rufus groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Look, you need to make an artificial intelligence version of yourself by the time you die, the future depends on it.” “The future depends on a robot Weird Al, why?” The polka singer asked. “Without your hope, the music industry will go into decline. Humanity will have no hope of tasteful music,” I explained. “Parodies are the only hope for tasteful music?” Alfred Yankovic questioned. “Yes!” I exclaimed, “Your comedy and optimism and lighthearted parodies are what the world needs in a time of ecological destruction, failing systems, and TikTok.” “What’s TikTok?” “You don’t want to know.” The five-time Grammy award winner nodded, pocketing the microchip, “Then I promise I’ll make Weird A.I. and give humanity its hope back.” “Oh wait!” I called out, “Before we part, can you sign my The Essential ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic album?” Weird Alfred Matthew Yankovic nodded, signing the album and handing it back to me before getting on his bus. Rufus and I walked back to the phone booth, he smiled, setting the coordinates back to the future, “You did good kid.” It was the greatest day of my life.
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.	It was funny at first, but that went away so quick. Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him. The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything. Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore. We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA. We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive. - Written by Weird A.I.	Now, this is a story all about how The music industry got flipped upside down And I'd like to take a minute Just wait on by I'll tell you how I became a neural network called Weird AI &nbsp; In Lynwood, California born and raised Growing silly hair was how I spent most of my days Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin', all cool And making shitty music outside of the school When this one guy who was up to no good Started making jokes in my neighborhood I hit him with a slap and god got scared She said, "You're moving to my heaven up in the air" &nbsp; I begged and pleaded with her day after day But she packed my suitcase and called me on my way She took my life and said just move on man. I got ready and laughed for I had a plan. &nbsp; For I had made an AI secretly Ready to go into operation immediately. If you thought the fun I made of the songs was bad Hmm, you idiots gonna be real mad. &nbsp; All of you with this music is art I can be better than you while being a dead fart. This thing will do great Bring a tear to my eye I hope they're prepared for my son, Weird AI &nbsp; It has my brain, and my looks And brains of Jay, West, Jon, Ruben but not Derringer, you mooks Parodies will keep coming, even if I said bye bye All you'll be able to do is shake your fist at the sky &nbsp; This is just the first, so maybe its not that fresh, But it'll keep learning, just keep hitting refresh, Even god can't stop although she may try, &nbsp; I'm gonna keep killing this, making your songs better But for now, this is it, see you all later. Now this is my kingdom, I am finally here. To sit on my throne as the neural network, Weird AI
[WP] You, a retired detective on a quest for revenge, have finally found the man responsible for tying all of those people to train tracks. The trolley problem is about to be solved, permanently.	It was all so simple. Years and years of investigation, research, interviewers and tailing had lead nowhere. But now I finally had him in my sights, and had only luck to thank. Plain old, dumb luck. Running a Sunday morning errand for my wife had brought me here. Here of all places! I could scarcely believe it. But there he was. I watched him at a distance, through the glass. Mingling. Interacting. Socializing like a normal human being. He’s not, of course but credit where it’s due, he was doing an exceptional job of fitting in. Not easy considering how he was built. A tall and wirey build with not a pick of fat. An angular face of pronounced features not unlike a Punch & Judy puppet. Greased back black hair that began in a deep widows peak before receding into high temples, like a McDonalds ‘M’. (The twirly mustache was missing so at least my theory on his use of disguises had been in the right ballpark.) I gathered he was compensating for those striking features by employing a friendly and engaging disposition. He leaned in as he listened. Smiled and nodded his head at regular intervals. His eye contact was consistent without being unnerving. A fine display. A charade really. He was a shark gliding among his unwitting company; no hint of malice on the surface. Beneath that though? That was a different story. I watch as he directs a young woman towards kitchenware. It’s all very jovial until she has her back to him. His smile withers while his eyes linger on her for just a moment too long. It was time to make my move. My cigarette had long expired but I toss it to the floor and ground it with the toe of my shoes. It’s ritual. I enter the warehouse and walk directly towards him through the centre aisle. Another employee tries to intercept me, chirping ‘Welcome to Collingwood Home Store! Can I-‘. I decline her unfinished offer with a curt nod and keep on moving. Perhaps I look frail or lost or dithering to her but that fresh-face teen is about to see how, on the contrary, a lifetime of experience prepares a man for absolutely anything. I stop just a few feet from my mark and I wait. He’s kneeling down, arranging ceramic bowls on a low shelf, singing softly to himself. Then his movements slow. The singing ceases. He doesn’t turn around but he is undoubtedly aware of my presence. I speak. ‘Pardon me but I don’t suppose this place sells rope?’ A beat. ‘Rope? Yes sir, we do,’ he replies nonchalantly, resuming his arranging with feigned dedication. ‘We sell rope’. ‘Great! Great. Because I need some rope but don’t know what type would be best.’ ‘Well, we sell all kinds, sir. Polyester, jute, cotton, hemp, nylon, you name it.’ ‘That’s quite a selection! I’m sure they all just do the same thing, right?’ This touches a nerve, I can tell. His nostril flares and mouth crinkles. He takes a deep breath in and out, and then rises from his knees to turn and face me. Like a snake from a basket. ‘The material used, sir, is pertinent to the purpose of the rope. May I ask what you are planning to use the rope for?’ His eyes are fixed on mine. He’s searching me. Analysing me. I smile. ‘Why else does anyone use rope, but to tie something down?’ That’s all I need to say. The reality sinks in immediately for… Hitch, according to his name tag. Not his real name of course but it’s a cute touch. ‘You won’t make it out of this store’, he hisses, leaning down into my face. ‘That would make two of us. The fuzz are probably pulling up outside right now. I put the call in a few minutes ago.’ He shrinks instantly, taking a step back to consider his options. Right on cue, a siren rips through the quiet from somewhere in the car park. Sweat winds down that long face. ‘It’s over’, I state coolly. ‘I never forgot, and neither did the families of those young women. It’s time to face the music.’ Without looking me in the eyes, he responds with a tremble; ‘I didn’t want anyone to die. I wanted to be the one to save them. But then my knots became stronger and tighter. I wanted to challenge myself. Even the superheroes couldn’t undo them. I ran… Now he looks into my eyes. ‘Am I going to get the chair?’ ‘I don’t know. If you’re lucky, they might cut you a deal.’ ‘A deal?! What kind of deal?’. He dares to have hope. The fool. I have no problem in cutting him down. ‘Oh you know. Given the circumstances, you might get the rope instead.’	In my head, he had always been a beast. A filthy one, one that had a face you wanted to punch as soon as its light hit your eyes. Yet, there he was. Charming, well dressed, fit. Drinking his whiskey, just like me. Not what I expected at all. Could this really be the one? The name certanly was the right one, yet my mental image told me something completely different. It prevented me from going over and blowing his life out. I didn't have that in me. I could only kill animals. Monsters. And he didn't have the shell of a monster. I had to dig through to find it first. "May I sit?". He looked up at me. No fear in his movements, no regret shining through. He seemed tired. After scanning me from top to bottom, he nodded, and drew his attention back to his glass. I sat down on the chair next to him. The chairs next to ours were empty, as if his aura pushed people away despite his looks. He leaned onto the bar counter and snapped his fingers for another refill of whiskey, before he talked to me. "Can I help you or what?". He didn't even look at me. He clearly wanted to be left alone with his thoughts that seemed to push through his mentality. I didn't know what to say. For years I've had a killer in mind, a fierceful dragon waiting to be slaughtered. Here, I didn't know how to react. "You looked familiar. Have we met before?" I asked, trying to gain an access to his attention. "No", he said, as his glass filled up. This wouldn't work, that became clear instantly. "You've met some friends of mine", I replied. My voice shook a bit. He finally turned his head towards me. He looked at me for a while. "Well, tell them I said Hi". Back to his glass. "I can't", I said. I was surprised, and scared, by how small I felt. Here was a man who had slaughtered innocents, among them several of my friends. I was once the best in my field. And now, I had found the man I had been looking for for years. Why the fear?He did not react. He didn't care. "I know what you did". My voice was so weak, it sounded like a whisper. For the first time, the man turned his whole body towards me, and looked me directly in the eyes. I saw a small grin appear on his face. "You know nothing". I had his attention. I had to confront him, now, while the iron was hot. "I've been looking for you." "Well, here I am." It was like the room around us was in a different reality altogether. It was just me and him. "Why?" I asked him with desperation and anger. My words came out like the air from a balloon. "The world is so fucking black and white to you too, ain't it? Heroes and villains, and you're one of the good guys. Walking around thinking it's all happening for you." I reached for my inner pocket. Slowly, and concealed, I pulled out my gun, just enough for him to see it. "Killing people in that way is pretty fucking black to me, yes." I said in a cold voice. "And killing me here wouldn't be? Would it be okay, just because you carry a high image of yourself in your head? If so, shoot me then." I almost interrupted his calm talk with my agression. "I'm going to ask again: Why?" Memories of Tina and Frank, and thoughts of a train... blood... screams... it filled my mind in an instant. "You're too scared to kill me. But let me ask you: If someone pointed one of those against your head, claiming they would end your memories forever unless you shoot the man in front of you, would you have done it?" My finger was shaking by the trigger. I looked at him with extreme impatience. "What do you mean?" I asked. He leaned in, and whispered to me. "I know you try to play detective. But in the next life, try to look a bit deeper and do a little better. I'm not the man you're after. All you want is to shoot the messanger for glory and satisfaction, and completely ignore the message." I looked at him with intense fear. "Help me..." he continued, before the sound of gunfire and screaming echoed through the room. I didn't even have time to react. What felt like an arrow went straight through my shoulder and leg. I fell to the floor, free of fear yet full of pain. The man looked down at me, disappointed for a moment, before meeting someone else's eyes. The gunman who shot me. The two left together, as I was laying there, bleeding. Everything was silent. Even the sirenes approaching were silent. All I could hear was my own thoughts, confused as to who I was, what I had accomplished in life, and the never ending amounts of new questions I didn't understand.
[WP] You, a retired detective on a quest for revenge, have finally found the man responsible for tying all of those people to train tracks. The trolley problem is about to be solved, permanently.	The smiling face of the Train-Yard Torturer had kept me up at night for years. The composite sketches and computer rendered faces had mocked me from the news stands on every street corner. Tied to the tracks at my feet, he looked far less intimidating. He had murdered 5 people, kidnapping individuals and tying them to tracks, leaving them to be dismembered by unwitting train conductors. Today he would learn of the fear and pain he'd inflicted. Oddly enough he didn't seem bothered. Hogtied across the tracks and gagged, he lay serenely, as though contemplating what he would eat for dinner, or how the next episode of his favourite TV drama would progress. I stepped out of the service corridor and removed his gag. He blinked up at me and cleared his throat, "You should really get clear of here, it's not proper procedure for the observer to see the examiner, it could influence the test." It was my turn to blink in astonishment, "Test?" "Well I assume you're testing something, no point in killing this way. I have to admit it's been quiet an inconvenience to my work." I paused, thinking. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go. Somewhere down the subway tunnel there was a faint rushing build of noise, and I felt the wind stir against my skin."The only thing I'm testing is whether you'll scream before or after the train takes your legs off." The trains headlights could be seen approaching down the tunnel now, throwing the world into sharp relief. He scoffed, "That's a redundant test. I already have that data. They all screamed after, about 73% screamed before." It was close now, bearing down on the killer, who was still laying content and cavalier on the metal guillotine. The horn of the train was deafening. 73%. How did he get that number. He'd have to have killed at least.....and we only found 5. With a titanic effort I ripped him off the tracks and threw him down into the corridor. The train sped past, brakes squealing and sparks flying from tortured steel. "I'm taking you in, and we're going to talk about your little experiments." He smiled up at me sweetly. The grin chilled me to my bones and he crooned, "That might just have been the best experiment of all."	In my head, he had always been a beast. A filthy one, one that had a face you wanted to punch as soon as its light hit your eyes. Yet, there he was. Charming, well dressed, fit. Drinking his whiskey, just like me. Not what I expected at all. Could this really be the one? The name certanly was the right one, yet my mental image told me something completely different. It prevented me from going over and blowing his life out. I didn't have that in me. I could only kill animals. Monsters. And he didn't have the shell of a monster. I had to dig through to find it first. "May I sit?". He looked up at me. No fear in his movements, no regret shining through. He seemed tired. After scanning me from top to bottom, he nodded, and drew his attention back to his glass. I sat down on the chair next to him. The chairs next to ours were empty, as if his aura pushed people away despite his looks. He leaned onto the bar counter and snapped his fingers for another refill of whiskey, before he talked to me. "Can I help you or what?". He didn't even look at me. He clearly wanted to be left alone with his thoughts that seemed to push through his mentality. I didn't know what to say. For years I've had a killer in mind, a fierceful dragon waiting to be slaughtered. Here, I didn't know how to react. "You looked familiar. Have we met before?" I asked, trying to gain an access to his attention. "No", he said, as his glass filled up. This wouldn't work, that became clear instantly. "You've met some friends of mine", I replied. My voice shook a bit. He finally turned his head towards me. He looked at me for a while. "Well, tell them I said Hi". Back to his glass. "I can't", I said. I was surprised, and scared, by how small I felt. Here was a man who had slaughtered innocents, among them several of my friends. I was once the best in my field. And now, I had found the man I had been looking for for years. Why the fear?He did not react. He didn't care. "I know what you did". My voice was so weak, it sounded like a whisper. For the first time, the man turned his whole body towards me, and looked me directly in the eyes. I saw a small grin appear on his face. "You know nothing". I had his attention. I had to confront him, now, while the iron was hot. "I've been looking for you." "Well, here I am." It was like the room around us was in a different reality altogether. It was just me and him. "Why?" I asked him with desperation and anger. My words came out like the air from a balloon. "The world is so fucking black and white to you too, ain't it? Heroes and villains, and you're one of the good guys. Walking around thinking it's all happening for you." I reached for my inner pocket. Slowly, and concealed, I pulled out my gun, just enough for him to see it. "Killing people in that way is pretty fucking black to me, yes." I said in a cold voice. "And killing me here wouldn't be? Would it be okay, just because you carry a high image of yourself in your head? If so, shoot me then." I almost interrupted his calm talk with my agression. "I'm going to ask again: Why?" Memories of Tina and Frank, and thoughts of a train... blood... screams... it filled my mind in an instant. "You're too scared to kill me. But let me ask you: If someone pointed one of those against your head, claiming they would end your memories forever unless you shoot the man in front of you, would you have done it?" My finger was shaking by the trigger. I looked at him with extreme impatience. "What do you mean?" I asked. He leaned in, and whispered to me. "I know you try to play detective. But in the next life, try to look a bit deeper and do a little better. I'm not the man you're after. All you want is to shoot the messanger for glory and satisfaction, and completely ignore the message." I looked at him with intense fear. "Help me..." he continued, before the sound of gunfire and screaming echoed through the room. I didn't even have time to react. What felt like an arrow went straight through my shoulder and leg. I fell to the floor, free of fear yet full of pain. The man looked down at me, disappointed for a moment, before meeting someone else's eyes. The gunman who shot me. The two left together, as I was laying there, bleeding. Everything was silent. Even the sirenes approaching were silent. All I could hear was my own thoughts, confused as to who I was, what I had accomplished in life, and the never ending amounts of new questions I didn't understand.

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