Split (1)

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	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	"A blade? If I may ask, good man, what do you need a blade for?" The voice startles me. For that I silently curse myself. That shouldn't happen to me, no matter my age. As I turn around to face the voice I find that I am looking into the face of a young woman, 17, perhaps. She's dressed in the robes of the College. Caution is necessary even if she can't possibly know about the Great Incident. However Rule Number 1:"A stranger is a potential enemy" still applies. "Why are you in these wild lands, young one? It is too dangerous here." The fatherly disguise usually worked and was, if nothing else a good starting point. "I am capable of taking care of my own, old man. The only thing dangerous in these woods is the occasional wild animal. Those I use for training," she replied angrily, clearly hurt by my comment. Not the reaction I wanted to achieve but it at least affirms that I'm still as good an actor as ever. Perhaps I should try a more respectful approach. "I suppose that must be true. "You are wearing the robes of the College, after all." Uh Oh. Too respectful too fast. Now she's eyeing suspiciously, trying to figure out who I am. She doesn't seem to be a fighter however. She isn't looking for weapons, poisons, armor. Doesn't say much though since I don't know how "Old Guardians" are trained. "Old Guardians". Fancy names for inquisitors, that's what they are. Finding anyone who knows something about the Great Incident, wiping their knowledge if possible, killing them if necessary. And I know an awful lot. "Tell me who are you," she says as she tries the direct approach. "No farmer would venture so for from his fields and a hunter you can't be because there is awfully little game in these lands." Couldn't find out yourself, huh. But, to be fair she can't. She doesn't know people like me even existed. The girl can ask the right questions however, got me in a corner that's a little to small for comfort. Well, a long time ago, when wars ware still fought between ordinary men, in these times people had a saying:"To counter a phalanx you need a phalanx." A frontal assault is in order. "Tell me, what's your name kid?" I ask trying to distract her and once again fit in with the old, angry grandpa-theme. "I am Valena of Gate's Cliff, Heir to the throne and apprentice at the College for Arcane Arts," she replied arrogantly. Typical for someone of royal blood. Their kind had lost in power significantly even before the Incident but were now almost obsolete. That an heir to a throne is attending the College is however something I would have bet on would not happen while I am alive. And she's from Gate's Cliff. Most interesting. "You are one of the Great Rangers," spoken in such a sweet, innocent voice that couldn't possibly convey the weight of her words. I jumped back, drew my sword and fell into my favorite defensive stance. As my adrenaline started flowing I was comforted by the ease with which I could still perform these movements. That changed nothing however at the fact that I was an old man and she a trained Guardian. My face became stone and my voice lowered to it's deadliest register. My men used to joke that that tone could even scare the undead. I'm not sure if they were wrong. "Do your worst, Guardian. I've fought your people before and as you see I'm still standing while they are lying in a hole in your 'Hall of the Great Dead'. You will be no different," I spat at her. Then she surprised me. Nothing surprised me. Not the Incident, not the armies of the undead, not the fact that it was a mage who caused the entire mess, not that the wanted to hide that mages were fallible. Nothing, but she. Valerna of Gate's Cliff just became different not only because she surprised me but also how she surprised me. "I am not an Old Guardian. I am not an apprentice at the College. I am a friend of Thorkier, Keeper of Records. His is an name that if I guessed correctly should be of great importance to you."	"Ok son, it's time for bed," called out the boy's father yelling up the flight of stairs. Gently standing up from the sofa so not to disturb his wife reading a book on ancient English myths. He begins slowly walking up the stairs, his left hand gliding upward on the side rail with each step up to the second floor. A muffled scurry of footsteps within the boy's room could be heard just outside the door as the boy drops his action figures of old heroes of the medieval age: Robin Hood, King Arthur, Druids, and Merlin. Opening the door to the boy's room, the boy jumps from the floor, to his bed and quickly under his sheets excitedly expecting one of his father's bedtime stories to blissfully dream about once asleep. "I hope you are in bed," the father announces entering the room seeing this son eagerly awaiting the next bedtime chronicle. Sitting on the side of the bed, lovingly gazing at his son, "Hmm, what story would you like to hear tonight?" Glancing over at this action figures sprawled all over the floor the boy yells out with anticipation, "Tell me a story about King Arthur!" Gently grinning and giving a small chuckle, "You do enjoy those fables." His son nodding his head exaggeratedly. "Well it all started hundreds and hundreds of years ago, in a land of magic and myths, and in this land there was a large castle and keep called Camelot. And in this castle was a good and kind king named King Arthur. By this time, King Arthur had ruled his kingdom for many years and won many wars uniting many people across the land and marrying a loving queen, Queen Guinevere. King Arthur was old by now and could not wield his magic sword." "The Excalibur!" shouts the boy in excitement. "Ha ha, yes the Excalibur," recalls the father. "The King, knowing these would be his last days as old age was quickly coming to an end, set out for a distant land with the sword in his carriage so none of his enemies could take it and destroy what he had fought for. Traveling north, dressed in common clothing and rags, the King slipped out of the kingdom traveling the dirt roads. After many months of traveling in all directions, the King rests at a small town of fur traders." "Where did he stay DAD!" calls out the son with intense interest. "New Amsterdam, just a small town on the east coast in the north. The King rests at the local tavern looking like a common towns person. A man stands up and sits next to the King. 'You're not from these parts are ya,' suggests the man. 'No,' replies the King. 'You're in luck new friend, I'm the mayor of this fine town,' remarks the man. 'The Mayor? You truly must be worthy to wield this sword then,' the King uncovers the sword out from under his cloak. It gently glimmers brightly as if it was enchanted by magic as it catches the tavern's dim light. The sword looks ancient, simple long straight edge, tarnished and slightly rusted with many chinks in the blade as if it has seen many battles. 'I...I don't know what to say, that is quite the sword you have there, traveler,' remarks the mayor astonished as his new friend randomly places the sword across the tavern counter. 'It's yours,' replies the King, 'I can no longer wield it's power as I am to die in the coming weeks.' 'Why...me?' replies the mayor. 'You are the ruler of this town, use its power to rule justly. And when the time comes, pass the sword down to your son and his son and so on and so on, so the sword stays in the family,' commanded the King. 'I have no heir, so I traveled here to the farthest reaches.' 'It's an honor,' stuttered the mayor as the king got up from the stool, leaving the sword on the counter for the mayor who could not look away from the sword in bewilderment, and walked out the door into the wilderness." "What happened to the King?" questioned the son. "No one knows, some say he died in the woods, others say he went back to his kingdom and died peacefully, but his sword remained in the hands of the mayor. Years past, the mayor rules over the small town of New Amsterdam and it grows and grows, it even changes names many years later to New York. The mayor does what the King had asked him and passed the sword down from son to son and so on for many generations." "What happened to the Excalibur?" quizzed the boy. "Still in the family, I imagine." answered the boy's father. "Well time for bed." "Is that story real, dad?" asked the boy. Smirking slightly, taken aback by the question, "It's just a story, now get some sleep." Kissing the boy on his forehead and tucking him in for the night, the father leaves the boy's room reminiscing the story told. Entering the parent's master bedroom, the father kneels down by the side of the bed and reaches under. He grabs a long object wrapped in an old dusty, battered cloth out from under the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly unwraps the old cloth revealing an old iron sword. It glimmers in the dim lit room as if it was enchanted by magic. "Are you going to tell him?" questioned the man's wife, who is leaning against the door frame. "In time, dear, in time."
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	The Grizzled Warrior lay against a tree, bleeding out after what was his last fierce battles. I witnessed it from afar yet I shall not forget what I saw. In a war fought with enchantments and magic, this Warrior had used none as far as I could tell. When the dust settled and the sun set, I approached him with medical aide in hand. He rose his hand, gestured that it was not necessary. "If I am going to die, I shall die doing what I love." I looked at him preposterously, "What you loved? Are you saying you loved war?" I asked. "No..." he said, coughed and stuck his iron blade in the ground. "What I loved was my journey." "And what Journey was that?" I asked. "The Journey from Apprentice to Master." he replied. The sun set, and he faded into the ether.	"Uhm, sir if i may ask, are you the one in this picture?" the grizzled old man took a glance and nodded. Stoked to find one of the few survivors of the Irrilian massacre i blurted out 'Sir, how did you survive?' The man looked at me, sighed and started his story "I used to be the wielder of Calunbun, you may know it as the Bloodsword for its effects when drenched with blood, whoever what you don't know is that the blood doesn't need to be that of an enemy, before every battle i killed a pig and... activated it." I must have seem like an idiot with my mouth open eyes wide stuttering as i brought to words "But but that would make Calunbun almost unbeatable, was was that how you survived?' The man cheered up a bit tapping a metal blade at his side "Nope that's this beauties doing, you see with Calunbun fighting had become dull, there was no thrill in it. So i decided to get another blade, but you see Calunbun wasn't the only magical sword with loopholes, every sword i picked up i eventually found a loophole for and dominated the battlefield." So i wondered out loud "What does that blade do?" The man grinned "it does absolutely nothing, i picked it up before they were able to enchant it, bit of a challenge to myself you see. And what a marvelous challenge it was, it kept the fights interesting, enemies were always wondering when i was going to unleash the power of my blade. But then the Irrilian massacre started and it really proved its worth, you see most swordsman rely on magic rather then skill, when the enemy negated our magic they made quick work of them, but me, i stopped using magic years ago and i had decades of experience of dealing with magical swords. . Hundreds fell to my blade before reinforcements arrived, hundreds more after, but for every man i cut down they cut down ten more, eventually retreat was ordered but not before the fields flowed red with blood. I visited the mass graves after, it was then when i realized that one of the grave trenches was filled just with the bodies i slain that i decided to retire. "
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	"A blade? If I may ask, good man, what do you need a blade for?" The voice startles me. For that I silently curse myself. That shouldn't happen to me, no matter my age. As I turn around to face the voice I find that I am looking into the face of a young woman, 17, perhaps. She's dressed in the robes of the College. Caution is necessary even if she can't possibly know about the Great Incident. However Rule Number 1:"A stranger is a potential enemy" still applies. "Why are you in these wild lands, young one? It is too dangerous here." The fatherly disguise usually worked and was, if nothing else a good starting point. "I am capable of taking care of my own, old man. The only thing dangerous in these woods is the occasional wild animal. Those I use for training," she replied angrily, clearly hurt by my comment. Not the reaction I wanted to achieve but it at least affirms that I'm still as good an actor as ever. Perhaps I should try a more respectful approach. "I suppose that must be true. "You are wearing the robes of the College, after all." Uh Oh. Too respectful too fast. Now she's eyeing suspiciously, trying to figure out who I am. She doesn't seem to be a fighter however. She isn't looking for weapons, poisons, armor. Doesn't say much though since I don't know how "Old Guardians" are trained. "Old Guardians". Fancy names for inquisitors, that's what they are. Finding anyone who knows something about the Great Incident, wiping their knowledge if possible, killing them if necessary. And I know an awful lot. "Tell me who are you," she says as she tries the direct approach. "No farmer would venture so for from his fields and a hunter you can't be because there is awfully little game in these lands." Couldn't find out yourself, huh. But, to be fair she can't. She doesn't know people like me even existed. The girl can ask the right questions however, got me in a corner that's a little to small for comfort. Well, a long time ago, when wars ware still fought between ordinary men, in these times people had a saying:"To counter a phalanx you need a phalanx." A frontal assault is in order. "Tell me, what's your name kid?" I ask trying to distract her and once again fit in with the old, angry grandpa-theme. "I am Valena of Gate's Cliff, Heir to the throne and apprentice at the College for Arcane Arts," she replied arrogantly. Typical for someone of royal blood. Their kind had lost in power significantly even before the Incident but were now almost obsolete. That an heir to a throne is attending the College is however something I would have bet on would not happen while I am alive. And she's from Gate's Cliff. Most interesting. "You are one of the Great Rangers," spoken in such a sweet, innocent voice that couldn't possibly convey the weight of her words. I jumped back, drew my sword and fell into my favorite defensive stance. As my adrenaline started flowing I was comforted by the ease with which I could still perform these movements. That changed nothing however at the fact that I was an old man and she a trained Guardian. My face became stone and my voice lowered to it's deadliest register. My men used to joke that that tone could even scare the undead. I'm not sure if they were wrong. "Do your worst, Guardian. I've fought your people before and as you see I'm still standing while they are lying in a hole in your 'Hall of the Great Dead'. You will be no different," I spat at her. Then she surprised me. Nothing surprised me. Not the Incident, not the armies of the undead, not the fact that it was a mage who caused the entire mess, not that the wanted to hide that mages were fallible. Nothing, but she. Valerna of Gate's Cliff just became different not only because she surprised me but also how she surprised me. "I am not an Old Guardian. I am not an apprentice at the College. I am a friend of Thorkier, Keeper of Records. His is an name that if I guessed correctly should be of great importance to you."	"Uhm, sir if i may ask, are you the one in this picture?" the grizzled old man took a glance and nodded. Stoked to find one of the few survivors of the Irrilian massacre i blurted out 'Sir, how did you survive?' The man looked at me, sighed and started his story "I used to be the wielder of Calunbun, you may know it as the Bloodsword for its effects when drenched with blood, whoever what you don't know is that the blood doesn't need to be that of an enemy, before every battle i killed a pig and... activated it." I must have seem like an idiot with my mouth open eyes wide stuttering as i brought to words "But but that would make Calunbun almost unbeatable, was was that how you survived?' The man cheered up a bit tapping a metal blade at his side "Nope that's this beauties doing, you see with Calunbun fighting had become dull, there was no thrill in it. So i decided to get another blade, but you see Calunbun wasn't the only magical sword with loopholes, every sword i picked up i eventually found a loophole for and dominated the battlefield." So i wondered out loud "What does that blade do?" The man grinned "it does absolutely nothing, i picked it up before they were able to enchant it, bit of a challenge to myself you see. And what a marvelous challenge it was, it kept the fights interesting, enemies were always wondering when i was going to unleash the power of my blade. But then the Irrilian massacre started and it really proved its worth, you see most swordsman rely on magic rather then skill, when the enemy negated our magic they made quick work of them, but me, i stopped using magic years ago and i had decades of experience of dealing with magical swords. . Hundreds fell to my blade before reinforcements arrived, hundreds more after, but for every man i cut down they cut down ten more, eventually retreat was ordered but not before the fields flowed red with blood. I visited the mass graves after, it was then when i realized that one of the grave trenches was filled just with the bodies i slain that i decided to retire. "
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	His knuckles were swollen large as knots, his hands tight on the shaft of the old gardening implement. Beneath the thick gray eyebrows, his eyes took in the train of four horses. I sat at the head of them. Had Father truly sent me to learn from this old fool? Any magus or any child would be better than this old fossil. The state of the weapon strapped to his thigh was more than enough proof of that. I couldn't sense any aura coming from the blade or even the man, it appeared that magic wanted nothing to do with the man. "Ye the boy then?" His voice was worse than I expected. The rough, deep baritone of it rumbled from his chest. I nodded tersely. He nodded in return, "The rest of 'em can get back to your father. Ye won't be needin', nor gettin' any assistance from them boy." I watched stunned as the captain of the guard gave a nod and turned the horses back the way we had come. I moved to get his attention but a gnarled hand caught the reins. "Yer here to learn the sword, just like yer father before ye." The man said, "Yer father said ye've run off yer other tutors. Don' expect the same here boy. Magic's forsaken this place and I've all the time to teach ye respect." "I'm the son of the high prince! I won't have you address me as boy, commoner!" I yanked at the reins. I didn't see him draw his blade, but I heard the tearing of the leather girth. I found myself on my back on the other side of the horse gasping for the air that had fled. "Boy, here yer nothin' more than an apprentice." He came around the side of the animal and put the tip of the simple iron blade against my breastbone. "Now, get this beast to the stables, brushed, fed. Then get yer sorry ass to the fields, there's work to do. Best get out of those fancy things, lest you don't care to get them fithly."	I step towards him and clear my throat. The old veteran looks at me, I could tell from his eyes he's seen a lot of conflict. "I have a question for you", I say. He grunts, as if saying "What is it?". "In a world of magic and enchantments, why do you use such a simple and weak blade?", I ask, puzzled. "Ah" the old man replies, a smug grin on his face. "You can't tell anyone - this is top secret stuff". I nod. "Okay" he says, "This blade is possibly the most powerful magical item in the world". "Because one of its enchantments", he smiles, "Disguises itself".
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	"A blade? If I may ask, good man, what do you need a blade for?" The voice startles me. For that I silently curse myself. That shouldn't happen to me, no matter my age. As I turn around to face the voice I find that I am looking into the face of a young woman, 17, perhaps. She's dressed in the robes of the College. Caution is necessary even if she can't possibly know about the Great Incident. However Rule Number 1:"A stranger is a potential enemy" still applies. "Why are you in these wild lands, young one? It is too dangerous here." The fatherly disguise usually worked and was, if nothing else a good starting point. "I am capable of taking care of my own, old man. The only thing dangerous in these woods is the occasional wild animal. Those I use for training," she replied angrily, clearly hurt by my comment. Not the reaction I wanted to achieve but it at least affirms that I'm still as good an actor as ever. Perhaps I should try a more respectful approach. "I suppose that must be true. "You are wearing the robes of the College, after all." Uh Oh. Too respectful too fast. Now she's eyeing suspiciously, trying to figure out who I am. She doesn't seem to be a fighter however. She isn't looking for weapons, poisons, armor. Doesn't say much though since I don't know how "Old Guardians" are trained. "Old Guardians". Fancy names for inquisitors, that's what they are. Finding anyone who knows something about the Great Incident, wiping their knowledge if possible, killing them if necessary. And I know an awful lot. "Tell me who are you," she says as she tries the direct approach. "No farmer would venture so for from his fields and a hunter you can't be because there is awfully little game in these lands." Couldn't find out yourself, huh. But, to be fair she can't. She doesn't know people like me even existed. The girl can ask the right questions however, got me in a corner that's a little to small for comfort. Well, a long time ago, when wars ware still fought between ordinary men, in these times people had a saying:"To counter a phalanx you need a phalanx." A frontal assault is in order. "Tell me, what's your name kid?" I ask trying to distract her and once again fit in with the old, angry grandpa-theme. "I am Valena of Gate's Cliff, Heir to the throne and apprentice at the College for Arcane Arts," she replied arrogantly. Typical for someone of royal blood. Their kind had lost in power significantly even before the Incident but were now almost obsolete. That an heir to a throne is attending the College is however something I would have bet on would not happen while I am alive. And she's from Gate's Cliff. Most interesting. "You are one of the Great Rangers," spoken in such a sweet, innocent voice that couldn't possibly convey the weight of her words. I jumped back, drew my sword and fell into my favorite defensive stance. As my adrenaline started flowing I was comforted by the ease with which I could still perform these movements. That changed nothing however at the fact that I was an old man and she a trained Guardian. My face became stone and my voice lowered to it's deadliest register. My men used to joke that that tone could even scare the undead. I'm not sure if they were wrong. "Do your worst, Guardian. I've fought your people before and as you see I'm still standing while they are lying in a hole in your 'Hall of the Great Dead'. You will be no different," I spat at her. Then she surprised me. Nothing surprised me. Not the Incident, not the armies of the undead, not the fact that it was a mage who caused the entire mess, not that the wanted to hide that mages were fallible. Nothing, but she. Valerna of Gate's Cliff just became different not only because she surprised me but also how she surprised me. "I am not an Old Guardian. I am not an apprentice at the College. I am a friend of Thorkier, Keeper of Records. His is an name that if I guessed correctly should be of great importance to you."	I step towards him and clear my throat. The old veteran looks at me, I could tell from his eyes he's seen a lot of conflict. "I have a question for you", I say. He grunts, as if saying "What is it?". "In a world of magic and enchantments, why do you use such a simple and weak blade?", I ask, puzzled. "Ah" the old man replies, a smug grin on his face. "You can't tell anyone - this is top secret stuff". I nod. "Okay" he says, "This blade is possibly the most powerful magical item in the world". "Because one of its enchantments", he smiles, "Disguises itself".
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	I'd had it; the bear had cornered me. I'd inadvertently come between a mother bear and her cubs, and was about to become their next meal. With her on top of me, claws slashing and raking violently, and her teeth finding a resting place deep in my left shoulder a bit ago I couldn't do anything. I couldn't cast, couldn't use verbal or somatic components. I was a dead elf. Valorna of House Kenthal, magess in training, dying in this way, in this place...I would be a shame on my house. Prayers to the gods and goddesses fell from my lips unbidden before I noticed that the bear seem distracted by something behind her, the intensity of her attack abating. Eventually whatever it was distracted her enough to turn her attention from me to whatever it was, and I managed to cant some minor healing spells immediately to at least stabilize myself. "GEEEE! GO ON!" A voice yelled at the creature, and an ancient, very plain-looking single-handed sword appeared in my vision and firmly smacked the bear's rump after it twisted itself to strike with the flat before a human shape appeared that connected itself to the blade. The bear apparently decided she'd had enough of something that could fight back and fled into the woods, her cubs galloping at either side of her as they retreated. Before I passed out from exhaustion and blood loss, I tried to see my savior, and only saw a shadow watching over me. What sort of magical strength or incantations lay in that dull-looking blade? I had to know. I had to find my savior, and ask. But I was slipping into darkness, sliding further and further, the light leaving my eyes... -- I searched the breadth of Varthen for my hero after I recovered from my wounds a few moons later; I'd found myself in a fae camp at dawnbreak after I finally awoke, the little ones twittering about an old, grizzled-looking, simply garbed human who'd brought my unconscious form to them. They tried to use lights and illusions to show me how he looked, but he'd been wearing a hood and robe, which only made my search more difficult. They'd been very happy with him for not killing the bear, only driving her off, and told me to tell him he was welcome in the fae lands anytime. I had immediately written to my House as soon as my wounded shoulder permitted asking if they knew of any human practitioners of the blade, and got the reply from my aunt that the ways of the blade had died out long ago, when Magic first revealed itself to the world, every race having their full focus on the arts. Her letter gave me a suggestion for my search, however. Those arts are from long ago. I would suggest seeking the human lands of Kenton to the north and west. There are many humans in that kingdom set in the old ways. They still practice nursing, farming, cooking, hunting and gathering without the Arts. One may know of your hero.* I knew where I needed to head next. -- I finally found him after almost a month in and around Kenton, my obsessive search coming to its end. I begged him to see the blade that he had used to save me, that I could disentangle what incredible enchantments provided it such power, and he just laughed softly at me, the old human shaking his head. "You can see it. But there's nothing like what you're after, lass. She's just an old thing, worked iron and sweat and good care taken of her." I felt nothing when I held it. Absolutely nothing. It was indeed just as he'd said, plain iron and an ornate iron hilt. I sensed no hidden spells, no conjury that would explain the incredible power the weapon had shown against the bear. "I do not understand," I finally managed to stammer to him as I carefully handed the weapon back. "I was so sure..." "That it was enhanced with th' Arts? Nae." He slowly got up and sheathed the sword. "Everything is about the wielder, not the weapon. I can show you, if you'd like. But it'll be a hard road for you." I found myself nodding eagerly. I wanted this power...this power of protection without the Arts. "Very well." He looked me right in the eyes. "Your first lesson will be when to not* use it."	I step towards him and clear my throat. The old veteran looks at me, I could tell from his eyes he's seen a lot of conflict. "I have a question for you", I say. He grunts, as if saying "What is it?". "In a world of magic and enchantments, why do you use such a simple and weak blade?", I ask, puzzled. "Ah" the old man replies, a smug grin on his face. "You can't tell anyone - this is top secret stuff". I nod. "Okay" he says, "This blade is possibly the most powerful magical item in the world". "Because one of its enchantments", he smiles, "Disguises itself".
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	His knuckles were swollen large as knots, his hands tight on the shaft of the old gardening implement. Beneath the thick gray eyebrows, his eyes took in the train of four horses. I sat at the head of them. Had Father truly sent me to learn from this old fool? Any magus or any child would be better than this old fossil. The state of the weapon strapped to his thigh was more than enough proof of that. I couldn't sense any aura coming from the blade or even the man, it appeared that magic wanted nothing to do with the man. "Ye the boy then?" His voice was worse than I expected. The rough, deep baritone of it rumbled from his chest. I nodded tersely. He nodded in return, "The rest of 'em can get back to your father. Ye won't be needin', nor gettin' any assistance from them boy." I watched stunned as the captain of the guard gave a nod and turned the horses back the way we had come. I moved to get his attention but a gnarled hand caught the reins. "Yer here to learn the sword, just like yer father before ye." The man said, "Yer father said ye've run off yer other tutors. Don' expect the same here boy. Magic's forsaken this place and I've all the time to teach ye respect." "I'm the son of the high prince! I won't have you address me as boy, commoner!" I yanked at the reins. I didn't see him draw his blade, but I heard the tearing of the leather girth. I found myself on my back on the other side of the horse gasping for the air that had fled. "Boy, here yer nothin' more than an apprentice." He came around the side of the animal and put the tip of the simple iron blade against my breastbone. "Now, get this beast to the stables, brushed, fed. Then get yer sorry ass to the fields, there's work to do. Best get out of those fancy things, lest you don't care to get them fithly."	The pitter-patter of footsteps continued behind him accompanied by the chink of armored mail. Two, no, three by the sound of it. It wouldn't be long before they were at his heels. He felt pity in his heart for them. Each with a home with people to love beside them. He imagined how the people must have looked the day they were declared honor guards for the High Regent, how pride and glee must have painted their every expression. He knew that look all too well. He had that look on his face once, but that was many moons ago. They were close. These men, they'll be dead soon. Between the alley, the stars shimmered overhead between the rooftop gaps. It reminded him of Alyce. She would trace the tiny white dots in the heavens with her fingers creating new creatures as fast as her mind could draw the image. The watchers she called them, shining down upon us from above. She gave him his special watcher. He raised his finger and connected seven stars together in an imaginary line, his Crowned Serpent, before the alley thinned and the shacks obstructed his view. All the while, the footsteps grew louder. And then, a voice tore through the silence. "By the power vested in my by the Regent Most High, I order you to stop!" He complied and came to a halt. "You have been charged with the murder." the second of them said, "Face us and declare yourself!" Once again, he did as they asked. Three, he was right. Two with wands and the second with a staff in his clutches. It was all the same to him. **** tbc
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	"A blade? If I may ask, good man, what do you need a blade for?" The voice startles me. For that I silently curse myself. That shouldn't happen to me, no matter my age. As I turn around to face the voice I find that I am looking into the face of a young woman, 17, perhaps. She's dressed in the robes of the College. Caution is necessary even if she can't possibly know about the Great Incident. However Rule Number 1:"A stranger is a potential enemy" still applies. "Why are you in these wild lands, young one? It is too dangerous here." The fatherly disguise usually worked and was, if nothing else a good starting point. "I am capable of taking care of my own, old man. The only thing dangerous in these woods is the occasional wild animal. Those I use for training," she replied angrily, clearly hurt by my comment. Not the reaction I wanted to achieve but it at least affirms that I'm still as good an actor as ever. Perhaps I should try a more respectful approach. "I suppose that must be true. "You are wearing the robes of the College, after all." Uh Oh. Too respectful too fast. Now she's eyeing suspiciously, trying to figure out who I am. She doesn't seem to be a fighter however. She isn't looking for weapons, poisons, armor. Doesn't say much though since I don't know how "Old Guardians" are trained. "Old Guardians". Fancy names for inquisitors, that's what they are. Finding anyone who knows something about the Great Incident, wiping their knowledge if possible, killing them if necessary. And I know an awful lot. "Tell me who are you," she says as she tries the direct approach. "No farmer would venture so for from his fields and a hunter you can't be because there is awfully little game in these lands." Couldn't find out yourself, huh. But, to be fair she can't. She doesn't know people like me even existed. The girl can ask the right questions however, got me in a corner that's a little to small for comfort. Well, a long time ago, when wars ware still fought between ordinary men, in these times people had a saying:"To counter a phalanx you need a phalanx." A frontal assault is in order. "Tell me, what's your name kid?" I ask trying to distract her and once again fit in with the old, angry grandpa-theme. "I am Valena of Gate's Cliff, Heir to the throne and apprentice at the College for Arcane Arts," she replied arrogantly. Typical for someone of royal blood. Their kind had lost in power significantly even before the Incident but were now almost obsolete. That an heir to a throne is attending the College is however something I would have bet on would not happen while I am alive. And she's from Gate's Cliff. Most interesting. "You are one of the Great Rangers," spoken in such a sweet, innocent voice that couldn't possibly convey the weight of her words. I jumped back, drew my sword and fell into my favorite defensive stance. As my adrenaline started flowing I was comforted by the ease with which I could still perform these movements. That changed nothing however at the fact that I was an old man and she a trained Guardian. My face became stone and my voice lowered to it's deadliest register. My men used to joke that that tone could even scare the undead. I'm not sure if they were wrong. "Do your worst, Guardian. I've fought your people before and as you see I'm still standing while they are lying in a hole in your 'Hall of the Great Dead'. You will be no different," I spat at her. Then she surprised me. Nothing surprised me. Not the Incident, not the armies of the undead, not the fact that it was a mage who caused the entire mess, not that the wanted to hide that mages were fallible. Nothing, but she. Valerna of Gate's Cliff just became different not only because she surprised me but also how she surprised me. "I am not an Old Guardian. I am not an apprentice at the College. I am a friend of Thorkier, Keeper of Records. His is an name that if I guessed correctly should be of great importance to you."	The pitter-patter of footsteps continued behind him accompanied by the chink of armored mail. Two, no, three by the sound of it. It wouldn't be long before they were at his heels. He felt pity in his heart for them. Each with a home with people to love beside them. He imagined how the people must have looked the day they were declared honor guards for the High Regent, how pride and glee must have painted their every expression. He knew that look all too well. He had that look on his face once, but that was many moons ago. They were close. These men, they'll be dead soon. Between the alley, the stars shimmered overhead between the rooftop gaps. It reminded him of Alyce. She would trace the tiny white dots in the heavens with her fingers creating new creatures as fast as her mind could draw the image. The watchers she called them, shining down upon us from above. She gave him his special watcher. He raised his finger and connected seven stars together in an imaginary line, his Crowned Serpent, before the alley thinned and the shacks obstructed his view. All the while, the footsteps grew louder. And then, a voice tore through the silence. "By the power vested in my by the Regent Most High, I order you to stop!" He complied and came to a halt. "You have been charged with the murder." the second of them said, "Face us and declare yourself!" Once again, he did as they asked. Three, he was right. Two with wands and the second with a staff in his clutches. It was all the same to him. **** tbc
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	I'd had it; the bear had cornered me. I'd inadvertently come between a mother bear and her cubs, and was about to become their next meal. With her on top of me, claws slashing and raking violently, and her teeth finding a resting place deep in my left shoulder a bit ago I couldn't do anything. I couldn't cast, couldn't use verbal or somatic components. I was a dead elf. Valorna of House Kenthal, magess in training, dying in this way, in this place...I would be a shame on my house. Prayers to the gods and goddesses fell from my lips unbidden before I noticed that the bear seem distracted by something behind her, the intensity of her attack abating. Eventually whatever it was distracted her enough to turn her attention from me to whatever it was, and I managed to cant some minor healing spells immediately to at least stabilize myself. "GEEEE! GO ON!" A voice yelled at the creature, and an ancient, very plain-looking single-handed sword appeared in my vision and firmly smacked the bear's rump after it twisted itself to strike with the flat before a human shape appeared that connected itself to the blade. The bear apparently decided she'd had enough of something that could fight back and fled into the woods, her cubs galloping at either side of her as they retreated. Before I passed out from exhaustion and blood loss, I tried to see my savior, and only saw a shadow watching over me. What sort of magical strength or incantations lay in that dull-looking blade? I had to know. I had to find my savior, and ask. But I was slipping into darkness, sliding further and further, the light leaving my eyes... -- I searched the breadth of Varthen for my hero after I recovered from my wounds a few moons later; I'd found myself in a fae camp at dawnbreak after I finally awoke, the little ones twittering about an old, grizzled-looking, simply garbed human who'd brought my unconscious form to them. They tried to use lights and illusions to show me how he looked, but he'd been wearing a hood and robe, which only made my search more difficult. They'd been very happy with him for not killing the bear, only driving her off, and told me to tell him he was welcome in the fae lands anytime. I had immediately written to my House as soon as my wounded shoulder permitted asking if they knew of any human practitioners of the blade, and got the reply from my aunt that the ways of the blade had died out long ago, when Magic first revealed itself to the world, every race having their full focus on the arts. Her letter gave me a suggestion for my search, however. Those arts are from long ago. I would suggest seeking the human lands of Kenton to the north and west. There are many humans in that kingdom set in the old ways. They still practice nursing, farming, cooking, hunting and gathering without the Arts. One may know of your hero.* I knew where I needed to head next. -- I finally found him after almost a month in and around Kenton, my obsessive search coming to its end. I begged him to see the blade that he had used to save me, that I could disentangle what incredible enchantments provided it such power, and he just laughed softly at me, the old human shaking his head. "You can see it. But there's nothing like what you're after, lass. She's just an old thing, worked iron and sweat and good care taken of her." I felt nothing when I held it. Absolutely nothing. It was indeed just as he'd said, plain iron and an ornate iron hilt. I sensed no hidden spells, no conjury that would explain the incredible power the weapon had shown against the bear. "I do not understand," I finally managed to stammer to him as I carefully handed the weapon back. "I was so sure..." "That it was enhanced with th' Arts? Nae." He slowly got up and sheathed the sword. "Everything is about the wielder, not the weapon. I can show you, if you'd like. But it'll be a hard road for you." I found myself nodding eagerly. I wanted this power...this power of protection without the Arts. "Very well." He looked me right in the eyes. "Your first lesson will be when to not* use it."	The pitter-patter of footsteps continued behind him accompanied by the chink of armored mail. Two, no, three by the sound of it. It wouldn't be long before they were at his heels. He felt pity in his heart for them. Each with a home with people to love beside them. He imagined how the people must have looked the day they were declared honor guards for the High Regent, how pride and glee must have painted their every expression. He knew that look all too well. He had that look on his face once, but that was many moons ago. They were close. These men, they'll be dead soon. Between the alley, the stars shimmered overhead between the rooftop gaps. It reminded him of Alyce. She would trace the tiny white dots in the heavens with her fingers creating new creatures as fast as her mind could draw the image. The watchers she called them, shining down upon us from above. She gave him his special watcher. He raised his finger and connected seven stars together in an imaginary line, his Crowned Serpent, before the alley thinned and the shacks obstructed his view. All the while, the footsteps grew louder. And then, a voice tore through the silence. "By the power vested in my by the Regent Most High, I order you to stop!" He complied and came to a halt. "You have been charged with the murder." the second of them said, "Face us and declare yourself!" Once again, he did as they asked. Three, he was right. Two with wands and the second with a staff in his clutches. It was all the same to him. **** tbc
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	I'd had it; the bear had cornered me. I'd inadvertently come between a mother bear and her cubs, and was about to become their next meal. With her on top of me, claws slashing and raking violently, and her teeth finding a resting place deep in my left shoulder a bit ago I couldn't do anything. I couldn't cast, couldn't use verbal or somatic components. I was a dead elf. Valorna of House Kenthal, magess in training, dying in this way, in this place...I would be a shame on my house. Prayers to the gods and goddesses fell from my lips unbidden before I noticed that the bear seem distracted by something behind her, the intensity of her attack abating. Eventually whatever it was distracted her enough to turn her attention from me to whatever it was, and I managed to cant some minor healing spells immediately to at least stabilize myself. "GEEEE! GO ON!" A voice yelled at the creature, and an ancient, very plain-looking single-handed sword appeared in my vision and firmly smacked the bear's rump after it twisted itself to strike with the flat before a human shape appeared that connected itself to the blade. The bear apparently decided she'd had enough of something that could fight back and fled into the woods, her cubs galloping at either side of her as they retreated. Before I passed out from exhaustion and blood loss, I tried to see my savior, and only saw a shadow watching over me. What sort of magical strength or incantations lay in that dull-looking blade? I had to know. I had to find my savior, and ask. But I was slipping into darkness, sliding further and further, the light leaving my eyes... -- I searched the breadth of Varthen for my hero after I recovered from my wounds a few moons later; I'd found myself in a fae camp at dawnbreak after I finally awoke, the little ones twittering about an old, grizzled-looking, simply garbed human who'd brought my unconscious form to them. They tried to use lights and illusions to show me how he looked, but he'd been wearing a hood and robe, which only made my search more difficult. They'd been very happy with him for not killing the bear, only driving her off, and told me to tell him he was welcome in the fae lands anytime. I had immediately written to my House as soon as my wounded shoulder permitted asking if they knew of any human practitioners of the blade, and got the reply from my aunt that the ways of the blade had died out long ago, when Magic first revealed itself to the world, every race having their full focus on the arts. Her letter gave me a suggestion for my search, however. Those arts are from long ago. I would suggest seeking the human lands of Kenton to the north and west. There are many humans in that kingdom set in the old ways. They still practice nursing, farming, cooking, hunting and gathering without the Arts. One may know of your hero.* I knew where I needed to head next. -- I finally found him after almost a month in and around Kenton, my obsessive search coming to its end. I begged him to see the blade that he had used to save me, that I could disentangle what incredible enchantments provided it such power, and he just laughed softly at me, the old human shaking his head. "You can see it. But there's nothing like what you're after, lass. She's just an old thing, worked iron and sweat and good care taken of her." I felt nothing when I held it. Absolutely nothing. It was indeed just as he'd said, plain iron and an ornate iron hilt. I sensed no hidden spells, no conjury that would explain the incredible power the weapon had shown against the bear. "I do not understand," I finally managed to stammer to him as I carefully handed the weapon back. "I was so sure..." "That it was enhanced with th' Arts? Nae." He slowly got up and sheathed the sword. "Everything is about the wielder, not the weapon. I can show you, if you'd like. But it'll be a hard road for you." I found myself nodding eagerly. I wanted this power...this power of protection without the Arts. "Very well." He looked me right in the eyes. "Your first lesson will be when to not* use it."	I take in the man standing before me. Several things stand out. His numerous battle scars. His greying beard. His lack of armor. His clearly nonmagical sword. All these add up to one obvious conclusion: BAD ASS MOTHER FUCKER I stand aside and let him pass.
	[WP] In a world filled with magical weapons, you encounter a grizzled, old veteran with nothing but a simple iron blade by his side.	The blade hacked into the branch, shearing it from the tree. It snaps down, and the old man simply pulls it away before hacking it again into several smaller pieces. he grunts as he does, clearly this is hard work for him. "You could just use a severence spell" I say helpfully. He glares at me and spits onto the ground. There's an intensity in his eyes that calls me stupid far more than his voice ever could. Getting back to the task at hand the man continues to carve up the wood, before setting it down in a vaguely arcane pile. Clearly, whatever spell he intends to cast with this wood would be negated by the fraying a severence spell causes. As he grabs two of the sticks I notice that his hands are scared and blistered. Clearly this is not the first time he has made such an arrangement. I look back at the pile, and wonder. Though vaguely conical in arrangement, the symbol does not reflect anything arcane that I recognise. "Give us that stone," he mutters. His hands point to a piece of flint behind me. Now this has caught my intrigue, flint is not known for any magical properties, what he would need it for I can only guess. Perhaps it's shape can be used with the cone of sticks as a conduit piece? The man sits in front of the pile. I sit opposite, watching his actions, listening for his incantations. Yet all he does is rub his weapon against the stone. I watch in fascination, this is unlike any magic taught at the academy, following none of it's basic principles. And yet, I see the sparks. There's a rudimentary Fira spell at work here. But no mana is being drained. No words are spoken. Even as the twigs take light, none of the usual side effects associated with Fira spells show on the man or his blade. "How did you..?" "Magic," he mutters sarcastically. "May I?" I ask, as I look upon both the stone and the weapon. The man shrugs and hands them over. What sort of wizard is he? No true wizard would ever hand over their magical artifacts so casually. "Give it a go," he says. He must view me as some apprentice, i think as I begun to rub the blade with the stone. I take it carefully, focusing my energy into the blade, waiting for that kick, that release, that sensation that casts with a proper weapon enchantment. But it doesn't come. There's no aura here, the weapon feels exactly like cutlery. This must be why he gave it to me, clearly he has found a way to stop others using his blade. "It takes a lot of practice," he says, as he takes back the blade. "I couldn't feel any connection," I say defeated, "Is there some sort of specific runes or incantation upon your blade?" The man looks at me with the same confusion from before, like again I had said something utterly ridiculous. He sighs, "That's the problem with you wizards, you're so focused on magic being the only way." For a second I stare at him in disbelief. What other way could there be?	I take in the man standing before me. Several things stand out. His numerous battle scars. His greying beard. His lack of armor. His clearly nonmagical sword. All these add up to one obvious conclusion: BAD ASS MOTHER FUCKER I stand aside and let him pass.
	[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work.	I knocked on the door again. "This is CPS!" I called. "Hello? Hello?" I stepped to the side and tried to peek in the windows, but could see nothing but the faint outlines of shadows through the cracks in the blinds. I glanced back at Zeke. "No one's answering. You getting anything?" He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a low hum. "Yeah. Auras. Bad juju in there. Definitely signs of life though." I hate this paranormal shit. This wasn't what I signed up for when I became a social worker. But it turns out that CPS is the one government agency to actively get involved with demons and hauntings and possessions on a regular basis. Something about children's souls being a common battleground for demons or something - that stuff gave me goosebumps every time they talked about it. So now I've got Zeke - Ezekiel over here, serving as spiritual backup. This was the house of Raymond and Alexandra Hollister, and their six year old son, Micah, and if the reports we were getting were accurate, there was some real, real bad juju going on down here. I walked back to the door and tried to rattle the knob, and it turned without effort. The door creaked open. I glanced at Zeke. "I got you covered," he said, and reached into his bag and tossed a medallion at me. "Wear that." "Ugh," I said, and slipped it around my neck. "Hello?" I called out, opening the door and stepping into the house, and then the smell hit me. "God!" I leaned back out, fighting the urge to retch. My eyes were watering. "Demons have been known to, uh, exacerbate bodily functions," Zeke said. His nose was wrinkled and he was edging away from the door. "Yeah, yeah," I said, and ventured inside, pressing a handkerchief to my nose. Even in the dim light, it was easy to tell the house was a disaster. The carpet was matted with various bodily fluids, at least the little of it that could be seen through the piles of trash on the floor. Old newspapers, cereal boxes, empty cups, cans, trash bags, unopened envelopes, piles of ash, scattered over the furniture and onto the floor. Roached scuttled freely between them. "We need to call for -" I started to say, and then stopped at the sound of a thin faint wail, coming through the house. "Zeke. You hear that?" "Uh-huh," he muttered. I stepped forward, struggling through the piles of trash, deeper into the house. The sound was coming from a closet. Zeke was whispering chants, brandishing a silver cross in one hand. "Go ahead," he said. I flung open the door and gasped. Inside was what had to be Micah Hollister, although looking at him I would not have guessed he was six. He was tiny and covered in sores, his ribs showing, a pair of dirty stockings tied around his wrists and suspending him from the clothes bar. He was wearing only a pair of filthy underwear, and he was crying faintly, half-conscious, barely even acknowledging my presence. I struggled to untie the knots, and Zeke quickly passed me a kris and I sliced through them. Micah collapsed, and I scooped him up in my arms, whispering to him. "You're okay now," I said. "You're safe now. Micah? Can you hear me? You're safe." There were deep bleeding welts in his wrists. "So?" I said to Zeke. "What's going on? Demonic possession? Or ghosts? Or what?" I carefully cradled Micah in my arms as Zeke took out a small flask from his bag and dabbed the liquid on his fingers. He wrote out a symbol on Micah's forehead, watching for any reaction. He took out a cloudy crystal and peered through it, looking around the room. At last, he stood up straight and packed his trinkets and talismans away, looking at me troubled. "Nothing," he said finally. "No signs of anything supernatural at all."	“Hmm, looks like the McGees want to send that kid back to the adoption agency.” “What happened?” “Same old thing. This time it’s a pentagram on the living room floor.” “Did he manage to make any trouble?” “Not really. Just scaring the foster parents.” “I’ll go talk to them.” “Hope you aren’t going to go over and give the kid some pointers.” “Hey Joe, when you do something well you don’t do it for free.” I said bye to Joe and then went to my office to make a call. I expected to set up a meeting with the parents next week, or even after two. Not happening. The first thing out of the mother’s mouth was “can you meet with us today?” I didn’t even get a “Hello–I’m fine–How are you?” But it’s not like I had anything better to do. Maybe I could even convince them to keep the kid. Who knows? When I rang the doorbell Mr. McGee greeted me at the door. We sat at a table in the living room to discuss this business. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said while pointing my head towards the pentagram on the floor. “Sorry but we can’t keep Joey. The agency didn’t say anything about this. He’s scaring my younger daughter and I don’t know what he’ll do,” Mrs. McGee said after completely ignoring my comment. I thought it was pretty witty. “Where is the little rascal, anyway?” “He’s upstairs in his room,” Mr. McGee chimed in. “Why isn’t he here? I thought we would have a nice family discussion. Maybe I should go talk to him –“ “Don’t go! He’s dangerous!” said Mrs. McGee. “Don’t worry, I am too.” After that exchange I went upstairs and all but one door is cracked open. The parents followed from a safe distance away. I knocked on the door. “You don’t know who I am, but can I come in?” I didn’t get a response. “I’ll take your silence as a maybe.” I opened the door and saw an imposing shadowy figure hanging over the room. “That boy is a devil!” Mr. McGee shouted. I had a feeling he might take off so I grabbed him by the collar before he had the chance. “We don’t have any devils here. It’s just a trick.” I said as I approached the kid who sat in the middle of the room in a trance. I waved my hand in front of his face but his mind was elsewhere, so I tipped him over. Magic sure does fade easily when the caster faceplants. The demon in the room vanished and the boy seemed dazed. “You don’t need to be afraid just because you don’t know how the trick works. Why don’t you ask him about it later? Just know that learning how the trick works takes the fun out of it. It’s like explaining a joke.” The fear previously plastered on the parents’ faces seems to be gone. Looks like a planted just enough doubt for them to not believe. It just takes a little to kill the magic. At the same time, the kid started to come around. “Ditch the old school pentagrams. Demons use computers too.” I whispered to the boy and then started to make my exit. “If you guys have any other problems you know who to call. If he starts doing playing card tricks or pulling rabbits out of hats be sure to let me know. I’ll be all over that.”
	[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work.	Oh boy, this one's gonna be hard. I could already hear the mother screaming at her daughter. The daughter was screaming back just as loud, probably even louder. But I can tell she's losing her will to argue, and hopefully nothing else. I couldn't make out any of the words, only high pitched screams taking turns to see who can be louder. I looked at the house as stepped out of my car. Overgrown lawn, cracks all over the driveway, and a new coat of yellow for those white walls. The house was kinda what I expected, but somehow worse. Before coming here I did my usual research and background checks. Where the call is from, who it's for, where I'm needed, what kind of area is it, what people are saying, etc. The mother, Rachael, was a widow of a military man who unfortunately passed away in the line of duty. Their daughter, Max, was 15 at time when I made my visit. My research had told me that there was not really much physical abuse, but instead more mental. This detail is what told me what I was dealing with this time. I walked to the front door, each step making the screaming louder and louder. Every wave of voices became clearer and started to form words. I was about fifteen feet from the door when I heard a loud slap from the inside of the house. That slap practically hit my face as the whole area, thick with tension, shook with that one hit. Not only did it stop my heart, but the screaming as well. However, I shook my head back at it, knowing that I need to be strong with this case. I stood upon the doormat, checked all my pockets for what I needed, took a good deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Hello!? Child Protective Services! My name is Alex and I'm here about a few calls we've received!" I say these words almost every time and it never gets easier to say them. They were never responded with anything happy, mostly silence. This time was no different as there was silence behind the door I had just spoken to. A whole eternity went by, but my watch said only a minute had passed. I knocked again and was about to say those magic words of silence when I heard the door respond with and unlocking. A woman in her mid 30's with a light smile slowly opened her door. Almost everything about her was too "nice". Her hair, clothes, makeup, everything was to nice to be on a woman who was screaming so loud that I'm sure her late husband could hear her. Before I could even open my mouth, her split tongue started to move. "Oh goodness, not another one. My goodness, how many times have I told those neighbors that our TV is just too loud. I wish they could just tell us." She said these words without breaking her smile. Dear god this was a bad one. My stomach was turning with how much bull I was swallowing. I already felt how bad this was and she kept nailing her coffin with every word that was coming from her mouth. She then brought her victim from the grave to make room for her. "Isn't that right Max?" A girl with a face younger than the mother slowly emerged from the darkness behind her. She gave me a slow smile and said "Yup!" "You might wanna check on the neighbors to the right though," Rachael said, "I've been hearing the couple over there have some pretty loud arguments with their son." She was trying to diverge me away from here. I heard 'yup' from Max, but I saw 'help' on her forced to smile face. Her eyes were becoming void of color, and her skin was so pale I actually thought I was hallucinating her for a second. This mother did not want me here, trained Max to become her puppet, and wanted me to leave asap. That's fine, I know how to do my job fast anyway. "Alright, then. I'll see to that tomorrow as I was only sent for this house and I would be breaking code if I went to a different one," I responded. "Please, take my card so I can stay updated. Any and all sources are taken, especially with what we do." I pulled a freshly laminated business card from my front pocket and put it out in front of me. "It's laminated so you hopefully don't lose it." "But of course! We can't those kind of people running around can we." Rachael said. She then reached for my business card and grasped it. Got her. Our business cards are laminated with a mixture that includes holy water. The moment Rachael touched the card she screamed in complete agony and fell backwards. Her eyes were slowly becoming engulfed in black. Max gained life as she saw what appeared to be her mother dying of paper. I swung open the door and grabbed the card that was dropped. "Stand back Max!" I yelled as I positioned myself. She then stood back as I slowly pushed my business card onto her mother's forehead. I started my chant and within a few minutes my card went from pure white to black, absorbing the literal demon that was possessing her. I exhaled a sign of relief. Thank god that this one fell over so I could do it fast. Rachael awoke from what I assumed was a painful experience and look at me then her daughter. "W-what happened to me?" "You were possessed by a demon," I responded, "You see, demons can possess people, as you would expect. However, they can only possess those who are weak hearted. I would assume one possessed you when your late husband passed away and you were grieving. That demon controlled your body and decided to weaken your daughter so that another one would come and take her. Luckily, I came before that could happen." Max hugged her mom tightly and started to cry. EDIT: Some quick punctuation, grammar nit bits, and small changes that I added and fixed. And thank you to whoever gave me the gold on this! This is literally my second response (first one posted) on this subreddit and cannot thank you enough! This will inspire me to do more!	“Hmm, looks like the McGees want to send that kid back to the adoption agency.” “What happened?” “Same old thing. This time it’s a pentagram on the living room floor.” “Did he manage to make any trouble?” “Not really. Just scaring the foster parents.” “I’ll go talk to them.” “Hope you aren’t going to go over and give the kid some pointers.” “Hey Joe, when you do something well you don’t do it for free.” I said bye to Joe and then went to my office to make a call. I expected to set up a meeting with the parents next week, or even after two. Not happening. The first thing out of the mother’s mouth was “can you meet with us today?” I didn’t even get a “Hello–I’m fine–How are you?” But it’s not like I had anything better to do. Maybe I could even convince them to keep the kid. Who knows? When I rang the doorbell Mr. McGee greeted me at the door. We sat at a table in the living room to discuss this business. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said while pointing my head towards the pentagram on the floor. “Sorry but we can’t keep Joey. The agency didn’t say anything about this. He’s scaring my younger daughter and I don’t know what he’ll do,” Mrs. McGee said after completely ignoring my comment. I thought it was pretty witty. “Where is the little rascal, anyway?” “He’s upstairs in his room,” Mr. McGee chimed in. “Why isn’t he here? I thought we would have a nice family discussion. Maybe I should go talk to him –“ “Don’t go! He’s dangerous!” said Mrs. McGee. “Don’t worry, I am too.” After that exchange I went upstairs and all but one door is cracked open. The parents followed from a safe distance away. I knocked on the door. “You don’t know who I am, but can I come in?” I didn’t get a response. “I’ll take your silence as a maybe.” I opened the door and saw an imposing shadowy figure hanging over the room. “That boy is a devil!” Mr. McGee shouted. I had a feeling he might take off so I grabbed him by the collar before he had the chance. “We don’t have any devils here. It’s just a trick.” I said as I approached the kid who sat in the middle of the room in a trance. I waved my hand in front of his face but his mind was elsewhere, so I tipped him over. Magic sure does fade easily when the caster faceplants. The demon in the room vanished and the boy seemed dazed. “You don’t need to be afraid just because you don’t know how the trick works. Why don’t you ask him about it later? Just know that learning how the trick works takes the fun out of it. It’s like explaining a joke.” The fear previously plastered on the parents’ faces seems to be gone. Looks like a planted just enough doubt for them to not believe. It just takes a little to kill the magic. At the same time, the kid started to come around. “Ditch the old school pentagrams. Demons use computers too.” I whispered to the boy and then started to make my exit. “If you guys have any other problems you know who to call. If he starts doing playing card tricks or pulling rabbits out of hats be sure to let me know. I’ll be all over that.”
	[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work.	I knocked on the door again. "This is CPS!" I called. "Hello? Hello?" I stepped to the side and tried to peek in the windows, but could see nothing but the faint outlines of shadows through the cracks in the blinds. I glanced back at Zeke. "No one's answering. You getting anything?" He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a low hum. "Yeah. Auras. Bad juju in there. Definitely signs of life though." I hate this paranormal shit. This wasn't what I signed up for when I became a social worker. But it turns out that CPS is the one government agency to actively get involved with demons and hauntings and possessions on a regular basis. Something about children's souls being a common battleground for demons or something - that stuff gave me goosebumps every time they talked about it. So now I've got Zeke - Ezekiel over here, serving as spiritual backup. This was the house of Raymond and Alexandra Hollister, and their six year old son, Micah, and if the reports we were getting were accurate, there was some real, real bad juju going on down here. I walked back to the door and tried to rattle the knob, and it turned without effort. The door creaked open. I glanced at Zeke. "I got you covered," he said, and reached into his bag and tossed a medallion at me. "Wear that." "Ugh," I said, and slipped it around my neck. "Hello?" I called out, opening the door and stepping into the house, and then the smell hit me. "God!" I leaned back out, fighting the urge to retch. My eyes were watering. "Demons have been known to, uh, exacerbate bodily functions," Zeke said. His nose was wrinkled and he was edging away from the door. "Yeah, yeah," I said, and ventured inside, pressing a handkerchief to my nose. Even in the dim light, it was easy to tell the house was a disaster. The carpet was matted with various bodily fluids, at least the little of it that could be seen through the piles of trash on the floor. Old newspapers, cereal boxes, empty cups, cans, trash bags, unopened envelopes, piles of ash, scattered over the furniture and onto the floor. Roached scuttled freely between them. "We need to call for -" I started to say, and then stopped at the sound of a thin faint wail, coming through the house. "Zeke. You hear that?" "Uh-huh," he muttered. I stepped forward, struggling through the piles of trash, deeper into the house. The sound was coming from a closet. Zeke was whispering chants, brandishing a silver cross in one hand. "Go ahead," he said. I flung open the door and gasped. Inside was what had to be Micah Hollister, although looking at him I would not have guessed he was six. He was tiny and covered in sores, his ribs showing, a pair of dirty stockings tied around his wrists and suspending him from the clothes bar. He was wearing only a pair of filthy underwear, and he was crying faintly, half-conscious, barely even acknowledging my presence. I struggled to untie the knots, and Zeke quickly passed me a kris and I sliced through them. Micah collapsed, and I scooped him up in my arms, whispering to him. "You're okay now," I said. "You're safe now. Micah? Can you hear me? You're safe." There were deep bleeding welts in his wrists. "So?" I said to Zeke. "What's going on? Demonic possession? Or ghosts? Or what?" I carefully cradled Micah in my arms as Zeke took out a small flask from his bag and dabbed the liquid on his fingers. He wrote out a symbol on Micah's forehead, watching for any reaction. He took out a cloudy crystal and peered through it, looking around the room. At last, he stood up straight and packed his trinkets and talismans away, looking at me troubled. "Nothing," he said finally. "No signs of anything supernatural at all."	The black phone rang on the desk interrupting Diane's crossword puzzle, she picked it up, idly tapped a pen against her lips and listened. "Yes, ma'am, I will be right there. Yup code 12, got it," Diane wrote down a name, Tiffany Drake, and an address on a yellow sticky note then took another long glance at the crossword puzzle. Five letter word for Hamlet's Father, screw it, she grabbed her black suit jacket and pulled it on. It barely concealed the large black revolver in the shoulder holster. Night had fallen and the full moon shone brightly in the warm summer sky. These were the nights Diane lived for, she wished she could let her hair out of the tight bun it was wrapped in so it could fly free in the wind, but she was on a job and professionalism is what the CPS was all about. She pushed the gas pedal down further on her small convertible car and sped toward her first visit. Tiffany Drake's house was located on the edge of town. It was a cute small cottage home with white trim, with blue shutters, small flowers beds decorated the yard and flanked the stone walkway to the front door. Diane lived in an apartment and hated gardening, but she wouldn't deny that it looked lovely. She focused on the task at hand and politely knocked on the door and put on her best smile. Diane had to wait and knock on the door again, louder this time, before the door finally opened. A tiny old woman peeked her wrinkled face around the door and adjusted her nightgown. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am, it's very late and that's why I'm here. Diane Willow from CPS." Diane stuck out her hand, the old woman ignored it. "CPS? Did my granddaughter call you?" she asked with a scowl. "I believe so. May I come in and have a look around?" Diane asked flashing her bright practiced smile. "Fine, if it will make her stop having nightmares, honestly that child..." the old woman turned away from Diane and shuffled deeper in the house muttering to herself. Diane crossed over the threshold and immediately felt a temperature change. It was as if she had just walked into a deep freezer. She rubbed her arms and began looking around the entry way. Pictures decorated every surface and wall, black and white photos of great grand parents to colorful pictures of a little blonde girl that could only have been Tiffany. A tiny voice turned Diane's head toward the small stairwell. A same little blonde girl stood at the top of the stairs clutching a worn brown teddy bear. Tiffany's bright blue eyes were wide and staring directly at Diane. "Are you here to make the bad man go away?" Tiffany's small voice barely carried over the distance to Diane. "I am. My name is Diane Willow, and I'm here to help," Diane said gently, walking up the stairs toward Tiffany. "What is your bears name?" Diane asked as she reached the little girl. "His name is Archibold," she said confidently holding her stuffed bear forward for Diane to see. "He looks very strong, does he protect you from the bad man?" Tiffany nodded and grabbed Diane's hand with a strength that was surprising. "Okay, let's go check your room then." Tiffany led Diane down the narrow hallway toward the room at the end. The walls were painted a soft pink and a small pink four post bed sat against the far wall. The room was a little too girly for Diane but it was the perfect room for a girl like Tiffany. "He comes to the window every night," Tiffany said cowering behind Diane. "Okay, you get in bed and try to get some sleep, I will stay up and wait for him to get here, then we will have a nice chat," Diane said guiding Tiffany to the plush pink bed. "Promise?" Tiffany asked. "Promise." It wasn't long before Diane could hear the slow steady breathing of a sleeping Tiffany. Diane sat with her back against the wall so she could watch the window then eased the black revolver out of the holster. "Wake up Wolfram," Diane whispered to the revolver. "Nooooo....a few more minutes..." a deep voice whispered in her mind. "Now Wolfram!" she said shaking the revolver. "Fine, damn, I'm awake." Wolfram was always bitter at having to do work. Diane remember the first time she had found the demon possessed revolver. Ah, memories, she smiled. "We've got a code 12, so I need your help," Diane said. "What's a code 12?" Wolfram asked. Diane sighed, "ghost, there is a ghost haunting this little girl." She gestured toward the still form of the sleeping Tiffany. "Aww, what a sweetie, it would be a shame if someone possessed her..." Wolfram said. Diane could feel his grin in her mind. "I will banish you forever." "It was a joke...lighten up." Diane was about to say something when her skin broke out in goose bumps, her breath curled out in thick white mist. "It's coming," Wolfram's voice filled her mind. Diane leveled Wolfram at the window and waited. A ghost that affected the environment this dramatically was powerful. A pale white hand pressed against the window pane, frost spread out in every direction as if kissed by a winter wind. "We need it to come inside," Wolfram said trying to calm Diane's nerves. She hated that he could feel her emotions, but he was right. The white hand turned into ice fog and slipped through the gap in the window. It fell heavily into a cloud at the base of the window before solidifying into its true form. A seven foot tall wight stood in front of the window looming over Tiffany. "Now," Wolfram commanded in her mind. Diane squeezed the trigger gently and the gun kicked like a mule. The bright muzzle flash was almost blinding in the dark confines of the room. The magic bullet tore a massive hole in the side of the wight's chest. Diane squeezed off three more rounds into the wight. It roared in pain and charged her. "Don't let it touch you!" Wolfram screamed as Diane desperately rolled out of the way. The wight slammed into the wall leaving a frosted gouge marks. Diane swung Wolfram around and fired again and again. The magically infused bullets kept tearing massive chunks out of the creature but it didn't slow down at all. The wight roared and pursued her. "Shit!" Diane shouted as the creature rushed toward her again. She ducked out of the way at the last second as the creature smashed into the small table that was set out of a tea party. The wight turned it's red glowing eyes toward Diane as she pressed Wolfram against the wight's temple and pulled the trigger. The head detonated in an explosion of mist and frozen chunks. Frost lined the barrel of Wolfram. "To-oo--oo, close," Wolfram said through violent shivers. "Hush you're fine." Diane holstered Wolfram and checked on Tiffany. She was still fast asleep, the spell Diane had cast was still holding strong. She tried to tidy the room up a little but the table and wall were a lost cause. The wight had completely evaporated leaving a small wet puddle on the floor. Satisfied with a job well done Diane left the quaint cottage and drove back to the office to write up her report. The worst part of her job. --- Thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
	[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work.	Oh boy, this one's gonna be hard. I could already hear the mother screaming at her daughter. The daughter was screaming back just as loud, probably even louder. But I can tell she's losing her will to argue, and hopefully nothing else. I couldn't make out any of the words, only high pitched screams taking turns to see who can be louder. I looked at the house as stepped out of my car. Overgrown lawn, cracks all over the driveway, and a new coat of yellow for those white walls. The house was kinda what I expected, but somehow worse. Before coming here I did my usual research and background checks. Where the call is from, who it's for, where I'm needed, what kind of area is it, what people are saying, etc. The mother, Rachael, was a widow of a military man who unfortunately passed away in the line of duty. Their daughter, Max, was 15 at time when I made my visit. My research had told me that there was not really much physical abuse, but instead more mental. This detail is what told me what I was dealing with this time. I walked to the front door, each step making the screaming louder and louder. Every wave of voices became clearer and started to form words. I was about fifteen feet from the door when I heard a loud slap from the inside of the house. That slap practically hit my face as the whole area, thick with tension, shook with that one hit. Not only did it stop my heart, but the screaming as well. However, I shook my head back at it, knowing that I need to be strong with this case. I stood upon the doormat, checked all my pockets for what I needed, took a good deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Hello!? Child Protective Services! My name is Alex and I'm here about a few calls we've received!" I say these words almost every time and it never gets easier to say them. They were never responded with anything happy, mostly silence. This time was no different as there was silence behind the door I had just spoken to. A whole eternity went by, but my watch said only a minute had passed. I knocked again and was about to say those magic words of silence when I heard the door respond with and unlocking. A woman in her mid 30's with a light smile slowly opened her door. Almost everything about her was too "nice". Her hair, clothes, makeup, everything was to nice to be on a woman who was screaming so loud that I'm sure her late husband could hear her. Before I could even open my mouth, her split tongue started to move. "Oh goodness, not another one. My goodness, how many times have I told those neighbors that our TV is just too loud. I wish they could just tell us." She said these words without breaking her smile. Dear god this was a bad one. My stomach was turning with how much bull I was swallowing. I already felt how bad this was and she kept nailing her coffin with every word that was coming from her mouth. She then brought her victim from the grave to make room for her. "Isn't that right Max?" A girl with a face younger than the mother slowly emerged from the darkness behind her. She gave me a slow smile and said "Yup!" "You might wanna check on the neighbors to the right though," Rachael said, "I've been hearing the couple over there have some pretty loud arguments with their son." She was trying to diverge me away from here. I heard 'yup' from Max, but I saw 'help' on her forced to smile face. Her eyes were becoming void of color, and her skin was so pale I actually thought I was hallucinating her for a second. This mother did not want me here, trained Max to become her puppet, and wanted me to leave asap. That's fine, I know how to do my job fast anyway. "Alright, then. I'll see to that tomorrow as I was only sent for this house and I would be breaking code if I went to a different one," I responded. "Please, take my card so I can stay updated. Any and all sources are taken, especially with what we do." I pulled a freshly laminated business card from my front pocket and put it out in front of me. "It's laminated so you hopefully don't lose it." "But of course! We can't those kind of people running around can we." Rachael said. She then reached for my business card and grasped it. Got her. Our business cards are laminated with a mixture that includes holy water. The moment Rachael touched the card she screamed in complete agony and fell backwards. Her eyes were slowly becoming engulfed in black. Max gained life as she saw what appeared to be her mother dying of paper. I swung open the door and grabbed the card that was dropped. "Stand back Max!" I yelled as I positioned myself. She then stood back as I slowly pushed my business card onto her mother's forehead. I started my chant and within a few minutes my card went from pure white to black, absorbing the literal demon that was possessing her. I exhaled a sign of relief. Thank god that this one fell over so I could do it fast. Rachael awoke from what I assumed was a painful experience and look at me then her daughter. "W-what happened to me?" "You were possessed by a demon," I responded, "You see, demons can possess people, as you would expect. However, they can only possess those who are weak hearted. I would assume one possessed you when your late husband passed away and you were grieving. That demon controlled your body and decided to weaken your daughter so that another one would come and take her. Luckily, I came before that could happen." Max hugged her mom tightly and started to cry. EDIT: Some quick punctuation, grammar nit bits, and small changes that I added and fixed. And thank you to whoever gave me the gold on this! This is literally my second response (first one posted) on this subreddit and cannot thank you enough! This will inspire me to do more!	The black phone rang on the desk interrupting Diane's crossword puzzle, she picked it up, idly tapped a pen against her lips and listened. "Yes, ma'am, I will be right there. Yup code 12, got it," Diane wrote down a name, Tiffany Drake, and an address on a yellow sticky note then took another long glance at the crossword puzzle. Five letter word for Hamlet's Father, screw it, she grabbed her black suit jacket and pulled it on. It barely concealed the large black revolver in the shoulder holster. Night had fallen and the full moon shone brightly in the warm summer sky. These were the nights Diane lived for, she wished she could let her hair out of the tight bun it was wrapped in so it could fly free in the wind, but she was on a job and professionalism is what the CPS was all about. She pushed the gas pedal down further on her small convertible car and sped toward her first visit. Tiffany Drake's house was located on the edge of town. It was a cute small cottage home with white trim, with blue shutters, small flowers beds decorated the yard and flanked the stone walkway to the front door. Diane lived in an apartment and hated gardening, but she wouldn't deny that it looked lovely. She focused on the task at hand and politely knocked on the door and put on her best smile. Diane had to wait and knock on the door again, louder this time, before the door finally opened. A tiny old woman peeked her wrinkled face around the door and adjusted her nightgown. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am, it's very late and that's why I'm here. Diane Willow from CPS." Diane stuck out her hand, the old woman ignored it. "CPS? Did my granddaughter call you?" she asked with a scowl. "I believe so. May I come in and have a look around?" Diane asked flashing her bright practiced smile. "Fine, if it will make her stop having nightmares, honestly that child..." the old woman turned away from Diane and shuffled deeper in the house muttering to herself. Diane crossed over the threshold and immediately felt a temperature change. It was as if she had just walked into a deep freezer. She rubbed her arms and began looking around the entry way. Pictures decorated every surface and wall, black and white photos of great grand parents to colorful pictures of a little blonde girl that could only have been Tiffany. A tiny voice turned Diane's head toward the small stairwell. A same little blonde girl stood at the top of the stairs clutching a worn brown teddy bear. Tiffany's bright blue eyes were wide and staring directly at Diane. "Are you here to make the bad man go away?" Tiffany's small voice barely carried over the distance to Diane. "I am. My name is Diane Willow, and I'm here to help," Diane said gently, walking up the stairs toward Tiffany. "What is your bears name?" Diane asked as she reached the little girl. "His name is Archibold," she said confidently holding her stuffed bear forward for Diane to see. "He looks very strong, does he protect you from the bad man?" Tiffany nodded and grabbed Diane's hand with a strength that was surprising. "Okay, let's go check your room then." Tiffany led Diane down the narrow hallway toward the room at the end. The walls were painted a soft pink and a small pink four post bed sat against the far wall. The room was a little too girly for Diane but it was the perfect room for a girl like Tiffany. "He comes to the window every night," Tiffany said cowering behind Diane. "Okay, you get in bed and try to get some sleep, I will stay up and wait for him to get here, then we will have a nice chat," Diane said guiding Tiffany to the plush pink bed. "Promise?" Tiffany asked. "Promise." It wasn't long before Diane could hear the slow steady breathing of a sleeping Tiffany. Diane sat with her back against the wall so she could watch the window then eased the black revolver out of the holster. "Wake up Wolfram," Diane whispered to the revolver. "Nooooo....a few more minutes..." a deep voice whispered in her mind. "Now Wolfram!" she said shaking the revolver. "Fine, damn, I'm awake." Wolfram was always bitter at having to do work. Diane remember the first time she had found the demon possessed revolver. Ah, memories, she smiled. "We've got a code 12, so I need your help," Diane said. "What's a code 12?" Wolfram asked. Diane sighed, "ghost, there is a ghost haunting this little girl." She gestured toward the still form of the sleeping Tiffany. "Aww, what a sweetie, it would be a shame if someone possessed her..." Wolfram said. Diane could feel his grin in her mind. "I will banish you forever." "It was a joke...lighten up." Diane was about to say something when her skin broke out in goose bumps, her breath curled out in thick white mist. "It's coming," Wolfram's voice filled her mind. Diane leveled Wolfram at the window and waited. A ghost that affected the environment this dramatically was powerful. A pale white hand pressed against the window pane, frost spread out in every direction as if kissed by a winter wind. "We need it to come inside," Wolfram said trying to calm Diane's nerves. She hated that he could feel her emotions, but he was right. The white hand turned into ice fog and slipped through the gap in the window. It fell heavily into a cloud at the base of the window before solidifying into its true form. A seven foot tall wight stood in front of the window looming over Tiffany. "Now," Wolfram commanded in her mind. Diane squeezed the trigger gently and the gun kicked like a mule. The bright muzzle flash was almost blinding in the dark confines of the room. The magic bullet tore a massive hole in the side of the wight's chest. Diane squeezed off three more rounds into the wight. It roared in pain and charged her. "Don't let it touch you!" Wolfram screamed as Diane desperately rolled out of the way. The wight slammed into the wall leaving a frosted gouge marks. Diane swung Wolfram around and fired again and again. The magically infused bullets kept tearing massive chunks out of the creature but it didn't slow down at all. The wight roared and pursued her. "Shit!" Diane shouted as the creature rushed toward her again. She ducked out of the way at the last second as the creature smashed into the small table that was set out of a tea party. The wight turned it's red glowing eyes toward Diane as she pressed Wolfram against the wight's temple and pulled the trigger. The head detonated in an explosion of mist and frozen chunks. Frost lined the barrel of Wolfram. "To-oo--oo, close," Wolfram said through violent shivers. "Hush you're fine." Diane holstered Wolfram and checked on Tiffany. She was still fast asleep, the spell Diane had cast was still holding strong. She tried to tidy the room up a little but the table and wall were a lost cause. The wight had completely evaporated leaving a small wet puddle on the floor. Satisfied with a job well done Diane left the quaint cottage and drove back to the office to write up her report. The worst part of her job. --- Thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
	[WP] Armed with nothing but pen and pad you stand between your village and death.	Benilda rolled onto her side, unable to sleep. This night, her straw cot seemed particularly coarse, so that her body itched all over. Insects screeched, squeaked and chirped incessantly, as loud as if they were right outside the single window through which warm wind entered. Though she wore only a sarong waist down, sweat pumped constantly from her pores. Physical discomforts weren't the reason for her insomnia, however. No matter how tightly she shut her eyes, or tried to think of happy memories, she couldn't forget that blood-soaked man she'd seen in the jungle that morning. He'd seen her too; had paused and stared at her, fingers tight on the handle of his machete. There was a fierce, almost animalistic quality to him, from his long black hair to the scar across his lips. The corpse he'd been dragging was missing its head, dressed in ripped green fatigues. The daze of the moment had been broken only when she ran. In her haste to get away from that nightmare, she had almost went tumbling down a gorge, yet she didn't stop until she arrived at her village. The women had spent two hours trying to calm her down, assuring her that she had left him far behind. Even now, she half expected him to climb through the window and finish her off. Shuddering, she turned again, but froze when she heard raised voices. "All of them, out here," she heard a man shout. "Bring them all outside, now!" Lying as still as she could, not even daring to blink, she listened as people began banging on the doors of each hut. The villagers who responded sounded confused first, and then frightened. Women were calling out to each other, and children began crying. "Keep quiet!" It was the same, commanding voice she had heard earlier. "Move faster." The night sky was growing brighter outside her hut, and for a moment she thought dawn had come. Moments later, when a brutish man passed by her window with a heavy-duty flashlight, the truth dawned on her. Gasping, she snatched a nearby T-shirt and tugged it over her head. Not a moment too soon, for a series of heavy knocks came on her flimsy wooden door. "Wake up and come outside with your hands up," said a man. Benilda looked frantically around for a place to hide, but she knew it was futile. Steeling herself, she approached the door slowly. However, the man outside proved to be impatient. Without warning, her door flew open with a crash, breaking cleanly from one of its hinges. Light flooded her hut, washing over the sheets of old paper hanging from clotheslines and forcing her to shield her eyes. Heavy boots thudded on the floor, and then each of her arms was seized by a pair of rough hands. Instinctively, she started to struggle, until one of them jabbed a hard object into her belly. Blinking stars from her vision, she saw that it was a rifle. They threw her into the arms of a dumpy villager named Ana, who hugged her and whispered consolingly in her ear. Along with the other two dozen villagers they stood, while masked men prowled about, armed with guns. One of them stood apart from the rest, with a black bandanna tied around his head. He had long hair tied in a ponytail, and a cruel smile on otherwise handsome features. "You know who we are, yeah?" he said to Chief Ignacio, who stood in his customary leftward stoop. Despite his outward weakness, the chief spoke steadily, "What does the Abu Sayyaf want with us?" "One of my men came through this area earlier today," he said. "You may have seen him. He may have been here." "We don't welcome your people here." The militant leader laughed, a low chuckle that slowly built to a deep-bellied guffaw. One of his lackeys stepped forward and slapped Chief Ignacio, rocking the old man's face sideways. Some of the villagers bristled, prompting the rest of the militants to point their weapons at their assembly. Benildo trembled, feeling like the cornered prey of a pack of wolves. "It'll be all right," Ana whispered. Chief Ignacio glared at the militant leader, who shook his head and said, "Don't you know who I am? You must have manners when you talk to Rashid, or my men will punish you." In a flash, he drew a pistol and shot one of the villagers standing at the forefront of the crowd. People screamed as Gerardo collapsed, the young man's eyes still wide and staring. Above the din, Rashid said, "I'm already in a bad mood because my soldier betrayed me and chopped my brother's head off! For every minute I don't get an answer, I will shoot someone." Cocking his gun, he pressed it against Chief Ignacio's temple. "Tell me where he went!" Benildo pulled free of Ana's hands and stepped out of the crowd. She could feel everyone's eyes on her. Chief Ignacio shook his head sadly, but said nothing. "You saw him, girl?" Rashid said. "Where did he go?" When she shrugged and pointed at her hut, he shouted, "Say something, you stupid girl!" "She cannot speak!" Chief Ignacio said. "Please, she is—" "Shut up!" Rashid glanced at her hut. "Is he inside?" She shook her head and mimed drawing. Getting the hint, he motioned for two of his men to go. Soon, they returned with a marker pen and several sheets of paper, tied together with twine. "Show me where he went," he said. She began to draw, hand gliding over the pad like a swan on a lake. Lines became shapes, and shapes came to life, as the face of a man slowly materialized; the same man she had seen in the jungle. When she held it up to him, he snarled and slapped her. The blow split her lip, but she didn't dare wipe the blood trickling down her chin. "Idiot! I know what he looks like. I want to know where he went!" He fired the gun at the crowd without aiming, killing another villager. Tears ran down her cheeks as she narrowed her eyes at him, pen hovering over paper, but Chief Ignacio said, "No, Benilda! You cannot. If you do it, they'll find you." Her jaw trembled as she considered his warning, but at last, she forced her hand away. "What are you talking about, old man?" Rashid said. "Never mind. I'll kill everyone here and move on. Benicio won't escape me." He aimed his gun at Chief Ignacio's head, but Benilda had had enough. After filling in the last stroke of one of the objects she'd secretly hidden in the facial sketch, she gave the pad a shake. Out of the paper fell a pistol, which she grabbed and shot Rashid with. The other militants looked at her, dumbfounded, as she slashed the pen across the paper, and the tiny figures that formed part Benicio's hair. Six militants toppled to the ground, sliced apart at the waist. "Bruha!" one of the militants shouted. "She's a bruha!" And they turned and scattered, running for the trees. Benilda sagged to the ground, feeling utterly drained as though she'd run a marathon. They were saved. "Thank you for saving us." Chief Ignacio knelt beside her. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he said, "You cannot stay. You will bring greater disaster on us." She nodded, her throat tight. She had come to love this little village, after living here for three years, but he was right. These villagers did not deserve to become the wolves' prey. *** Thanks for reading! If you liked it, do visit [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!	A stone bridge linked the road to Swanscombe. When it'd been built years ago, the builder put a lover's nook in one side. Two people could sit there and look out over the bit of the river with angelica and soft willow trees, with their backs to the village. I sat there now, with my pen and my paper, crosslegged in a seat made for two. My feet remained bare, calloused from walking over river rocks as a child. I was proud with how steady my hands were. On the other side of the river stood forty men. They wore a collection of scuffed armour, leather jerkins with the quilting coming out of it, and other tarnished bits and pieces. Upriver washed them to us, the armour and sometimes bodies. Usually the money'd already gone from them. Their faces were all hard as flint. I knew a couple of them, too. Old Glover, who had the farms that dipped down to the river. His barley had been washed away two years running and my father had sold him potatoes at cut price to keep his children fed. Kelly Red, who got his name from the cloak my aunt made for him. Kel was a bit slow in the head, no one begrudged him any kindness. His hands were soft as his heart. Others I didn't recognise, but they wore the same expressions and it frightened me. Some carried flaming torches, but everyone knew better than to give one to Kel. I knew who they'd come for, and I didn't blame them. Even now my ma was probably looking after Ada as the fever grew stronger and the red marks spread from her arms to her chest, and up to her neck. The river flowed sluggishly beneath the bridge and the willow trees wavered. Glover called something. Over the water his words got lost, torn away with the current. I held up the piece of paper I'd been scribbling on, hoping my words were black enough for them to see. Don't kill us The man at the head of the queue; hawklike, with his hair all shaved down to bristles, raised the torch slightly. But Glover had his hand on the man's shoulder, whispering to him. I leaned over the lover's nook to watch them talk. A new sign. I held it up. Destroy the bridge, not the village. Glover's mouth was a thin line. Kel got a bit shuffly, and I don't think he understood what the forty men were doing outside my village. Kel who couldn't kill a chicken, and who cried when he found out what happened to lambs at winter. But Glover understood. This river ran thick and fast. No ford crossed it; the bridge was the only way. He didn't have to burn down our village to save him and his family from Ada's plague. He just had to cut us off, make sure we couldn't cross. Maybe we'd die just the same. But there was a chance we wouldn't. Bridges could be rebuilt.
	[WP] You're a villain, and you have been told that you have cancer. You don't go on a rampage or decide to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, you tell the hero that you have it, just to see their reaction.	"I don't belong here." I lean my forehead against the glass, disbelief and sorrow and pain and a small amount of gratitude crashing and battling against each other in my mind. His expression is unreadable, as usual. "You are a villain. You break laws. You belong in prison." I wonder bitterly whether he'd be so blunt if he knew. "Do you honestly believe that? Honestly believe I deserve this?" His gaze sweeps over me, tracing my now skeletal form, the wires and tubes leading from my body, the machines they used to suppress my powers. Despite the chants and jeers of the killers and revolutionaries around me, the silence is deafening. "No." He says finally. And then, more softly. "No one deserves this." My shoulders slump. "Well at least I got to hear you say it... Before..." "What are you taking about?" I bite back the laugh. The drugs aren't as invasive now, more like a small cloud in the back of my mind. The chemicals running through my blood continue to eat away at me, mutating cells, adding to the monster in my lungs. "Cancer." I expected to feel some satisfaction. After all, he was the one that landed me here, the one that recommended that I "be subdued by any means necessary, for as long as humanity can sustain." But when I raise my gaze to meet his, his expression almost destroys me. "You..." He frowns, "You're dying?" I lick my lips and taste iron. "These weekly visitations are going to end soon, looks like." He looks sick. The bastard. I reach into my pocket and the guards on either side react immediately, grabbing at my hair, my shoulders. My hero gets to his feet on the other side of the glass, letting out an incoherent yell. They back away. I pull a folded and tattered picture from my pocket, sliding it under the glass and watching as he picks it up with trembling fingers. His face goes pale, almost as pale as mine. "I... Oh god..." He starts crying, staring at me with those famous honey eyes. "I didn't know. I didn't..." I press my hand to the glass and he mirrors the movement. "Her name is Rebecca. She has your eyes."	I sipped at my green tea, sitting at a small wooden table with wilting sunflowers in the center vase. The café was hidden away in one of the nameless backstreets of Paris. The owner and I were on good terms after I dealt with some legal setbacks he was having and he had let me rent it out for the day. I sat and waited, and with an audible pop my arch-nemesis flashed into existence in the seat across from me. Ultraviolet, as the papers had christened her, looked at me disapprovingly and flicked her blonde locks over her shoulder, "What ploy is this, Lenny? I would have thought you'd be smart enough to keep your identity secret from me at least. So much for an evil genius." She cocked her head to the side and smirked. I finished my tea and started pouring another from the pot, "No ploy, Violet, only some old strings to tie up. These are my last days and I intend to leave this planet with some measure of dignity." Her eyes flared and the sunflowers combusted into ash. "So mailing me an address with a self-destructing letter was your way of being discreet? My kitchen table has a two foot hole in it Lenny." I chuckled and it turned into a cough. As I examined the blood on the napkin, I replied, "Well it got your attention. You can bill my estate. I summoned-" "You SUMMONED! You SUMMONED-" "Whoa whoa, calm down. I enticed your curiousity on important grounds" "What could be so important that I had to fly 5000 miles to talk about?" I set down my tea and interlocked my fingers, "It's very much in your best interests to listen to what I have to say. We have been at this for what, 2, maybe 3 years?" She nodded begrudgingly. I sipped my tea, "All this time, I had never thought to check my radiation absorbance levels after our fights. I mean, they've called me the Lead Fist for so long I think I started to think I was invincible. Your powers are based on a genetic anomaly that allows your cells to store and output solar energy on a grand scale. I was always the antithesis, considering my cells could withstand massive radiation. I've recently come to understand that all that radiation wasn't just bleeding off." Violet narrowed her eyes, "So all this time..." I nodded, "All this time you've been killing me one day at a time. I have stage four bone cancer. It's everywhere." She seemed taken aback. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" "You have x-ray vision, ask yourself." "Oh my god, all this time Lenny. I made a vow-" I interjected, "-which you're going to keep. You couldn't have known." Molten tears streaked down her cheeks, "You asshole, why did you bring me here?" "Because the only person that needs to know is you, Violet. New York City needs you, hell, I even needed you. You made my scheming worthwhile. They don't need to know." She understood, "Where does this leave us?" "We'll go home, I'll work out a death story with the papers, and I'll dissappear. I'm willing my laboratory to you with some gadgets, and plans for a power dampening suit. You can look over the schematics yourself, it's been designed with reflective plating so your radiation scatter is nullified. You can still energy blast and fly but your look will be a bit...dimmer." "What are you going to do, Lead?" "I'm going to live, Violet. I'm going to live, and I'm going to die."
	[WP] You're a villain, and you have been told that you have cancer. You don't go on a rampage or decide to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, you tell the hero that you have it, just to see their reaction.	You stand on the rooftop, next to your (as always) ridiculously overcomplicated machine. The hero will come soon, but for now you will watch your minions for what will likely be the last time. The machine you stand next to looks like your usual sort of contraption -- a doomsday device of ridiculous proportions, perhaps it would turn everyone over the age of 45 into ducks. You were ever the unashamedly cartoonish villain, you think with a chuckle. You sigh, and turn a dial on its control interface. It makes a soft tone (sort of like your phone's text alert) and your shoulders relax. Ah, but it is no longer time to stand and think; your adversary has arrived, and he does not look pleased. He calls your name - of course it was a needlessly foolish one, you were never much for being serious - and frowns deeply. "Turn your machine off!" He adds authoritatively. You smile, almost warmly, absolutely no malice in your posture as you turn to face the hero. "I would," you explain, "but then I'll die, and I'd rather hold on a few more minutes." The hero blinks, taken aback by your words and demeanor. "...what do you mean?" He asks with a frown. "Well," you hum, looking around at the skyline in a nonchalant manner, "I have cancer. Have had cancer, apparently." The hero goes ashen pale and it takes all of your remaining energy to keep from laughing at his expression. "Apparently, being a mad scientist and exposing myself to strange new forms of radiation was not particularly good for my brain." You continue. "But that's -" the hero cuts in. You frown. How rude, he interrupted you. And for once, you don't have any minions or machinery to shut him up. "Impossible?" You finish for him. He nods. "Oh, my silly hero, if you knew what I considered to be 'lab safe' you'd be amazed I made it this long." "But you can't die!" The hero cuts in. "Why?" You reply boredly, turning the dial labeled Final Countdown. "Will you not have a nemesis anymore? Is that your problem?" "That's not -" The hero cuts himself off. "No." He ends up with, not sounding nearly as authoritative as he usually did when saying such things. "It's too late," You say, shaking your head. "Besides, there's my little cousin. She's starting to take an interest in science, you know." The hero's expression is unreadable to you, but that could just be because of the sudden, final pain in your head. You fall, your overdramatic cape fluttering behind you. The hero catches you before you hit the ground. "It won't be the same," he says mournfully. "It's not like I wanted to die," you point out mildly, a half-smile on your face. "All the same, though, I'll miss you," Your eyes close, and everything seems final. The last thing you hear is the hero's faintly uttered, "I'll miss you more." ---ew I'm on mobile so no proper line break--- Felt like taking second person out for a test run, hope it turned out all right! I've always been a sucker for crazy cartoon villains, so I decided to go with that. :] Criticism is always appreciated!	Quick thing i thew together hope you guys like it. “Alright ugh Mr.DoomBringer before I get into your prognosis here… are you familiar with the saying don’t shoot the messenger?” Yup. That’s what the doctor said to me. Right before he told me that I have cancer. Personally, I never thought I would go out this way. Me? A super villain? Dying of cancer? How lame could I be? I always thought it’d be a fiery explosion. Or maybe a crazed husband out for revenge because I did something as small as “run over his wife” ridiculous I know! I actually always had my money on doomsday weapon malfunction, you know cause who reads those safety guidelines anyway. But nope a brain tumor the size of a ripe grapefruit is gonna be my untimely end. I just- I always wished that my death would be when I finally pushed my rival, Mr. Captain Goodie Two Shoes (or you know Power Dude to the general public), to the point where he would snap and break that silly “no murder” rule of his. Like come on, the whimp. Not even this beer takes the edge off. At least I scared the bar tender into free drink, my only sympathy in a dying world. But wait. Maybe Just maybe This is a blessing in disguise. Oh yeah this is good, this is really good. Insert maniacal laughter and crash of thunder here *** “Well Scott” I tauntingly said to my superhero rival “It’s been a good run, but-” “I told you!” The arrogant SOB had the nerve to cut off the guy with cancer geez “not to call” “Uh uh uh might wanna lower your voice so the locals don’t overhear your secret” “I told you not” Power dude continued in a more hush hush tone “to call me by my actual name during working hours.”
	[WP] Human immortality having been achieved, Death himself shows up at the Unemployment Office.	"Let's see. Do you have any interest... in say, horticulture?" ^HORTICULTURE? ^I ^CAN'T ^SAY ^FOR ^SURE. ^WHAT ^DOES ^IT ^INVOLVE? "Well. That gardening tool you seem fond of would come in handy. You'd be cultivating crops in order to provide food." Deaths head dropped forward and the azurite glow in his eye sockets dimmed with disappointment. ^I ^SEE. ^I'M ^NOT ^SKILLED ^IN ^WORK ^WHICH... ^NOURISHES ^LIFE. Mr. Plumb reluctantly flipped the packet to the next page and sighed internally. He had been with this client all day and no matter the work, Death always had an issue with it. It didn't seem right, Mr. Plumb thought. No one in their right mind had turned down so many jobs in a single day as this. He had half a mind to send Death packing until tomorrow when office hours resumed, but his mother had told him long ago that Death waited for no man, and even though no one actually died any more, it seemed good advice when the three meter skeleton walked into his office. "I don't suppose you consider yourself any sort of writer do you?" ^NOT ^IN ^THE ^TRADITIONAL ^SENSE, ^IF ^I'M ^BEING ^HONEST. ^WHY? "The Daily Dolt is looking for a humorist to write a column." ^REAPING ^WAS ^A ^SERIOUS ^AFFAIR. ^NOT ^A ^FUNNY ^BONE ^IN ^MY ^BODY ^I'M ^AFRAID. Plumb considered Death's grinning skull for a moment, unsure if he was witnessing a genuine smile brought on by wit or not. "Did you just..." Plumb's voice trailed off. Mother wasn't to specific about laughing at Death in the face, but he sensed it was something one should avoid. ^DID ^I ^JUST, ^WHAT? ^TELL ^A ^JOKE? ^I ^HAVEN'T ^THE ^GUTS ^SADDLY. Plumb snorted and tried to disguise it as a cough. "I must say, I never expected Death to have a sense of humour." ^THERE ^IS ^HUMOR ^IN ^ALL ^THINGS ^MR. ^PLUMB, and death rolled up his sleeve of his robe to expose his humerus, ^EVEN ^IN ^DEATH. "When then," Mr. Plumb stated with a relieved grin and a jovial shake of his head, "I believe you may be a.... dead ringer for this job." ^YES. ^IT ^WILL ^SERVE ^TO ^PASS ^THE ^TIME ^WELL ^UNTIL ^BUSINESS ^COMES ^BACK. Mr. Plumb nodded with a chuckle which cut short at the sudden realization of Deaths statement. "Hrm. S'cuse me? Death and all that he was stood and seemed to engulf the room. His blue eyes twinkled and his grim mask seemed somehow more wicked than humerus. ^METAPHORICALLY ^KILLING ^THEM ^WILL ^HAVE ^TO ^DO ^UNTIL ^THE ^END ^OF ^THIS ^"IMMORTAL" ^AGE.	Knock knock knock. That's the sound the poor sap behind the desk heard. Age 82, sadly single, one kid, three obnoxious grandkids and currently 4 in the morning, one might wonder why such a man still works at the Unemployment Office. Slowly grabbing his spectacles from the desk, he thoroughly wiped it before getting up shakily to answer the door. Step by step he took, a minute or two had passed before reaching the brass doorknob. Turning the sphere clockwise, the door creaked open, revealing the face of Death himself. Now here's the thing about Death. The embodiment of the afterlife was suppose to look like either your best friend or your greatest nightmare, depending on your sins. But for a man of this age, tired and weary, eyesight so bad that the spectacles on are probably just for show, he would most likely not even care. "Uh... Hello." said Death, waving his arm. His voice was rough and echoed, but quiet like a mouse. "What is that, boy? I can't hear you." said the old man, leaning forward with his hand behind the ear. "I-I said, HELLO!" Death said louder this time, covering his mouth afterwards. The old man chuckled as he moved back, "Oh, hello there! We're not really opened now but you can have a seat." Death blinked, "Uh, thanks." The two walked into the bare room, a clean desk in the middle and a sofa by the window, a coffee table in front. Portraits covered the walls with pictures from black and white, to brown and gold. There even ever augmented reality photos, the kind of technology those kids use these days. "Would you like some tea?" asked the old man. "Uh... N-No thanks. I doubt I can actually eat anything." Death replied as he sat on the sofa. The old man smiled, "Oh, suit yourself. I recently got a new stock of camomile tea. Not those synthetic kinds too! Bleh! Disgusting those are..." A few minutes of brewing tea later, the old man slowly carried his teapot onto his table, two cups along with it. He poured himself a cup but left the other empty. "Now then young man, what seems the problem?" Death looked at the old man sip his drink shakily, before looking at his own empty cup. "I... I lost my job." "I can see that. People don't usually come here when they have a job. There was one that did though. But, he came here for his cousin." He took another sip. "M-My job was very important. Not just to the world, but to me too. I've had it for years and I've always done it best. But now..." Death looks out the window, "It doesn't look like as if it's needed anymore." "Now now, don't be sad. Everyone's been there before. Having a job at the local burger shop and next thing you know it, a robot replaces you as the cashier, the fryer and the packaging manager. It's sad but that's just progress." Now Death tightened his fist. "B-but, I don't wanna go. I was proud of my job. I did it better than anyone else." The old man smiled from behind the desk, "And I'm sure you did great at it. But it's time to move on. Live a new stage of your life." Death felt confused. Life? The weird source of energy found in mortal beings? That pink goo that sticks on their chests and never let go? Death looked at his own chest but found nothing. "I... I don't get it." "You'll get it. I'm sure of it." Another sip of tea. "No matter who you are or where you're from, we all walk one of the various paths of life. It's a thing in our nature. And our will and curiosity forever pushes us to reach the end, not knowing what may occur. Like a little flower blossoming, opening its eyes while never knowing what is beyond." "That's... a weird analogy." The old man chuckled. "Yes... Yes it is." The two sat in silence while Death slowly grabbed his teacup. "D-do you think I have this 'life'? Do you think I can move forward like you?" The old man raised an eyebrow, "... That depends. Do you want to?" Death stared at his teacup, his eyes scanning the ceramic surface. "I-I think so." "Then you can." "... Heh. Heheh." Death laughed weakly. "M-may I have some tea?" The old man nodded and so, Death poured some into his cup. With a sip, his ghastly face smiled at the sweet flavour and the two talked till the morning Sun rose.
	[WP] Human immortality having been achieved, Death himself shows up at the Unemployment Office.	"Name please" "GRIM" "Tim?" "NO, GRIM." "Grim? As in 'The weather looks a little bit grim today'?" "YES" "Surname?" "REAPER" "Grim Reaper?" "YES" "You must have interesting parents. How long have you been out of work?" "ABOUT 2 WEEKS" "Brilliant. Here's form 28A, 29A and 29B-G, We'll need your National Insurance Number, 6 forms of ID and 12 personal references from long time associates, personal or business" "UMM, I DONT REALLY HAVE ANY BUSINESS ASSOCIATES. MY LINE OF WORK WAS A KIND OF ONE OFF DEAL WITH EACH... CUSTOMER." "Well that will slow down the process a little bit. What was your reason for becoming unemployed?" "I WAS MADE REDUNDANT." "Let me guess, it was the Eternal Life treatment?" "CORRECT." "Mortician? Funeral Director? Coffin Maker?" "SOMETHING LIKE THAT, I SUPPOSE." "Get those forms filled in and I'll see what I can do for your Mr Reaper." "THANK YOU, SUSAN." ****** "All done? Let's have a quick look... Ah, that's interesting. Under the Years in previous employment question, you've put "All time"... I don't think you understand the question. so was it 10 years? 20?" "UMM...LETS SAY 30 THEN." "Great. So what kind of work will you be looking for?" "I WAS THINKING, MAYBE SOMETHING TO DO WITH ANIMALS, OR KIDS. MY PREVIOUS WORK MADE IT TOUGH TO WORK WITH THEM. I'D LIKE TO MAKE UP FOR THAT A LITTLE." "We have a position available at a local day care but without references, it may be a little difficult. How about PetStore? They've got a new shelf stacking job going currently." "SOUNDS GOOD TO ME." "It's minimum wage and 37 hours a week but you'll be working in the warehouse mainly, I'm sure they'll let you handle to animals" "I DONT WANT TO HANDLE THEM... THAT, UMM, NEVER TURNS OUT WELL. I JUST WANT TO HELP THOSE THAT DO." "Brilliant, I'll get an application posted to you as soon as possible. Best of luck Mr Reaper. A pleasure to meet you.......Eeeek" Thud "DAMMIT, NOT AGAIN. I REALLY SHOULD WEAR GLOVES"	Knock knock knock. That's the sound the poor sap behind the desk heard. Age 82, sadly single, one kid, three obnoxious grandkids and currently 4 in the morning, one might wonder why such a man still works at the Unemployment Office. Slowly grabbing his spectacles from the desk, he thoroughly wiped it before getting up shakily to answer the door. Step by step he took, a minute or two had passed before reaching the brass doorknob. Turning the sphere clockwise, the door creaked open, revealing the face of Death himself. Now here's the thing about Death. The embodiment of the afterlife was suppose to look like either your best friend or your greatest nightmare, depending on your sins. But for a man of this age, tired and weary, eyesight so bad that the spectacles on are probably just for show, he would most likely not even care. "Uh... Hello." said Death, waving his arm. His voice was rough and echoed, but quiet like a mouse. "What is that, boy? I can't hear you." said the old man, leaning forward with his hand behind the ear. "I-I said, HELLO!" Death said louder this time, covering his mouth afterwards. The old man chuckled as he moved back, "Oh, hello there! We're not really opened now but you can have a seat." Death blinked, "Uh, thanks." The two walked into the bare room, a clean desk in the middle and a sofa by the window, a coffee table in front. Portraits covered the walls with pictures from black and white, to brown and gold. There even ever augmented reality photos, the kind of technology those kids use these days. "Would you like some tea?" asked the old man. "Uh... N-No thanks. I doubt I can actually eat anything." Death replied as he sat on the sofa. The old man smiled, "Oh, suit yourself. I recently got a new stock of camomile tea. Not those synthetic kinds too! Bleh! Disgusting those are..." A few minutes of brewing tea later, the old man slowly carried his teapot onto his table, two cups along with it. He poured himself a cup but left the other empty. "Now then young man, what seems the problem?" Death looked at the old man sip his drink shakily, before looking at his own empty cup. "I... I lost my job." "I can see that. People don't usually come here when they have a job. There was one that did though. But, he came here for his cousin." He took another sip. "M-My job was very important. Not just to the world, but to me too. I've had it for years and I've always done it best. But now..." Death looks out the window, "It doesn't look like as if it's needed anymore." "Now now, don't be sad. Everyone's been there before. Having a job at the local burger shop and next thing you know it, a robot replaces you as the cashier, the fryer and the packaging manager. It's sad but that's just progress." Now Death tightened his fist. "B-but, I don't wanna go. I was proud of my job. I did it better than anyone else." The old man smiled from behind the desk, "And I'm sure you did great at it. But it's time to move on. Live a new stage of your life." Death felt confused. Life? The weird source of energy found in mortal beings? That pink goo that sticks on their chests and never let go? Death looked at his own chest but found nothing. "I... I don't get it." "You'll get it. I'm sure of it." Another sip of tea. "No matter who you are or where you're from, we all walk one of the various paths of life. It's a thing in our nature. And our will and curiosity forever pushes us to reach the end, not knowing what may occur. Like a little flower blossoming, opening its eyes while never knowing what is beyond." "That's... a weird analogy." The old man chuckled. "Yes... Yes it is." The two sat in silence while Death slowly grabbed his teacup. "D-do you think I have this 'life'? Do you think I can move forward like you?" The old man raised an eyebrow, "... That depends. Do you want to?" Death stared at his teacup, his eyes scanning the ceramic surface. "I-I think so." "Then you can." "... Heh. Heheh." Death laughed weakly. "M-may I have some tea?" The old man nodded and so, Death poured some into his cup. With a sip, his ghastly face smiled at the sweet flavour and the two talked till the morning Sun rose.
	[WP] A distant uncle vanished and left you a deed. For some reason, you are now the "proud" owner of Hell.	Second attempt on a writing prompt, only 17 years old, non native speaker, bla, bla bla...... The day had started so good... She got up at in the late afternoon of a beautifull Sunday, with no other plans for the day, than watching the new Star Wars movie in the evening with her best friend. After she had made showered and made herself a warm, damping cup of coffe, she walked towards her home office to check her mails, only dressed in a comfortable bathrobe with a towel arround her wet hair. Once she had opend the white door, she almost spilled her coffe. There was a man sitting on her office chair, he looked almost like one of the customers she had during the week, replacable men in grey suits, only slightly distinguishable from the colour of their ties. His tie was red, with a cross on it that was turned arround. But that was not what catched her eye first: it were the red horns, he was casually wearing. It wasnt the first time she ever had met someone with horns on their had. Years ago the crazy friends of her not so sane uncle, who was the leader of some shady group of pseudo-satanists used to linger arround her house, but a call to the local police was able to solve that problem. However, the horns of this man didnt look like they were just bought at a costume shop and sticked to his head so he looked misterious, more like they.... just belonged there. Once he had noticed her, he looked up from his brand new notebook, stood up and shook her hand, before she could react. "Slave Jürgen Bartsch to your service, master." "Wait, what? Why are you here in my house, what does this mean? I will count to ten, and if you are still inside my house when I am done, I will take my shotgun and blow your stupid face off!" Bartsch knew how to handle those situations. He grabbed a bundle of banknotes and threw them towards her. He allowed himself a little smile: That trick had never failed him since the Assyrians had invented the money. She was speechless. "If i now have your attention mylady, allow me introduce myself: Slave Jürgen Bartsch to your service, master." "Diehlson would be my name", she replied. "I know. I am here as your new assistant, at least if you accept the job." "What job? She replied, and what the hell are you doing in my house on a Sunday morning? Couldnt you just call me before if you wanted to talk to me?" What the hell indeed, he smiled as if she had made a good joke. "I am here because of your uncle..." "CUT IT OUT!" She screamed the words. "I AM NOT JOINING YOUR CRAZY ASS DIPSHIT COMMUNITY FOR THE LAST FUCKING TIME GET OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE I BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!" He used the fact that she had to take a breath to quickly answer: "Thats not, or at least not the only reason I am here today. He is dead. Cut himself in the finger, with the knife of thousend bleedings when trying to sacrifice a goat, made a pretty big mess." "Oh, so what was the money for? Did I inherit it?" "Yes, but it isnt the only thing he left you. Propably its the least part of his heritage. He left you....... The throne!" "The Throne?" "The Throne!" "What throne?" "The throne every king has to fall on his knees before! The Throne where excuses dont count, the throne of....... SATAN!" "What do you mean by that?" She asked confused, thinking about how she could get rid of the things her uncle used for his strange meetings and what she would do with the goats he kept in his backyard. "Well, we are talking about the legal ownership of hell, controll about all servants of Satan, the 13 unholy brides, all things he owned before he cut himself and of course the property and leadership of the Church of Satan!" Suddenly she had an idea how to get rid of the things she didnt want to keep without having to pay for furniture movers. "Why not?" She asked. "So it shall be!" The door should be installed in the few seconds. After he had said that, he just walked out of the room, towards her cellar door and went down. Confused, she went after him, but the cellar was gone. Instead there was an office, ten times as big as her own. There was a wine-red carpet covering the floor. In the middle of the room was a desk, full of strange symbols, but what dominated the Room, where the big windows that replaced the wall and the ceiling. The whole room looked like it belonged to some rich company boss, making millions of dollars per week. Except the view. Where managers would have a view of a city, mountains, forrests or whatever, there was just a big deserted crater full of, what appeared to be ants. "Where are we?" She asked with the most confused voice of her life. "Hellish Hot Hollidays HQ, floor 666, with a beautifull view of the main area, Gehenna. Down there you can see our well-paying customers." "Customers? The hell is a holday resort?" "Of course. How much of a curse do you think heaven is? After 500 years of sitting on clouds, enjoying holy soda and eating candyfloss isnt just as enjoyable anymore. So they come here. To be tortured and screamed at. To be raped and burned, to enjoy heaven again. The old man up there doesnt want the people to pay money for lube and pain meds down here, while he makes a little less money with his lame-ass soda, so he spreaded pretty mean things about us, but really, we are not that bad. Just satisfiying the market! And now, you are the new boss. Looking forward to woking with you!" The weeks went by quickly and over the days she actually began enjoying the perks of her job. Getting sacrificed a goat every few days slowly started to be fun and having the 13 unholy husbands (she changed the job a little) wasnt as bad either. Even the horns that started to grow looked quite fancy. Slowly she started to forget about the door leading back to her old place.	"What do you mean I 'own hell'? My uncle left me a deed to his restaurant!" I questioned the lawyer. "It's simple, you see. Do you remember your uncle Natas, or Nate S.? It turns out he was, in fact, Lucifer." "Seriously? Like, I own the eternal punishment chamber of fire? The real hell?" "Yep. Congratulations, you now own your uncle's Cajun restaurant." "Excuse me?" "You heard it right. (long pause) Your uncle was a terrible cook. They call him Lucifer, because of how terrible he is." He was right. The food was always too spicy.
	[WP] A distant uncle vanished and left you a deed. For some reason, you are now the "proud" owner of Hell.	Yawning, Sean fumbled around groggily with his phone until he shut off the alarm. "Bloody hate early meetings," he grumbled as he slid out of bed at a glacial pace. Morning routine: Kettle, Toaster, Teeth, Toast, Butter, Jam, Coffee, News. Hunkering down at his dining table with his breakfast and coffee, Sean pulled out his phone again and started reading up on the day's news, occasionally taking pause for a sip or a bite. He continued at his leisurely pace until he heard a soft cough in front of him. Looking across the rather messy table (it also doubled as his filing cabinet), he met eyes with a redhead in a suit. Sean squinted at the man's furry face. And the horns. And the tail swishing around behind him. "Ey, I dun't think I've fully woken up yet." The demon across him cleared is throat and opened a blood-red leather folder, briefly glancing at the contents before speaking. "I'm sure that by now you're aware that your uncle Graham has vanished? Along with his wife?" Sean took a deep gulp from his coffee mug ('it's not work if you enjoy it!'), squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. The demon was still there. "Oh yeah, y'know where they went? Me da's been worried sick about his brother going Houdini." "Well," The demon sighed, "I'm here with some good news and some bad news. I," a pause. " We do not know where they are, but just yesterday we received delivery of a will with instructions of what to do if your aunt and uncle were to disappear. I am one of the two executors." It started ruffling through some of the papers in the leather folder. "As they themselves have had no children and your aunt has no known relatives, all their material possessions have been passed on to your uncle's only surviving sibling, your father." Sean blinked. "But I'm not me own father. Why're you here then?" The demon nodded. "Yes, the other, human, executor is currently talking to your father as we speak. I am here because of the second part of the will. You, as the sole surviving child of your parents, are to receive all immaterial possessions." "Immaterial possessions? Wha's that, like patents and things like that?" "Not quite, no." The demon shook his head, pulling out a sheaf of paper and handing it over to Sean. "A deed. More specifically, you are now the proud owner of hell." As soon as Sean touched the papers, they burst into flame and ran all the way up his pajamaed arm. With a yell, he jumped back, knocking over his chair and beating at his arm in an attempt to put out flames that had disappeared almost as quickly as they had appeared. Hands shaking, he stared back at the demon, suddenly realising several things. Firstly, the demon was still seated. Secondly, his table was two meters long. Lastly, he could still feel a soft burning heat within his chest. "What did you do ta me? By god," he noticed the demon wince a bit. "I swear, if you've done anything to hurt me I --" "No, I haven't. You simply completed the ritual acceptance of ownership of hell. Do you mind if I call you Master?" "What? You mean I'm Satan now? Just like that?" "Yes." "I'm in charge of all your eternal damnation?" "Well..." "I'm a good man! I pay my taxes! I can't, in good conscience, go around ordering you demons to go around torturing innocent--" "They're anything but that, Master." "Fine! Torturing guilty souls'n still get to sleep at night!" The demon grinned, showing 2 pairs of pointy canines. "Do you think we actually condemn people to Eternal Damnation?" "But the bible--" "God wrote the bible, of course he doesn't want you to go to hell! You want the truth? All you've got to do is visit hell. You know, it's really much better than heaven. God's made it so hard to get in that only extremely boring people make it. You can think of us as a... competitor." "You...you dun't torture everyone? No seven circles of hell?" "We do have those for the people who probably deserved it." "But you said no eternal damnation!" "Yes, we just torture them for a very, very long time. Look, I know you currently have a lot of questions, but I'm not the most qualified demon to answer them for you, master. I can take you to hell, and someone else there can give you the tour." The demon stood up and produced a glowing red portal after waving his hands around. Sean hold up his hand, still holding a piece of jam toast. "Wait. There's one thing I don't understand. All his life, me uncle's been a devout christian", another wince, "and you'll have me believe he's been public enemy No.1 the whole time?" The demon rolled its eyes. "Your uncle had no idea about the whole thing. Still, you'll notice that they never seemed to have to work a day in their lives." Sean slapped his head. "Oh, Aunt Lucy. She never gave me any Christmas presents."	"What do you mean I 'own hell'? My uncle left me a deed to his restaurant!" I questioned the lawyer. "It's simple, you see. Do you remember your uncle Natas, or Nate S.? It turns out he was, in fact, Lucifer." "Seriously? Like, I own the eternal punishment chamber of fire? The real hell?" "Yep. Congratulations, you now own your uncle's Cajun restaurant." "Excuse me?" "You heard it right. (long pause) Your uncle was a terrible cook. They call him Lucifer, because of how terrible he is." He was right. The food was always too spicy.
	[WP] You live in a world where laws are secret, only law enforcement, judges, lawyers, and law makers know what is and isn't legal.	Today was the day I broke my first and last law. My name is john markson, I live in what used to be called United states of Asia, and here, in a attempt to give the people more freedom of choice and to help pick off those with a brand of sin in their hearts all laws are hidden except to those who work within the system, going to police officer to the judge, and all in between. On paper our system works, light crimes can be accidental and are often brushed off with paid community work, and heavier crimes are often caused by those who wish to commit it, meaning they accept the consequence and as a result must have a brand of sin on them for such a thing, giving the judges and law makers full control over what happens to them. None of this is known to the outside, except as the time of writing, I am to done for my crime, and as the hour of for my judging draws to a close, I hope to put down on this computer all that I know and have experienced, so others may better understand. I woke up today like any other day, in my small house in the town I live in called "Pleasant Hope", fifteen minutes drive from the major district 5 that I work in, I am just an architect, when I left this morning I forgot to brush my teeth and iron my shirt, I didn't care about my shirt to much as it was hidden under my jacket, but since I work with people all day often talking about designs and idea's I thought it best to eat some gum, running a bit late I just spat the gum onto the grass and carried on, I lightly ran from the car pack to the work site due to being a few minutes late as I did I accidentally kicked a chicken, local women must of owned a few and it escaped or something, after checking the chicken was alright I moved it out the way of the path and got in through the back gate. My boss was laughing his head off at the fact I kicked a chicken, pointing out I would of been fined for it if this was one of those elder scroll games, I just rolled my eyes at it, we got round to talking about the new building plans finally after 2 hours of talking about our weekend, today being Monday, it went well but the boss asked a unusual request of me when he looked at the plans, he asked me to make a entrance that would come from the local park, I asked and he said the owner wanted it, so to give me a chance to see if the change was possible we all took a break, thats when a co-worker, larry came by and handed me the £150 he owed me from a month ago, didn't think anything of it, most of the lads had a pay day yesterday, eventually I figured out a way to make a "underground entrance" as the boss called it, with that we shook hands and called it a day. As I left two law enforcers arrested me on a single charge and here I am inside a prison cell, I am not allowed to speak to anyone till after the hearing, the only thing I know now after being in here for two hours, is the charge I am being held on. Helping with a robbery that Larry had done, as it turns out the chicken I kicked was actually a portable safe and by kicking it I had damaged the fail-safe. Talk about a paltry offence.	I remember sitting in the defendants chair for the first time. It was a strange experience, being there, not knowing why, but the ensuing debate made my crime perfectly clear. "As you can see in Exhibit A," The prosecutor said, pointing at a grainy black and white photo, "the defendant can clearly be seen with two chicken taquitos." This was true. I remember that day. I had been hungry after work so I went to the local 7/11. The taquitos sounded good, if a bit fattening so I bought three of them, one of which I ate in the store, one outside and one on the bus back to my house. Was this against the rules though? "I move to have the charges dismissed," my lawyer said. He was a short stocky man, one who gathered no respect from anyone. I imagined him, probably single, having recently gone through an awful divorce. Knowing this man, he probably lost custody of his kids as well. A pity. "Motion denied," the judge said. "I would like to advise you to hold your tongue, and remember your oath." My lawyer mumbled to himself before sitting, angrily, sifting through papers. It was a few days later when I got the verdict. Guilty for eating three taquitos in separate places. I held my head in my hands and sobbed. How could my God have abandoned me? Had he ever existed in the first place? Prison was fine. It's strange. Since the new laws were put into place, prison became a place of community, where only the murderers, rapists and actual criminals were to be feared, but everyone else saw themselves as victims of circumstance; enemies of a system that worked using spontaneity and chaos to instill fear in its citizens. When you're in jail it changes you though. You start to want to rebel. You want to overthrow everything. But you can't. Then you're released and you just want to be good again. At least that's what happened for me.
	[WP] You are part of the first team on Mars. You have successfully built your first base. Your first night in the base and the other astronauts are getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the hatch door from outside.	I quickly turned to the hatch door. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand in fear and uncertainty as I stared the exterior hatch down. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. Then I heard it again. I made sure my suit was air-tight as I approached the hatch. Mack and Simmons were at my sides. Whatever this was, we would face it together. I gripped the handle and turned. I wasn't sure what to expect when I flung the door open, but as I stood staring at the three figures in front of me, it became increasingly clear that this wasn't it. Directly in front of me stood a person with orange-colored skin, slightly shorter than me but wider, with somewhere between 10 and 20 eyes on little appendages rising from it's head...wait... "Hiiiiiiiiii, we're your new neighbors, the..." it said in up until now what was perfect English, but the next sounds that came out of its mouth I would never be able to replicate. "I'm..." more noise, "This is my husband..." more noise, "And my daughter..." more excruciating noise. It held up a tray and said, "We baked you Multolupa cakes!" I stood in awe, completely unaware of my surroundings. All I could bring myself to say, was, "...what?" "Oooooooh, look at you!" It rubbed it's hand-thing against my helmet. "Your bright peach skin! You must be from planet 3! We haven't had anyone from planet 3 visit us in a long time!" "What?!" I could feel myself heating up. "Well, we'll be just down the road if you need anything. Let us know if you ever need to borrow a cup of hexacarbon-decadihydrogen-hexaoxygen!" I stood still, unable to move, as I watched them walk out of my field of vision. When I snapped back to reality, I promptly shut the door and turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. "WHAT?!?!"	The expeditionary force sat in silence around the table. Their shared quiet was accompanied only by the soft clinging of the tableware and the relentless slow wind which whistled and battered against the hard canvas shell of the habitat. There was no room left in their hearts for idle chatter. The work to set up the hab had gone on fourteen hours longer than scheduled, and bitter exhaustion had set into their bodies and into their grim, tight smiles. It had been a long, hard day but they had done it, and Command had given them the following morning off so they could recover from the work. Henry sat in silence deeper than the rest. His eyes gazed deep into the pod of coffee clenched in his right hand. Nothing lay there but darkened ripples. He had traveled two hundred and twenty five million miles across the caustic void, left everything behind, and only now had he awakened to the dark reality which clouded his eyes and thoughts. Mars had always been his dream. From his youngest days the red planet which sailed silently amongst the stars had been his only drive. Everything he had done and everything he had worked for had been done to accomplish his one burning desire of landing on the ancient world. To set his feet amongst the reddened sand of a different earth. To watch the sun set on a new horizon. As if something had been calling him all his life. An irresistible call. Enough to make a man throw away a whole world to embark on a single and furious enterprise. Mars. His vision, his drive, his one desire. Only know he knew how wrong he had been. There was nothing here on this wretched planet but cold blowing wind and dismal sky. When he had agreed to leave Earth, he had known there was no going back to the trees and shaded beaches of his home planet, but the weight of what he had left behind had not set on his heart until he had taken his first step out of the Dropship airlock. Worse, he knew that the others shared the darkness which lurked behind his eyes. They were now alone. Truly, wretchedly, irrevocably alone. “Henry!” He flinched, and his eyes shot up. “Captain is asking you a question.” Henry's eyes locked on Elizabeth's, and she held him firmly in her formidable gaze. The seven of them sat in a circle, and all eyes were on Henry. With a gentle voice she spoke. “How are you holding up, Henry?” “I'm fine. Tired.” “It was a long day. Eat your food, Henry. That's an order. I'll cover your closing procedures, just eat and get yourself to bed.” Henry's face burned. Everyone was as tired as he was, or more. And now he had people covering his work. He had no energy to argue. “Yes ma'am”, he whispered, and with immense effort he lifted his spoon and began to eat the rehydrated protein they had prepared. Elizabeth worked to start up the chatter. She was a good commander like that, keeping the team centered and focused, redrawing their social circle and professional intent from the frayed remnants of their bitter disappointment. The first knock came, and they all froze with bitter fear. Silence, for a moment only. The second knock came, and they turned their heads towards the airlock bay. The third knock came, and they moved to their stations with furious commotion. “Is that coming from outside?” “I want a full systems check, eyes on external airlock bay.” “Camera four not operational, relocating Camera three.” “All stations operational, ma'am.” “Bring camera three onto the main screen.” Each stared at the screen with held breath as the camera panned across the landscape, until it settled on the airlock bay. The external door stood impossibly open. “Why is that open?” “System is reading it as closed ma'am” “Cycle the airlock and get it sealed.” The fourth knock came, more insistent than before. Through the blast shield on the airlock door they could make out a darkened form which moved subtly behind the glass. Henry stood up from his station, and began to take quiet steps towards the bay door. No one noticed. Her eyes shut, Elizabeth took a deep breath and forced control over herself, she opened her eyes and spoke in measured tones. “Transfer camera view from external three to Airlock Bay one. Main screen.” With a flicker on the screen the image changed. In the narrow corridor of the bay stood a dark humanoid shape, its hands on the bay door, head leaned forward as if peering through. Whispy bits of shadows bled off the lean form, and the creature stood intangible and ethereal. Elizabeth got up from her seat, and all eyes were fixed on the figure on the screen. Fear gripped them all, and still the wind whistled and battered against their walls. With measured steps Henry walked towards the figure behind the door. The shadow stood firm and watched him come with an eyeless, piercing gaze. Henry now stood abreast of the door, and the figure placed an ebon hand upon the blast shield. “Henry!” “Get him away from there, now!” “Henry! Get back!” Unhearing, Henry placed his hand on the blast shield, mirroring the hand of the darkened form. With tender touch he moved his fingers softly, and the form followed, moving its own hand in slow eerie concordance. Behind him, Henry felt the rest of the team hold their breath, enraptured by their fear and fascination. Henry thought that he heard his name being called but all his being was focused on the shadowed form, and the world from which he came and the world that he was on both seemed cold distant realities, irrelevant to the joining of man and shadow. Without thought, led only by intuition and instinct cold and undeniable, Henry lifted his hand and punched the code to the airlock. Of a sudden, his team rushed forward and grabbed him with violent grasping hands, crowding around him with a litany of shouts and the sounds of deep and biting fear. They tried to pull him away from the bay door but it was too late. The hiss of the cycling air and the groan of the servos conjoined in a furious orchestra which announced the arrival of the shadow into their chamber. The humans all crowded back, eyes wide with blanched terror, their hands still grasping Henry with violent fear. They watched the creature as it stood firm in the airlock bay, shadows bleeding off it backlit by light cold and bright. It had no visible eyes, and with motion cruel and slow it outstretched a misty hand towards the crowded onlookers. With voice firm and cold it spoke with whispered urgency. “You should not have come back. Did you forget? You promised you would not forget. You promised. You promised! Don't you remember? This is the banished planet. The nothing place. Now you have broken the pact, and welcomed Doom back onto us all.” With this cold litany, the form came apart, and bled away into nothingness, and still the winds battered against the walls of the habitat. This time it blew with measured rhythm which matched the beating terrified hearts of the human crew, who knew in their bones they were no longer alone, but knew not the darkness which now accompanied them.
	[WP] You are part of the first team on Mars. You have successfully built your first base. Your first night in the base and the other astronauts are getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the hatch door from outside.	I quickly turned to the hatch door. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand in fear and uncertainty as I stared the exterior hatch down. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. Then I heard it again. I made sure my suit was air-tight as I approached the hatch. Mack and Simmons were at my sides. Whatever this was, we would face it together. I gripped the handle and turned. I wasn't sure what to expect when I flung the door open, but as I stood staring at the three figures in front of me, it became increasingly clear that this wasn't it. Directly in front of me stood a person with orange-colored skin, slightly shorter than me but wider, with somewhere between 10 and 20 eyes on little appendages rising from it's head...wait... "Hiiiiiiiiii, we're your new neighbors, the..." it said in up until now what was perfect English, but the next sounds that came out of its mouth I would never be able to replicate. "I'm..." more noise, "This is my husband..." more noise, "And my daughter..." more excruciating noise. It held up a tray and said, "We baked you Multolupa cakes!" I stood in awe, completely unaware of my surroundings. All I could bring myself to say, was, "...what?" "Oooooooh, look at you!" It rubbed it's hand-thing against my helmet. "Your bright peach skin! You must be from planet 3! We haven't had anyone from planet 3 visit us in a long time!" "What?!" I could feel myself heating up. "Well, we'll be just down the road if you need anything. Let us know if you ever need to borrow a cup of hexacarbon-decadihydrogen-hexaoxygen!" I stood still, unable to move, as I watched them walk out of my field of vision. When I snapped back to reality, I promptly shut the door and turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. "WHAT?!?!"	We did it. We were here. I felt like I was floating—or else that was just the lower gravity, that would take some getting-used-to, even after the simulated gravity on the ship had tried to acclimate us. The ride in had been a bit rough, and my stomach still seemed filled with butterflies. While we were only here as a first base, complete terraforming was the immediate next step. We were standing on the eve of a new step in human development. What amazed me the most was that the place had been set up in one Mars-day after we landed on the Red Planet. To celebrate our success, we had a Christmas dinner—well, Christmas Eve dinner. It was still only the 24th, but what a Christmas it would be. Christmas on Mars! All the crew even got each other gifts. Everyone was excited. . . except Captain Haddad, the most straight-laced, no-nonsense man I’ve ever known. As I lay down, exhausted and excited all at the same time, I wondered if even the pills I took could help me sleep. This was worse than any normal Christmas. I felt like a kid again, unable to take his mind off those presents under the tree. Suddenly, I thought I heard something. White noise filled the whole base with the low hum of electricity and ventilation, and small clicks and beeps sounded every now and again, but this was something else. I lay still and perked my ears. It was something, something deep, like a vibration you can feel more than hear. It seemed to echo down through the corridors and permeate the walls into my room. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Stillness. . . Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. I sat up. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. I stood up and walked out of my room. The thunking became louder and more pronounced. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The door across from mine slid open. Eric, the analyst of the group, the stepped out. We looked at each other in confusion. Soon everyone else had immerged from their room to investigate. It came again, now a constant pattern. “Is something hitting against the station?” I asked, considering that outside only lay rocks and dirt—nothing that could possibly be making that noise. “Sounds like it’s coming from the main hatch,” Captain Haddad said, walking past everyone towards the source of the noise. We soon followed suit, more than curious. As we walked down the corridors, the noise grew louder and louder as the pattern continued until we reached the large circular room that was the atrium. As the captain had assessed, the noise did, indeed, come from the other side of the main hatch. “What do you think it is?” “Can’t be alive, it’s too evenly paced.” “Plus there’s no life on Mars,” said Captain Haddad with his typical straight face. Eric sighed sharply, running his hand through his hair, “Unless one of those rovers went haywire and is bumping into us, I really can’t find an explanation.” “Check the cameras, they aren’t set up to watch the door, exactly, but we might see something,” ordered Captain Haddad. Standing next to a screen, I accessed the camera feed for the cameras nearest the main hatch and displayed it on the main screen. All it showed was the night-vision Martian desert, stretching to the horizon. “So much for that,” quipped Eric. The captain shot him a glare before turning his attention back to the main hatch. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Should—should we go out and see what it is?” I asked. I couldn’t think of another way to find out what was banging on the door, and since it didn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon, it seemed like the only way to get to the bottom of this. The captain stared at the door in silence. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. . . Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Well, we have to do something!” Eric said, still rubbing his head nervously. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “I can suit up and look, sir.” I said, my heart rate running, thinking about the possibilities on the other side of that door. Was it a rogue rover? Was it just some rubble? Was it something or someone? Was this first contact? I knew it was irrational, but I just didn’t know what to think of it. The captain thought some more. “Alright, we’ll both go. It shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, but all-the-same, I don’t want to take any chances.” With all the practice we had, putting the suits on took only about 5 minutes. At the hatch, the captain and I looked back at the others. “Ok, whatever happens, I want you to perform your duties as you have so far. You’ve been a good crew, let’s keep it that way.” Seeing this man become sentimental made me want to laugh. I had to disguise this with an obviously fake cough. “And in case I don’t get to say it: Merry Christmas.” He actually smiled at us. I shivered. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. Did I make a mistake in volunteering for this? What were we about to do? Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Alright, let’s find out what’s going on,” the captain said. He opening the first hatch into the airlock. Stepping in, the thunking sounded now as if someone were using a sledgehammer against the door. Closing the door behind us, the noise became almost unbearable as it echoed through our small chamber. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Captain Haddad pressed the buttons to open the hatch. There it—he stood. Large, red and white, belting a hearty “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
	[WP] You are part of the first team on Mars. You have successfully built your first base. Your first night in the base and the other astronauts are getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the hatch door from outside.	I quickly turned to the hatch door. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand in fear and uncertainty as I stared the exterior hatch down. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. Then I heard it again. I made sure my suit was air-tight as I approached the hatch. Mack and Simmons were at my sides. Whatever this was, we would face it together. I gripped the handle and turned. I wasn't sure what to expect when I flung the door open, but as I stood staring at the three figures in front of me, it became increasingly clear that this wasn't it. Directly in front of me stood a person with orange-colored skin, slightly shorter than me but wider, with somewhere between 10 and 20 eyes on little appendages rising from it's head...wait... "Hiiiiiiiiii, we're your new neighbors, the..." it said in up until now what was perfect English, but the next sounds that came out of its mouth I would never be able to replicate. "I'm..." more noise, "This is my husband..." more noise, "And my daughter..." more excruciating noise. It held up a tray and said, "We baked you Multolupa cakes!" I stood in awe, completely unaware of my surroundings. All I could bring myself to say, was, "...what?" "Oooooooh, look at you!" It rubbed it's hand-thing against my helmet. "Your bright peach skin! You must be from planet 3! We haven't had anyone from planet 3 visit us in a long time!" "What?!" I could feel myself heating up. "Well, we'll be just down the road if you need anything. Let us know if you ever need to borrow a cup of hexacarbon-decadihydrogen-hexaoxygen!" I stood still, unable to move, as I watched them walk out of my field of vision. When I snapped back to reality, I promptly shut the door and turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. "WHAT?!?!"	I twist the hatch on the large door, keeping the oxygen rich air inside the station from escaping into the Martian atmosphere. Two of my associates, Finn and Terry, have been standing by to assist me in getting out of my bulky suit. They achieve their goal in about an hour and I soon find myself conversing with my team over hot coffee and hamburgers--we had splurged on dinner since it was our inaugural first night on Mars. "And that's when the skateboard rolled into the living room..." Finn tells his joke, but I'm preoccupied with the fact that I am actually here with these amazing people. Hysteria grips my associates as Finn ends his joke, their cries of laughter fill the station. If we had neighbours, I would expect a knock on the door any time soon. The laughter however is very contagious, and so I join in on the fun. Another hour passes which means our allotted time for dinner is over. We clean the kitchenette and dining area as a team. Then we hit the hay I lay in bed with my eyes open. I come back to thought that I'm actually an astronaut. That I've been selected among thousands of people that wanted to be in this very position. Finn is in the bunks across the hall still telling jokes. Terry seems to be really into it because he manages to piss off Annie with his laughter. She tells Finn to knock it off, but Terry apologizes instead. Annie gives them a verbal warning and shuffles angrily in her bunk. She doesn't have any authoritative power, in fact, none of us do. This little scuffle hopefully won't grow into chasm between our team. KNOCK. BAM. Loud striking sounds off near the station entrance. My stomach twists. "Hey, Louise! You secured the exterior tarps right?" Terry calls out. He probably wants to reconcile with Annie by being productive. "Yes. I've secured it. But if it somehow got loose. I can't imagine it can make a noise like that." I'm not accustomed to my voice. I'm not a weirdo, just an introvert. These past few weeks in complete isolation from the Earth have been very trying. "Don't even worry about it, Louise. I'm sure it's just some sort of dust storm." Annie seems confident, even though her voice is faint since it's coming from the bunk below me. "Oh come on, really?" Finn joins in, unexpectedly. "We all know that's impossible." "It could happen," Terry argues. "Alright, fine. Let's all go check it out. Louise, you'll go back out there and ensure nothing is actually making the noise." Annie is calm and collected. She'll be a great leader. "The rest of us will ensure nothing inside is making that noise." "Okay," I say. * I slowly push the exterior air lock door open. It's pitch black outside compared to the station's bright lights inside. My helmet lights show no signs that anything could be hitting the station or the hatch door, except for a long loose strap with a metal latch attached to the end. I had deliberately unfastened it during my earlier planned Mars Walk and I leave it as such. I sigh. "Nothing unusual out here, Annie," I report in. * In a private briefing room inside a NASA administration building, two men discuss the results of Team A's first night in the Mars station simulation chamber. "Annie shows great promise as a leader, and Louise is quiet but cooperative." "Yes, you're right about Louise. It was a good idea giving her the first green card. She handled her role well so far." "Now then, shall we up the wind speeds once again? Let's see how much time they will spend on fixing this issue." * * This is an homage to the anime called [Space Brothers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Space_Brothers_episodes), episode 17 in which planned issues, called green cards, had caused the main character's crew a lot of strife in a training simulation. I really didn't want to take an alien approach with this and immediately thought of the anime I just mentioned. It's such a great show if you love space themed shows based in reality fiction. Thanks for reading and feel free to leave feedback! :)
	[WP] You are part of the first team on Mars. You have successfully built your first base. Your first night in the base and the other astronauts are getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the hatch door from outside.	I quickly turned to the hatch door. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand in fear and uncertainty as I stared the exterior hatch down. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. Then I heard it again. I made sure my suit was air-tight as I approached the hatch. Mack and Simmons were at my sides. Whatever this was, we would face it together. I gripped the handle and turned. I wasn't sure what to expect when I flung the door open, but as I stood staring at the three figures in front of me, it became increasingly clear that this wasn't it. Directly in front of me stood a person with orange-colored skin, slightly shorter than me but wider, with somewhere between 10 and 20 eyes on little appendages rising from it's head...wait... "Hiiiiiiiiii, we're your new neighbors, the..." it said in up until now what was perfect English, but the next sounds that came out of its mouth I would never be able to replicate. "I'm..." more noise, "This is my husband..." more noise, "And my daughter..." more excruciating noise. It held up a tray and said, "We baked you Multolupa cakes!" I stood in awe, completely unaware of my surroundings. All I could bring myself to say, was, "...what?" "Oooooooh, look at you!" It rubbed it's hand-thing against my helmet. "Your bright peach skin! You must be from planet 3! We haven't had anyone from planet 3 visit us in a long time!" "What?!" I could feel myself heating up. "Well, we'll be just down the road if you need anything. Let us know if you ever need to borrow a cup of hexacarbon-decadihydrogen-hexaoxygen!" I stood still, unable to move, as I watched them walk out of my field of vision. When I snapped back to reality, I promptly shut the door and turned to Mack and Simmons, who were both giving me blank stares. "WHAT?!?!"	All noise in the base stopped cold. The only sound I heard louder than the Oxygen recycler was my own heartbeat. All of my fellow crewmembers were similarily frozen in fear. I looked among them and counted: one... two... three ... four... five and myself. Everyone was accounted for. All six of the "Colonizer" crewmembers were in the base. There was no one outside to knock on the door. The silence dragged on for what seemed like minutes. Right as I was beginning to think that somehow some rocks could have been loosened and rolled down the hill to our hatch or that it was the new base settling or some other unlikely but reassuring explination... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK The sounds were louder this time, with an evenness between them that meant they were made with purpose, by something that could THINK. Something was outside that hatch. Something that had left no trace of its existance that we nor any of the robots of previous explorations discovered. Something that could survive pn the martian surface. Something that wanted IN. All eyes turned to me. As the leader of the mission, it was my responsibility to handle unforseen situations, ones that were not part of the thousands of cumulative scenerios we went over in training. No one was trained for this, thus it was my responsibility. Without making a sound, I crept towards the windowless airlock. I grabbed my helmet from the rack besides the door, attaching it to the suit I was still wearing from my last walk not ten minutes ago. I opened the airlock's inner door, cringing at the hissing sound the pistons made as they yeilded to the door. As I stepped inside, I motioned for my crew to not follow, but to keep their comms open. They connected to the shared frequency and, after a brief glance back into the relative safety of our base, I closed the door behind me. The silence of the airlock was deafening. It felt as if I was cut off from the world as fear engulfed me. Stuck in a limbo between the safety I knew and my duty to go forward into the horror that did not. As the cramped room depressurized, I knew the sound could be heard outside, and whatever was waiting for me knew I was coming. A light turned green. The door outside unlocked. Nothing moved. My hand was trembling as it raised to turn the latch. I was "brave" for my crew when they could see em, but all I knew was fear as my hand drew ever closer to the latch. As dark thoughts of the unknown pressed in on my mind, threatening to turn me back, I steeled myself just long enough to take the latch, twist it, and yank the door open. Two dimunitive creatures were smiling up at me, oddly humanoid in form but not enough to be mistaken as one. They wore cloaks of white and one held a book in strange writing and the other a folded rectangle of paper. The former spoke. "Hello! Have you found Xorb'ltroth, our lord and savior?" "Not interested," I blankly stated and slammed the door shut. Note: My first comment/post on r/writingprompts! As soon as I read the headline, this scenerio popped into my head and I had to write it. I did so without reading anyone elses promots to not influence my writing, so apologies if someone else already came up with the idea. Feel free to comment/criticize (constructively please)!
	[WP] You are part of the first team on Mars. You have successfully built your first base. Your first night in the base and the other astronauts are getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the hatch door from outside.	"Anderson, did you hear that?" There was silence between us. I looked at Commander Wentworth with a look of fear and confusion. Surely it must have been a rock that was swept up by solar winds or an echo of- Knock knock. No. This is some prank or something stupid. We're millions of miles away from...life. There's not anything knocking at the door. There's not- Knock knock knock "Anderson...what's going on?" I had known Wentworth for known. We had worked together and trained together for this very mission. We were best friends and we had been through everything together. I had never seen him like this. I had never seen him afraid. Knock knock. "I'll go see what it is." I paused. "Maybe Byron forgot where he was and went outside for a piss." I laughed nervously, before quickly adding, "Hopefully he remembered his suit." I got up and ran for the door. Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock. Sprinting for the door. What was going on? Who or what was knocking on the door? I slipped on my space suit while trying not to panic. The knock knocking knock was knock not knock stopping knock. I reached for the door latch, almost forgetting about the depressurization process. I waited for that to finish before flinging open the door to see what had been tormenting us with suspense. "Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?"	“Hey Higgins, did you get those samples logged into the database?” Commander Jackson asked from the table as Higgins stepped through the hatch into the common area. “Sure did, boss. I logged ‘em in right after checking the connection seals for Unit 5. And before that I repaired that broken axle on Rover 2,” Higgins replied, with just a touch of mirth. “Oh, and after I logged the samples I fixed the thermostat in the bunk unit. You’re welcome, everyone.” “Thanks, Higgins,” jeered Waltz and Metzger in unison. Higgins was our resident I-do-all-the-work-around-here-while-you-all-goof-off-and-I-like-to-make-sure-everyone-knows-it guy on this mission. He was also our mechanic and a assistant geologist. Waltz was the lead geologist, communications specialist, and the public face of this mission (probably because she would have made a fine looking model if she hadn’t opted for space-work instead). Metzger was our navigator and mission medic. She is also Russian and prone to calling us all comrades at every opportunity (she says it’s her responsibility to keep the stereotype alive). And then there was me, Captain Mark Reynolds. I was the pilot. Or rather, the chauffeur, and tech specialist. It was my job to us all here safely in the lander, make sure the computers work, and to drive folks around in the Rovers on this big ol’ ball of red dust. Oh yeah, I should also mention we were all part of the first manned mission on Mars. “I don’t want to hear it, Higgins,” sighed Jackson. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that other than log today’s geological samples.” Commander Jackson was the ranking officer on this mission. This was his second trip to the Red Planet, but his first time on the surface. Jackson’s first trip to Mars was supposed to be the first manned mission; but there was a systems failure on the travel module (the big ship that carries astronauts and the lander from Earth to Mars) and they were forced to abort. Of the five member crew, three died as a result of the failure. That failed mission is probably why Jackson doesn’t have much of a sense of humor it would seem. He didn’t spend a whole lot of time hanging out with the crew, probably due to fact that he’s about 20 years older than the rest of us. We’re all right around 30. He’s pushing 50. He is fair though, and a darn good leader. Higgins wondered over to the food dispensary and grabbed a bowl of vanilla flavored protein, looking rather dejected. He sat down and took a bite, grimacing. “How’s the gruel, Higgins?” I asked. “It tastes like vanilla flavored crap.” “That’s because that’s what it is,” I said laughing. The others didn’t like him very much, but I got a long with Higgins just fine. Not as well as I did with Waltz, but hey… Metzger chimed in from across the table, “Just wait until we get the planting started, comrades. It’s our first night here, soon we’ll be dining on vanilla flavored crap and kale chips!” We had landed on Mars three days ago. A few hours after landing we sent the command to the travel module to start sending our habitat down to the surface. It was actually pretty cool to watch. Using fancy rockets, the habitat units would come down one at a time and land gently in place. Five units in all. All we had to do was connect them; which Higgins, Commander Jackson, and I had just finished doing this morning with Unit 5 while Waltz gathered rock samples and Metzger organized the medical unit. The five of us talked and picked on Higgins for about another 30 minutes and then, one-by-one, started heading to bed. Higgins, Metzger, and the Commander had all retreated to their bunks and Waltz and I were quietly talking when it happened. Waltz was in the middle of a story about how her and sister had once dated the same guy for two months without either of them knowing, when a hard knock came from the main airlock in Unit 2. Waltz stopped in mid-sentence, and looked at me wide eyed and mouth gaping. “Did you hear that?” “Yeah, I heard it. It came from the main airlo-,” I was interrupted by another pounding at the airlock door. “Go wake up the Commander. I’m gonna bring up the external camera feeds,” I directed Waltz while heading toward the wall console on the other side of the room. I rifled through a few commands on the console and pulled up the external camera feeds. Tabbing through the feeds I didn’t notice anything out of place until I hit the camera that points to the outside airlock door at Unit 2. There was a man, or at least a human, sitting on the ground and leaning against the airlock door in full environmental gear of a make I’d never seen before. It looked like they had plopped down there out of exhaustion, like you would flop down next to a shade tree after a hard days work on the farm or something. Via the camera feed, I watched as the person(?) raised their left arm and hit the airlock door with the back of their hand. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK, came the knocking noise again. Just as I was beginning to think that this had to be Higgins or Metzger playing some kind of prank on me and Waltz, all four of my crew mates climbed through the hatch into the common area. If all five of us are in here… “What the heck is going on?” grumbled Jackson. Waltz and I explained the knocking noise, and I showed the rest of the crew the camera feed. “Can you zoom in on the helmet? Maybe we can get a good look at their face,” Commander Jackson asked. Tapping on the touchscreen, I zoomed in on our visitor’s head, “There ya go, Commander.” At first we couldn’t see anything other than the reflection of the planet’s surface in the helmet’s visor; but then our visitor turned and looked directly into the camera. She turned directly toward the camera. Looking back at us from the console display was a young woman, probably mid-twenties, blond hair. It looked like she had been crying for hours, she was breathing heavily, and there was a large cut just above her left eye. We all just stood there. Stunned. Who was this woman? How did she get there? We were supposed to be the first mission to Mars! Other than the five of us, the planet was supposed to be completely devoid of life. After probably ten minutes of stunned silence, Commander Jackson ordered me to open the external airlock door. I issued the command and watched through the camera as the woman slowly crawled into the airlock. When she was inside, I closed the external door and went to join the rest of my team in Unit 2. Commander Jackson hit the switch to pressurize the airlock just as I made it to the door. The woman laid still on the floor while we listened to atmosphere slowly fill up the airlock. When the pressure was stable, Jackson opened the door and he and I entered together. “Hey, are you ok?” I asked stupidly as I bent over next to the woman. That’s when her helmet visor disappeared. Well, not really disappeared so much as it dissolved. At that moment the woman rolled over and looked at me. She was obviously fighting a losing battle to stay conscious. Right before passing out, she looked right at my face and quietly said, “You have to get off of this planet, now… Admiral Reynolds… Dad.” …To be continued?
[deleted]	[WP] A distant planet rotates on its axis perpendicular to a dying dwarf star. The stars heat scorches the front, the blackness of space freezes its back. But on its Axis...	Solution Unknown "Sir, we've received a transmission from the Ideashpehre requesting as creative response" said Ensign Obvious as he saluted and stopped next to the Science Officer. "Hmmm." mused the Science Officer. "We can ignore this one. It's not even wrong." "Sir?" "Well, it looks like a request for a science fiction response, but it's mistaken." "How, Sir?" "Well, it describes a distant plant of a dwarf star being scorched." "I'm certain that this is possible." said the ensign. "Well, one or the other is possible, but not both. If it's distant from the star it will receive much less light than if it was closer in. And, since we are talking about a dwarf star, as large or smaller that then Earth's sun, the planet would have to be close to the star to be scorched." "Maybe, distant is referring to distance from Earth." "That's true. However, taken together with the description of the planet's rotation the suspension of disbelief is severely assaulted." "And, why is that important, Sir?" asked the Ensign "Well, most stories require it and science fiction almost demands it. The science must appear logical and fresh." "Fresh?" "Yes, this idea about a planet with one side always facing it's star is how Mecury's orbit was originally described. In this case, something more is required to bring a stale idea to life." "Like what, Sir?" "Oh, that there is an atmosphere. You wouldn't expect one for a planet close to a dwarf star. Or, there is a radio signal, suggesting intelligent life. As it stands, it's like trying to second guess an incomplete world problem." "So, no response, Sir?" "Well, maybe this. Solution Unknown..."	"Revolves," technician Saunders told Dr. Belittle. "What did I just say?" Dr. Belittle exclaimed. "Alpha-Omega-Centauri-Prime rotates on its axis perpendicular to Ceta-Centauri." "Revolves," Sanders said again. "Planets revolve around stars." "Everything rotates, Saunders. I'm surprised I have to tell you that as a first year initiate. But, there it is. It's your first year. You don't know any better, and why would you?" "Sorry, Doctor, I misunderstood. AOC-Prime is in a geostationary orbit around C-squared." "Correct," Dr. Belittle said. "Therefore, the surface of the orbital always faces that celestial body, I mean, the star." "Correct," the doctor said again. "Ergo," "I hate that word," Dr. Belittle said. "I've told you that a hundred times. The Matrix Reloaded ruined that word for generations to come, including our own. Ergo is nothing more than pompous pontification of the perfunctory." "Therefore," "I hate that word, too," Dr. Belittle said. "It's the hipster version of ergo." "Whatever," Saunders said. "The correct pronunciation is: Wha'Eva," Dr. Belittle corrected. "Ok -" "Now you're just being a sore loser," Dr. Belittle said. "Admit you were mistaken and let's go back to discussing the nuances and impacts of AOC Prime's orbit." "But it doesn't rotate," Saunders said, exasperated. "Sure it does," Dr. Belittle said. "Once every planetary year." "I mean -" Saunders began. "You mean I'm right," Dr. Belittle said, "And you're struggling to exonerate your exposition with exclamation." Saunders sighed. "Wha'Eva." "Now you're getting it," Dr. Belittle said.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	The tower of cans fell all around her, with resounding noise. She stumbled away, arms going instinctively over her head to protect it from the flow of canned peaches. She heard Gully barking at the unusual sound, but didn't call for him out of fear he'd be hurt if more than just the cans started to fall. "Clean up on aisle 7," it was a long drawl. American. Masculine. She found her eyes rolling, and she whistled for her dog to come. He did, hurried nails clacking on the ground preceded his arrival. Gully was a sweet faced, four-year-old, brown and orange splotched beagle. He really was twenty pounds of adoration - not to mention excessively useful in the art of the scavenge. She'd struck gold the day she found him, abandoned with a few of his litter in an alley way. Hand rearing him had been trying at first, but even growing up in the real world she'd never had a more loyal, adoring pet. He was also reassuringly real. "Really? Just gonna ignore me, huh? What is it with girls and their dogs?" She paused, shook her head, and started to stack the scattered cans in her supermarket trolley. Or 'cart', as they preferred to call it. Once she'd stored a reasonable amount, she motioned for Gully to follow her as she wound her way in and out of aisles 8, 9 and 10, tossing in whatever she'd scrawled down on her list. She untwisted a bottle of sprite that had long since gone flat, and sipped at it as she went. Gully sniffed about, vanishing for minutes at a time, and then appearing back at her side, often with something in his mouth she had to tell him to drop. They had to travel a little further to get to the dog food, passing the electronics section. As was routine, she picked up a battery operated CD player as she went past and put it in the child carrier part of the trolley. She grabbed a random eighties mix from the CD section (CDs - Walmart really did have everything), and played it as she went, head bopping along to the electric funk. Never let it be said that small town America didn't have everything a girl needed to survive. They got closer and Gully darted ahead. When she caught up, he was nibbling at a hole in one of the bags of 'large dog' food, likely made by a rat. She opened it, and threw him a couple of large biscuits. He greedily snuffled them up while she wrapped her arms around a fresh bag and attempted to heave it up into the trolley - with the number of times she'd done this, you'd have thought she'd be all kinds of muscled, but the big bags were still a pain in the butt to- "Looks heavy. Want some help?" How strange, she thought. The voice wasn't coming from inside her head. There was a moment when this seemed like the most natural thing in the world, then realisation struck her like daylight, and she was was snatching up the rifle at her side and spinning around to find the source. She spotted a speaker, and aimed at it, adjusting her grip, daring it to talk again, praying it wasn't her imagination. "Trust issues. Understandable. Who hurt you?" It spoke. And it wasn't speaking like they usually did. It was original. Having original thoughts, asking her questions - No one, she thought suddenly, thoughts jumping about. Of course no one had hurt her. Why would anyone want to hurt her? Not that she knew anyone, anymore, but hurting people in this kind of situation just seemed so counter productive. She frowned, some old advice she'd never needed ringing in her mind. No matter how much you want to, don't trust anyone. "How old are you, anyway?" She couldn't be precise - was she sure this was real? - but she opened her mouth all the same. He cut her off. "No point in answering - I can't hear you through these things," a muffled pause, "listen, I'm coming down. I'll meet you by the registers. Don't shoot me, okay?" There was a static scraping noise, then silence. She gulped down the rest of her sprite, heaved the bag over the side and into the trolley, and rushed to the registers. ______ 1/2	I miss coffee. Anytime you get it now its stale and ice cold. Oh, and radioactive. The fallout came out of nowhere. Literally. They never found the source, just the wreckage. I was sitting on my couch, working on my piece due the following day, then the internet went out, followed by the power, followed by humanity. The earth just kind of sucked itself up. First Japan, then Ohio, so on, so on. No order or reason, just complete, uncensored chaos. I lost my family, my friends, even that guy on the bus who used to sit next to me and read, but they were never normal books, always children books, with his favorite seeming to be one about a family of pigeons, fed up with being disrespected, who lead a revolt against the human race. What I would give to see a pigeon again. I’d love to see anything again. To feel an animal, to hear a song, to touch a hand. My bag is getting light; I need to find supplies. I walk for a while until I find a Walmart. Hated them then, hate them now, but it will do. Not like there’s much of an option these days. The interesting thing about Walmart’s is how even after such a long period of decaying and in-use, they smell the same. I take my time through the store, I’m in no hurry, and I enjoy feeling the flood of memories. I think I’ll sleep here tonight, I prop myself up on something nearby, it’s too dark to tell what, but it fits just right, and I go to sleep, my only chance to truly be in what was before. A noise startles me awake, something else is here, I know that sounds paranoid, but you didn’t hear it, I know what nothing sounds like and this was something. I run faster than I ever have, the thought of someone else gives me a jolt which may be the strongest ever felt. I run for what seems like forever, and find nothing. Fuck. I know I heard something. Please. Anything. . . Silence. I turn to head forward, losing the last of my hope, only to be met with a knife at my throat.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	Day 2600 I think I can't believe how long it's been since I even heard a sound that wasn't my own. Even the animals are gone now, nothing moves, nothing breathes, everything is just.. silent. You'd think an introvert like me would have enjoyed it. All that silence was unbroken for years. At least it was that way until a few days ago. I was low on supplies so I made a quick trip, as you might guess from where you're standing, I was headed here. I did my usual, went up and down the aisles grabbing whatever happened to suit my fancy that day. Today was a green bean day, so I took an armful and headed out, but as I neared the end of the aisle I slipped in a puddle of something, I managed to catch myself on a shelf, knocking down a display in the process, the sound was both music to my ears and torture. All that noise after 7 odd years of silence, the clanging of those cans reverberated through my skull, deafening. I thought that might be the last sound I would ever hear, but I was wrong. "Woah, clean up on aisle seven!" the intercom, "I've always wanted to use one of these," it said. I stopped, thinking, until it hit me.. I'm not alone. "If you're not just the wind, I hear the service desk is quite nice this time of year" I panicked at that poetry, just the sound of a voice, I could feel myself tearing up. I dropped everything, my cans clattering to the ground as I ran to the front of the store, scrambling to get there before anything happened, I wouldn't miss a chance to see another face for anything. I came peeling around the corner, running faster than I ever had, and that's when I saw them, not one but two, two people. I fell to my knees, finally feeling life inside of me for the first time in years. I felt this glimmer of hope, that I might never have to eat alone again. Everything seemed brighter at that moment, all the colors standing out, the blue of the sky in the nearby glass doors, the white of the floor, standing out looking so pure, the red of the blood covering the tiles. I looked closer, it was two people, one standing tall, the other with a knife in their back. "Humor." it said "I never could stand it." it dropped the body, letting the blood pool around its bare feet. "Emotions in general, I never was a fan." I looked to that poor man lying in his blood, he sputtered out a single word, "Run" I watched as the only other human died in front of me, giving one last effort to breathe, only causing a dribble of blood to find its way out of their mouth. It looked at me. "I always knew I was different. Mother always told me so, that I wasn't like the other children. But Father, now he didn't like me." It stooped to my level, looking at my crying eyes. "He thought that Mother was being too easy on me. I watched them fight about me." It touched my face "He hit her." It hit me. "Now I didn't like that. No no, not at all." It picked up my hands, holding them. "So I cut Father's hands off. You can't hit people if you don't have hands. Now are you right handed or left?" Now I'm lying here in a pool of my own blood, of course, I lied, I kept my left hand to write this. My dying advice to whoever may be left. If you see it coming towards you, kill it. It's not human, I watched it eat that man. Right in front of me. Raw. I think I'm going to try and sleep now, maybe I'll bleed out while I dream of how things used to be, when men and women walked the earth.	I miss coffee. Anytime you get it now its stale and ice cold. Oh, and radioactive. The fallout came out of nowhere. Literally. They never found the source, just the wreckage. I was sitting on my couch, working on my piece due the following day, then the internet went out, followed by the power, followed by humanity. The earth just kind of sucked itself up. First Japan, then Ohio, so on, so on. No order or reason, just complete, uncensored chaos. I lost my family, my friends, even that guy on the bus who used to sit next to me and read, but they were never normal books, always children books, with his favorite seeming to be one about a family of pigeons, fed up with being disrespected, who lead a revolt against the human race. What I would give to see a pigeon again. I’d love to see anything again. To feel an animal, to hear a song, to touch a hand. My bag is getting light; I need to find supplies. I walk for a while until I find a Walmart. Hated them then, hate them now, but it will do. Not like there’s much of an option these days. The interesting thing about Walmart’s is how even after such a long period of decaying and in-use, they smell the same. I take my time through the store, I’m in no hurry, and I enjoy feeling the flood of memories. I think I’ll sleep here tonight, I prop myself up on something nearby, it’s too dark to tell what, but it fits just right, and I go to sleep, my only chance to truly be in what was before. A noise startles me awake, something else is here, I know that sounds paranoid, but you didn’t hear it, I know what nothing sounds like and this was something. I run faster than I ever have, the thought of someone else gives me a jolt which may be the strongest ever felt. I run for what seems like forever, and find nothing. Fuck. I know I heard something. Please. Anything. . . Silence. I turn to head forward, losing the last of my hope, only to be met with a knife at my throat.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	I let the nearly endless array of paper towels roll down the entirety of isle 7. Each and every plastic one rolled away from me, like they were on their way to buy themselves at the vine jungle of a checkout counter. I stepped on a couple, crushing them and rendering them useless. I guess nobody was going to buy them anyway. Hell, I don’t know why I wanted them. But that’s besides the point. The point is that I’m the only human. The only one. I have to be. It’s been that way for years. Decades! The world has always been mine. I beat the apocalypse. I’ve made radios, I’ve built computers, and nobody has said anything to me. Thirty years and I haven’t heard a word from any human but myself. Nobody but me has spoken for three decades, so why did the first words since have to be “Clean up on aisle 7.”? How did she do it? Surviving, living off of Walmart. The place did look significantly more looted than the Target across the street, so it does look like she’d been living here for a long time. It’s impressive, and I wish I had the same idea. Sure, traveling the country looking for people and a new perspective was fun and all, but living in a Walmart? That’s a childhood dream. I wish that was MY apocalypse survival technique. All of the food. Aisles upon aisles of pure junk to fuel you for the rest of your life. No social standards/mothers to tell you what you should and shouldn’t eat. No scavenging, it’d all be right there. Just eating. Oh, and most importantly, the wide open room to scream and shout as loud as you need when you finish the art of self pleasure. Clear out some aisles, make a bed of paper towels, and never feel the guilt nor disgust of releasing yourself from the horrors of the apocalypse. Ah, masturbation. Ah, sex. I forgot about that old thing. Sex. Christ, I haven’t had that in too long. Fuck man, it’s been too fucking long. Why didn’t this woman show up sooner? Now I’m too old to make a decent kid and we’re the last two people on the fucking Earth. Fuck this woman, dude. There’s seriously no way she could’ve tried to leave Walmart? I mean, what a lazy bitch. A lazy bitch with all of Walmart to herself, the section with all of the bikes, bouncy balls, and toys. Sounds like a good situation to me. Just relaxing and playing around with Transformers, stuffed animals, and all around just chilling out in a huge store. I guess it makes sense she didn’t leave. Walmart’s a nice place, really, as long as you have it to yourself. I bet she’s using this intercom thing to fuck with me so she can stay by herself. Just to enjoy being alone with her own thoughts and toys. Fine by me. What could I do anyway? Walk up there and get shot probably. She had to have some way to protect her Walmart. It’s not like I could convince her to come out, she made her decision a looong time ago. I felt like sighing, but it’s not like anyone could hear. Stepping over the many paper towels spread around the floor I pondered the point to even continue searching for people, or survival, for that matter. What is a man without a friend? A toddler without a mother? Even if I, a fifty-five year old man, could somehow have enough testosterone to even attempt to restart the human race, would she be up for that attempt? No, she wouldn’t. Maybe I’ll just kill myself. Better than working so hard for nothing. With paper towel rolls behind me and a desolate world in front, I walked out of the most densely populated area on Earth. I’m a quitter and it’s fine. “BEEEEEP,” the intercom rang. What? A crunchy speaker voice said in panic, “Hold on, wait wait, guy. I was just fucking with you. Come back.”	I miss coffee. Anytime you get it now its stale and ice cold. Oh, and radioactive. The fallout came out of nowhere. Literally. They never found the source, just the wreckage. I was sitting on my couch, working on my piece due the following day, then the internet went out, followed by the power, followed by humanity. The earth just kind of sucked itself up. First Japan, then Ohio, so on, so on. No order or reason, just complete, uncensored chaos. I lost my family, my friends, even that guy on the bus who used to sit next to me and read, but they were never normal books, always children books, with his favorite seeming to be one about a family of pigeons, fed up with being disrespected, who lead a revolt against the human race. What I would give to see a pigeon again. I’d love to see anything again. To feel an animal, to hear a song, to touch a hand. My bag is getting light; I need to find supplies. I walk for a while until I find a Walmart. Hated them then, hate them now, but it will do. Not like there’s much of an option these days. The interesting thing about Walmart’s is how even after such a long period of decaying and in-use, they smell the same. I take my time through the store, I’m in no hurry, and I enjoy feeling the flood of memories. I think I’ll sleep here tonight, I prop myself up on something nearby, it’s too dark to tell what, but it fits just right, and I go to sleep, my only chance to truly be in what was before. A noise startles me awake, something else is here, I know that sounds paranoid, but you didn’t hear it, I know what nothing sounds like and this was something. I run faster than I ever have, the thought of someone else gives me a jolt which may be the strongest ever felt. I run for what seems like forever, and find nothing. Fuck. I know I heard something. Please. Anything. . . Silence. I turn to head forward, losing the last of my hope, only to be met with a knife at my throat.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	“Bleach. I can’t remember the last time I picked some up.” He looked down at his stained shirt. At one point, it used to be white, but that was a long time ago. “I guess I’ll go by menswear after this…” It had been weeks since he last saw anybody. Looking presentable was the last of his worries. The bleach wasn’t for washing clothes, though. Just a few tiny drops are enough to keep a whole gallon drinkable when you don’t have time to sit down and watch it boil. Few places had running water left, and it was probably questionable at best. “I don’t need that much; I’ll save myself the load and put it in a small container...” He looked up at the signs hanging from the ceiling. In the darkness, they were hard to read. A couple of aisles down, he found shelves of Tupperware and other containers. They were still mostly all in place. The whole store, in fact, seemed more intact than others he had searched through. In fact, it was spotless. He wondered if it was just the fact that the store was lacking its usual odd and dirty assortment of customers. He pulled a small container off the shelf. It was a novelty mustard bottle with a nice closable cap. ‘Perfect,’ he thought, pulling it from its packaging. Opening the gallon bottle of bleach gave him a nice whiff of the strong chlorine odor. He pulled his head back and proceeded to pour it slowly into the smaller container. It overflowed just a bit and it dripped down onto this hands. Bending down to leave behind the remains of the bleach, his large backpack swiped the opposite wall of the aisle and knocked down several pegs worth of products. “Shoot.” He said under his voice. The intercom crackled on out of nowhere. “Cleanup on aisle 7.” The voice made him jump. He looked back and forth at both ends of the aisle. The hanging sign said what he feared, the number seven. He quickly screwed on the cap and headed for the front of the building. Exiting the aisle, he was met with the loud sound rolling of wheels headed his direction. The beam from a flashlight flickered at him, making the hairs on his neck stand up. He tensed up, thinking about bolting. “A man’s job is never done,” complained a weathered voice. The beam of light dropped to the ground, and he could see someone pushing a plastic cart carrying a broom, a mop, and other cleaning supplies. Complete with a blue vest covered in brightly colored badges, he seemed very much at home. They glanced up at the signs, heading towards the aisle that had been called out. “What seems to be the issue?” “Uhm… oh. I just knocked down some things.” He stammered. “And did you pick them up?” “No.” The old man sighed. Squeezing past, he headed into the aisle now strewn with clutter from the shelf. Still holding the bottle of bleach, he turned around to face the man. “What are you doing here?” “I work here.” “Even in these times?” “These are our normal operating hours, are they not?” “Are you the one stocking the shelves?” “Yes and cleaning, ordering, inventory, greeting customers when I can.” “All alone?” “Of course not. This is a big store. Didn’t you hear my supervisor on the intercom?” “Oh. Well, I apologize for the mess.” “It’s no problem.” He stood there as the various kitchen tools were hung back up on their pegs. The old man noticed the open bottle of bleach, and screwed the cap back on, putting it on his rolling cart. “Uhh… would you prefer if I paid for that?” “Go through the check stand like everyone else.” Confused, he turned and walked out, still hearing the man fiddling with the products scattered on the floor. On his way out, he made his way through the still dark check stands, and dropped a fistful of change on one of the scanners, and headed for the door. The automatic door took a bit of effort to open, but was unlocked just like he found it. Out in the light of the day, he looked down and remembered he was still wearing his ratty old shirt…	I miss coffee. Anytime you get it now its stale and ice cold. Oh, and radioactive. The fallout came out of nowhere. Literally. They never found the source, just the wreckage. I was sitting on my couch, working on my piece due the following day, then the internet went out, followed by the power, followed by humanity. The earth just kind of sucked itself up. First Japan, then Ohio, so on, so on. No order or reason, just complete, uncensored chaos. I lost my family, my friends, even that guy on the bus who used to sit next to me and read, but they were never normal books, always children books, with his favorite seeming to be one about a family of pigeons, fed up with being disrespected, who lead a revolt against the human race. What I would give to see a pigeon again. I’d love to see anything again. To feel an animal, to hear a song, to touch a hand. My bag is getting light; I need to find supplies. I walk for a while until I find a Walmart. Hated them then, hate them now, but it will do. Not like there’s much of an option these days. The interesting thing about Walmart’s is how even after such a long period of decaying and in-use, they smell the same. I take my time through the store, I’m in no hurry, and I enjoy feeling the flood of memories. I think I’ll sleep here tonight, I prop myself up on something nearby, it’s too dark to tell what, but it fits just right, and I go to sleep, my only chance to truly be in what was before. A noise startles me awake, something else is here, I know that sounds paranoid, but you didn’t hear it, I know what nothing sounds like and this was something. I run faster than I ever have, the thought of someone else gives me a jolt which may be the strongest ever felt. I run for what seems like forever, and find nothing. Fuck. I know I heard something. Please. Anything. . . Silence. I turn to head forward, losing the last of my hope, only to be met with a knife at my throat.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	I let the nearly endless array of paper towels roll down the entirety of isle 7. Each and every plastic one rolled away from me, like they were on their way to buy themselves at the vine jungle of a checkout counter. I stepped on a couple, crushing them and rendering them useless. I guess nobody was going to buy them anyway. Hell, I don’t know why I wanted them. But that’s besides the point. The point is that I’m the only human. The only one. I have to be. It’s been that way for years. Decades! The world has always been mine. I beat the apocalypse. I’ve made radios, I’ve built computers, and nobody has said anything to me. Thirty years and I haven’t heard a word from any human but myself. Nobody but me has spoken for three decades, so why did the first words since have to be “Clean up on aisle 7.”? How did she do it? Surviving, living off of Walmart. The place did look significantly more looted than the Target across the street, so it does look like she’d been living here for a long time. It’s impressive, and I wish I had the same idea. Sure, traveling the country looking for people and a new perspective was fun and all, but living in a Walmart? That’s a childhood dream. I wish that was MY apocalypse survival technique. All of the food. Aisles upon aisles of pure junk to fuel you for the rest of your life. No social standards/mothers to tell you what you should and shouldn’t eat. No scavenging, it’d all be right there. Just eating. Oh, and most importantly, the wide open room to scream and shout as loud as you need when you finish the art of self pleasure. Clear out some aisles, make a bed of paper towels, and never feel the guilt nor disgust of releasing yourself from the horrors of the apocalypse. Ah, masturbation. Ah, sex. I forgot about that old thing. Sex. Christ, I haven’t had that in too long. Fuck man, it’s been too fucking long. Why didn’t this woman show up sooner? Now I’m too old to make a decent kid and we’re the last two people on the fucking Earth. Fuck this woman, dude. There’s seriously no way she could’ve tried to leave Walmart? I mean, what a lazy bitch. A lazy bitch with all of Walmart to herself, the section with all of the bikes, bouncy balls, and toys. Sounds like a good situation to me. Just relaxing and playing around with Transformers, stuffed animals, and all around just chilling out in a huge store. I guess it makes sense she didn’t leave. Walmart’s a nice place, really, as long as you have it to yourself. I bet she’s using this intercom thing to fuck with me so she can stay by herself. Just to enjoy being alone with her own thoughts and toys. Fine by me. What could I do anyway? Walk up there and get shot probably. She had to have some way to protect her Walmart. It’s not like I could convince her to come out, she made her decision a looong time ago. I felt like sighing, but it’s not like anyone could hear. Stepping over the many paper towels spread around the floor I pondered the point to even continue searching for people, or survival, for that matter. What is a man without a friend? A toddler without a mother? Even if I, a fifty-five year old man, could somehow have enough testosterone to even attempt to restart the human race, would she be up for that attempt? No, she wouldn’t. Maybe I’ll just kill myself. Better than working so hard for nothing. With paper towel rolls behind me and a desolate world in front, I walked out of the most densely populated area on Earth. I’m a quitter and it’s fine. “BEEEEEP,” the intercom rang. What? A crunchy speaker voice said in panic, “Hold on, wait wait, guy. I was just fucking with you. Come back.”	The tower of cans fell all around her, with resounding noise. She stumbled away, arms going instinctively over her head to protect it from the flow of canned peaches. She heard Gully barking at the unusual sound, but didn't call for him out of fear he'd be hurt if more than just the cans started to fall. "Clean up on aisle 7," it was a long drawl. American. Masculine. She found her eyes rolling, and she whistled for her dog to come. He did, hurried nails clacking on the ground preceded his arrival. Gully was a sweet faced, four-year-old, brown and orange splotched beagle. He really was twenty pounds of adoration - not to mention excessively useful in the art of the scavenge. She'd struck gold the day she found him, abandoned with a few of his litter in an alley way. Hand rearing him had been trying at first, but even growing up in the real world she'd never had a more loyal, adoring pet. He was also reassuringly real. "Really? Just gonna ignore me, huh? What is it with girls and their dogs?" She paused, shook her head, and started to stack the scattered cans in her supermarket trolley. Or 'cart', as they preferred to call it. Once she'd stored a reasonable amount, she motioned for Gully to follow her as she wound her way in and out of aisles 8, 9 and 10, tossing in whatever she'd scrawled down on her list. She untwisted a bottle of sprite that had long since gone flat, and sipped at it as she went. Gully sniffed about, vanishing for minutes at a time, and then appearing back at her side, often with something in his mouth she had to tell him to drop. They had to travel a little further to get to the dog food, passing the electronics section. As was routine, she picked up a battery operated CD player as she went past and put it in the child carrier part of the trolley. She grabbed a random eighties mix from the CD section (CDs - Walmart really did have everything), and played it as she went, head bopping along to the electric funk. Never let it be said that small town America didn't have everything a girl needed to survive. They got closer and Gully darted ahead. When she caught up, he was nibbling at a hole in one of the bags of 'large dog' food, likely made by a rat. She opened it, and threw him a couple of large biscuits. He greedily snuffled them up while she wrapped her arms around a fresh bag and attempted to heave it up into the trolley - with the number of times she'd done this, you'd have thought she'd be all kinds of muscled, but the big bags were still a pain in the butt to- "Looks heavy. Want some help?" How strange, she thought. The voice wasn't coming from inside her head. There was a moment when this seemed like the most natural thing in the world, then realisation struck her like daylight, and she was was snatching up the rifle at her side and spinning around to find the source. She spotted a speaker, and aimed at it, adjusting her grip, daring it to talk again, praying it wasn't her imagination. "Trust issues. Understandable. Who hurt you?" It spoke. And it wasn't speaking like they usually did. It was original. Having original thoughts, asking her questions - No one, she thought suddenly, thoughts jumping about. Of course no one had hurt her. Why would anyone want to hurt her? Not that she knew anyone, anymore, but hurting people in this kind of situation just seemed so counter productive. She frowned, some old advice she'd never needed ringing in her mind. No matter how much you want to, don't trust anyone. "How old are you, anyway?" She couldn't be precise - was she sure this was real? - but she opened her mouth all the same. He cut her off. "No point in answering - I can't hear you through these things," a muffled pause, "listen, I'm coming down. I'll meet you by the registers. Don't shoot me, okay?" There was a static scraping noise, then silence. She gulped down the rest of her sprite, heaved the bag over the side and into the trolley, and rushed to the registers. ______ 1/2
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	I let the nearly endless array of paper towels roll down the entirety of isle 7. Each and every plastic one rolled away from me, like they were on their way to buy themselves at the vine jungle of a checkout counter. I stepped on a couple, crushing them and rendering them useless. I guess nobody was going to buy them anyway. Hell, I don’t know why I wanted them. But that’s besides the point. The point is that I’m the only human. The only one. I have to be. It’s been that way for years. Decades! The world has always been mine. I beat the apocalypse. I’ve made radios, I’ve built computers, and nobody has said anything to me. Thirty years and I haven’t heard a word from any human but myself. Nobody but me has spoken for three decades, so why did the first words since have to be “Clean up on aisle 7.”? How did she do it? Surviving, living off of Walmart. The place did look significantly more looted than the Target across the street, so it does look like she’d been living here for a long time. It’s impressive, and I wish I had the same idea. Sure, traveling the country looking for people and a new perspective was fun and all, but living in a Walmart? That’s a childhood dream. I wish that was MY apocalypse survival technique. All of the food. Aisles upon aisles of pure junk to fuel you for the rest of your life. No social standards/mothers to tell you what you should and shouldn’t eat. No scavenging, it’d all be right there. Just eating. Oh, and most importantly, the wide open room to scream and shout as loud as you need when you finish the art of self pleasure. Clear out some aisles, make a bed of paper towels, and never feel the guilt nor disgust of releasing yourself from the horrors of the apocalypse. Ah, masturbation. Ah, sex. I forgot about that old thing. Sex. Christ, I haven’t had that in too long. Fuck man, it’s been too fucking long. Why didn’t this woman show up sooner? Now I’m too old to make a decent kid and we’re the last two people on the fucking Earth. Fuck this woman, dude. There’s seriously no way she could’ve tried to leave Walmart? I mean, what a lazy bitch. A lazy bitch with all of Walmart to herself, the section with all of the bikes, bouncy balls, and toys. Sounds like a good situation to me. Just relaxing and playing around with Transformers, stuffed animals, and all around just chilling out in a huge store. I guess it makes sense she didn’t leave. Walmart’s a nice place, really, as long as you have it to yourself. I bet she’s using this intercom thing to fuck with me so she can stay by herself. Just to enjoy being alone with her own thoughts and toys. Fine by me. What could I do anyway? Walk up there and get shot probably. She had to have some way to protect her Walmart. It’s not like I could convince her to come out, she made her decision a looong time ago. I felt like sighing, but it’s not like anyone could hear. Stepping over the many paper towels spread around the floor I pondered the point to even continue searching for people, or survival, for that matter. What is a man without a friend? A toddler without a mother? Even if I, a fifty-five year old man, could somehow have enough testosterone to even attempt to restart the human race, would she be up for that attempt? No, she wouldn’t. Maybe I’ll just kill myself. Better than working so hard for nothing. With paper towel rolls behind me and a desolate world in front, I walked out of the most densely populated area on Earth. I’m a quitter and it’s fine. “BEEEEEP,” the intercom rang. What? A crunchy speaker voice said in panic, “Hold on, wait wait, guy. I was just fucking with you. Come back.”	Day 2600 I think I can't believe how long it's been since I even heard a sound that wasn't my own. Even the animals are gone now, nothing moves, nothing breathes, everything is just.. silent. You'd think an introvert like me would have enjoyed it. All that silence was unbroken for years. At least it was that way until a few days ago. I was low on supplies so I made a quick trip, as you might guess from where you're standing, I was headed here. I did my usual, went up and down the aisles grabbing whatever happened to suit my fancy that day. Today was a green bean day, so I took an armful and headed out, but as I neared the end of the aisle I slipped in a puddle of something, I managed to catch myself on a shelf, knocking down a display in the process, the sound was both music to my ears and torture. All that noise after 7 odd years of silence, the clanging of those cans reverberated through my skull, deafening. I thought that might be the last sound I would ever hear, but I was wrong. "Woah, clean up on aisle seven!" the intercom, "I've always wanted to use one of these," it said. I stopped, thinking, until it hit me.. I'm not alone. "If you're not just the wind, I hear the service desk is quite nice this time of year" I panicked at that poetry, just the sound of a voice, I could feel myself tearing up. I dropped everything, my cans clattering to the ground as I ran to the front of the store, scrambling to get there before anything happened, I wouldn't miss a chance to see another face for anything. I came peeling around the corner, running faster than I ever had, and that's when I saw them, not one but two, two people. I fell to my knees, finally feeling life inside of me for the first time in years. I felt this glimmer of hope, that I might never have to eat alone again. Everything seemed brighter at that moment, all the colors standing out, the blue of the sky in the nearby glass doors, the white of the floor, standing out looking so pure, the red of the blood covering the tiles. I looked closer, it was two people, one standing tall, the other with a knife in their back. "Humor." it said "I never could stand it." it dropped the body, letting the blood pool around its bare feet. "Emotions in general, I never was a fan." I looked to that poor man lying in his blood, he sputtered out a single word, "Run" I watched as the only other human died in front of me, giving one last effort to breathe, only causing a dribble of blood to find its way out of their mouth. It looked at me. "I always knew I was different. Mother always told me so, that I wasn't like the other children. But Father, now he didn't like me." It stooped to my level, looking at my crying eyes. "He thought that Mother was being too easy on me. I watched them fight about me." It touched my face "He hit her." It hit me. "Now I didn't like that. No no, not at all." It picked up my hands, holding them. "So I cut Father's hands off. You can't hit people if you don't have hands. Now are you right handed or left?" Now I'm lying here in a pool of my own blood, of course, I lied, I kept my left hand to write this. My dying advice to whoever may be left. If you see it coming towards you, kill it. It's not human, I watched it eat that man. Right in front of me. Raw. I think I'm going to try and sleep now, maybe I'll bleed out while I dream of how things used to be, when men and women walked the earth.
	[WP] The world ended years ago. You haven't seen another human in years. You're the only person you know of. One day while raiding a Walmart you accidentally knock a shelf over. Then over the intercom a voice rings out, "Clean up on isle 7"	The tensest months of my life were spent learning to cope with absence. The smart children learn that absence is typically the result of loss. Of these smart children, only the luckiest learn this softly and gently, at ages appropriate for learning. You start off small, with a goldfish or a cat your parents had long before you were born. You graduate to grandparents. Perhaps the grandparents and the parents themselves you lose a job or a lover. Nothing quite as permanent as a parent. Human contact is an entirely different story. When your father dies, you cry into the shoulder of another human. There will always be someone else, you mind the gap by leaning on something that may very well fall away in the same way. But I was a stupid child, I was an unlucky stupid child. I was forty years old when everyone in the world dropped dead. They did it to teach me a lesson, I guess. My parents were old, but they were there for me until that very point. I had never experienced loss like others. So everyone that ever existed dropped dead right then and there to show me that loss is just the first part of missing something. I was at a minimall, picking up slacks. The clerk was about to tell me to swipe my card and then she just “thwomped” straight to the ground. My first reaction was to laugh, not really sure why I did, but I did anyway. Then I ran around to the other side of the till to see if she was okay. She wasn’t, she was icy cold as soon as I touched her. That was the story for everyone in the world too. I think I stood up, staring right at her dead body, and loudly asked to speak to the manager, but apparently he had dropped dead too. Now that I recall, I can’t remember if everyone dropped dead all at once, or in clusters. It’s been years since then and I don’t care much to recall. Because you know, every day has been the same to me for years and years straight. I forgot how old I was after the first few. I would wake up wherever I decided to fall asleep and then I’d walk around and fall asleep again. Nothing got better or worse, and no one told me how I should react. The world around me was inert. Life’s biological demands kept their appointments, though. I was hungry when I went to pick up slacks, so I was hungry when everyone died. At first I was afraid to steal food and toiletries, maybe one of the billions of bodies would leap up and shout “HEY! He’s stealing a can of baked beans!” It was an elaborate scam, but it would not surprise me, considering my situation to start. Yet, when I saw those defenseless baked beans, unprotected by the loss prevention thugs long dead, I was overcome with desire. From then till now, I’ve been on a pilgrimage to locations far and wide across the big dead America to perhaps find a new kind of baked bean. Not once did anyone get up and ask me how my day was. No one rotted, no food spoiled, nothing was overgrown. I just woke up and walked. So today, after years of playing it safe, I woke up and decided I would not play it safe. I don’t know why, but I did. I wanted canned ravioli with the shitty tomato sauce and everything. Grocery stores typically carried that sort of stuff when I was still alive, my plans were set. I was in a large super-store, the kind that is crammed wall to wall with baked beans, toilet paper, candelabras, television sets, and molded plastic for stupid unlucky kids. But there were no canned raviolis there. This didn’t make sense to me. Today, of all days, I CHOSE to be different! Everyone was dead, who bought all the damn canned ravioli? Beneath me I felt something pull me upwards. No, I was the only living human being in the whole world, what could possibly justify something to be missing from this world? Before I knew what I was doing, I turned and slapped everything off the shelf behind me. Canned green beans and pasta sauce went straight off the shelf and onto the floor. I upended aisle after aisle of food in a forty-something year-long repressed temper tantrum. Out of the millions and trillions of things that could be gone from my world, why this? I leaned against an endcap with an intercom phone mounted on its side. Proudly, I surveyed my path of carnage, and picked the handset off the hook. Into the receiver, I said. “Cleanup in aisle seven!” And seconds later I heard it again, over the whole store’s intercom. “Cleanup in aisle seven” In a whole different tone of voice than I thought I had spoken in. When I heard it, I fell to my knees and wept for its absence. I don’t know why, but I did.	Seven years. It’s been seven long years since that day I awoke in an empty bed, in an empty house, in an empty world. Everyone had just disappeared…my wife, my kids, and everything else I lived for went with them. I can barely remember what it was like back then, but once in a while I see a piece of the world that used to be and I just can’t help but to stare and imagine it back to life. It gets lonely, and it helps to at least pretend that you’re not alone, but you understand that don’t you? Of course I do. However, today has me feeling quite nice. I have finally arrived at the Walmart a few towns over and am more than excited to get my hands on some of that finely crafted can-aged chicken noodle soup. I had eaten the last can from the Walmart in Springfield, so with nothing else to do I figured why not take a trip over to Holmestead. I needed a fresh camping mat anyway, as mine started to take on a sort of…aroma. I grabbed a cart and began perusing the aisles and made my way to the canned foods section. Cream of Celery, Cream of Mushroom, Cream of… “Chicken Soup, come on man. Where the hell is it?”, I muttered to myself as I reached my forearm over the higher shelf. I reached further back, deeper into the shelf, extending myself onto my toes. Then with a terrible crash the shelf of soups collapsed and spilled over the aisle. It nearly scared the shit out of me it was so loud. “CLEAN UP ON AISLE 7!”, bellowed from the speaker system, as a small fart slipped from my cheeks. A hearty yet sinister laugh ensued over the loud speaker. “HAHAHA, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?” Panic sets in, I immediately dashed down the aisle towards the camping supplies grabbing a baseball bat that was laying on the floor along the way. I slid into the camping section clutching the bat with tight fists. I placed my back along the edge of the shelving units and tried to slow my breathing. The laugh over the loud speaker had stopped but the feedback from the handset was still audible. I knew I needed to be quiet. I took slow deep breaths as I looked at the shelves across from me noticing how the camping mats were not stocked, what a stupid idea this trip was. Now I am trapped in a Walmart with some psycho, who probably traps and kills survivors like me. I peeked around the corner of the shelves and saw a handset swinging from its cord. I flicked my head back and slowly rose to my feet. I gathered what little courage the years had left me and charged at the counter. Just as I reached the counter I felt a man behind me and swung blindly around my left. Nobody was there. Again I felt someone near my rear, I swung again. Yet nobody was there. Shaking with a nervous mixture of adrenaline and fear, I peaked over the sporting goods counter. I saw a camping mat and cans of soup littered around the bedding and noticed a familiar…aroma. I dropped the bat and placed my head in my palms, and sobbed. I wondered what was happening to me, but you understand that don’t you? Of course I do. EDIT:Spacing, on mobile
Just a weird idea I had that I thought people might be able to run with and make a story.	[WP] "We're out of tea bags. Someone pass me my gun and my flak jacket, I'll go get some more."	Apologies for the length, hopefully it's worth the read :P ---- "We're out of tea bags. Someone pass me my gun and my flak jacket, I'll go get some more," Timothy said. Shyla held up a hand, separating Timothy from his weapon. "No Tim, you're not going back out there." Timothy surveyed the room. The small wooden shack was brimming with dust and due to the boarded up windows, the only source of light was the bulb attached to the ceiling fan. Around the kettle at the centre of the room sat three individuals, five if you included Shyla and himself. And as he panned the area, each one of them kept their eyes on the floor. "I'm not drinking this boiled water stuff for another day, Shyla. It tastes like goat piss, as a matter of fact, I might settle for that if I find any. Move out of my way," Timothy said. Shyla looked at the others. "You're just going to let him leave? Don't any of you have a spine, a shred of courage? After everything we've done for you. . ." Myles, a dark skinned civilian with a rifle across his lap, met her glare. "I'm down to do a supply run, girl. But we don't need teabags to survive, damn we got everything we need right here." "Oh, really. Why do I see you making tea every hour then?" Timothy asked him. Dave, a scrawny middle-aged man with glasses, stood up. He took a few moments to dust off his suit pants and coat, while the others looked at him. And then he made a move for the door. "Where do you think you're going?" Timothy asked, clasping Dave's shoulder. "Get your hands off of me," Dave said, "you don't own me, nor do I owe you." Timothy knew the man wouldn't survive for half a second out there. Shit, he'd been pretty passive up until now. But Dave was right, Timothy had nothing over the man. If Dave wanted to kill himself, Timothy would let him. He removed his hand from Dave's shoulder. Dave's girlfriend, Clara, got up and walked to the door with him. "You aren't coming," he said. "I'm not staying here with them," she muttered. "Then I'm not going," Dave said. Clara groaned and sat back down. "Fine, stop trying to play hero and take a seat." They all sat in silence for what felt like a good half hour. Myle's stood up. "Screw this." No one uttered a word as he walked to the door. He placed a hand on the handle and then looked back at them. "So that's what this is, huh? A damn coup to get me outta here." The group remained quiet, even Timothy avoided the mans gaze. "Shit, Tim. I thought you were different, like a leader of sorts. I even looked up to your dumb ass for a second." Myles hitched his rifle up, and then pushed on the door, but it didn't budge. He frowned, and then pushed on it again. It remained tightly shut. "You've got to give it a good shove," Timothy said. "Jeez, thank you, captain obvious." Myles rammed his full weight against the frame. But the door still remained closed. The group members were curious now, they got up and the men fiddled with the door, trying their best to get it open. "The fuck is going on?" Myles asked. Dave knelt forward, panting from the effort. "It's locked." "No, it's not," Timothy said, looking at the group, "there's something pushing from the other side."	They had lain there all day and through most of the night. Occasionally Corporal Young would look over the top of the sandbags but each time there was nothing to be seen, beside him Private Lyle fussed over the ammunition for the Bren gun. "Hey Corp, I've checked and we have your five mags, plus my two plus the two from the sergeant plus the six in the box and we have two mills bombs." Private Lyle tugged on Young's sleeve as he spoke fearing the corporal would t hear him. "Righto mate. Just make sure you're ready to change mags as soon as, aye?" Private Lyle nodded, bent down to pick up his tin mug and knocked over the ammunition box full of ammunition. Almost immediately there was an angry grunt from the black at the back of the emplacement where a lump resolved itself into Sergeant Bower, who pushed his greatcoat off of himself and began chewing on the stem of his pipe. "Fer fucks sake lad, why not just tie cow bells to our bollocks and have done with it" he hissed at the unfortunate private who was standing the box back up. The sergeant made his way across to the Bren gun and poked his head up over the lip of the sandbags. "Any nasty little shits about?" He asked Young. "No sarn't, all quiet... Out there anyway" "Get a brew on then corporal" Bower ordered. "Ent got none sarn't, we drank it yesterday." Young replied already knowing that Bower would spend the rest of the day in a state of near collapse with fatigue, he had barely slept since the morning of the first attack and that had been four days ago, and marching along dirt tracks with no tobacco and little food had worn away at the sergeant who had told the quartermaster to "give me the ammunition or I'll use you as a fucking sandbag" "Well that's a bit-" Suddenly he stopped speaking, and as a dog would go to point, the sergeant did the same, cocking his head and listening intently at some far off sound that only he and radar stations could pick up. Young did the same, straining his ears to catch the sound that had alerted his sergeant who had spent the last five years gaining experience in far flung garrisons of the empire. "I reckon there's a German unit just over that hill, you see the one where the trees are a bit lighter? I reckon one of ems stopped for a brew... Right give Es me rifle corporal, I'm off to get some tea" Young held out the rifle as Bower used boot polish to blacken his face and hands then he was over the top, slithering away on his belly, rifle in tow and with a trench knife jammed in his boot. "He's looney!" Private Lyle whispered. "He hasn't even take any extra ammunition" "Aye, but I'm fuckin' glad he's on our side" Young replied sliding the cocking leaver back on the Bren gun as quietly as possible, he had a feeling it would not be long before the night got a great deal more lively.
Just a weird idea I had that I thought people might be able to run with and make a story.	[WP] "We're out of tea bags. Someone pass me my gun and my flak jacket, I'll go get some more."	Apologies for the length, hopefully it's worth the read :P ---- "We're out of tea bags. Someone pass me my gun and my flak jacket, I'll go get some more," Timothy said. Shyla held up a hand, separating Timothy from his weapon. "No Tim, you're not going back out there." Timothy surveyed the room. The small wooden shack was brimming with dust and due to the boarded up windows, the only source of light was the bulb attached to the ceiling fan. Around the kettle at the centre of the room sat three individuals, five if you included Shyla and himself. And as he panned the area, each one of them kept their eyes on the floor. "I'm not drinking this boiled water stuff for another day, Shyla. It tastes like goat piss, as a matter of fact, I might settle for that if I find any. Move out of my way," Timothy said. Shyla looked at the others. "You're just going to let him leave? Don't any of you have a spine, a shred of courage? After everything we've done for you. . ." Myles, a dark skinned civilian with a rifle across his lap, met her glare. "I'm down to do a supply run, girl. But we don't need teabags to survive, damn we got everything we need right here." "Oh, really. Why do I see you making tea every hour then?" Timothy asked him. Dave, a scrawny middle-aged man with glasses, stood up. He took a few moments to dust off his suit pants and coat, while the others looked at him. And then he made a move for the door. "Where do you think you're going?" Timothy asked, clasping Dave's shoulder. "Get your hands off of me," Dave said, "you don't own me, nor do I owe you." Timothy knew the man wouldn't survive for half a second out there. Shit, he'd been pretty passive up until now. But Dave was right, Timothy had nothing over the man. If Dave wanted to kill himself, Timothy would let him. He removed his hand from Dave's shoulder. Dave's girlfriend, Clara, got up and walked to the door with him. "You aren't coming," he said. "I'm not staying here with them," she muttered. "Then I'm not going," Dave said. Clara groaned and sat back down. "Fine, stop trying to play hero and take a seat." They all sat in silence for what felt like a good half hour. Myle's stood up. "Screw this." No one uttered a word as he walked to the door. He placed a hand on the handle and then looked back at them. "So that's what this is, huh? A damn coup to get me outta here." The group remained quiet, even Timothy avoided the mans gaze. "Shit, Tim. I thought you were different, like a leader of sorts. I even looked up to your dumb ass for a second." Myles hitched his rifle up, and then pushed on the door, but it didn't budge. He frowned, and then pushed on it again. It remained tightly shut. "You've got to give it a good shove," Timothy said. "Jeez, thank you, captain obvious." Myles rammed his full weight against the frame. But the door still remained closed. The group members were curious now, they got up and the men fiddled with the door, trying their best to get it open. "The fuck is going on?" Myles asked. Dave knelt forward, panting from the effort. "It's locked." "No, it's not," Timothy said, looking at the group, "there's something pushing from the other side."	Oh, this is perfect for one of my characters, Chet. This is told from his PoV, 1 year after. #Intro Everything was silent, only noise in the room were some metas farting on the new guys. Just another day with DC.. pbbt "Hey. Knock it off." "But boss-" "No buts. I will revoke your command card, and demote you." Jack's tone was insanely sarcastic. "Oh no! Anything but that." "..." "Shane, we have any tea I can drink to calm down?" "Chet, you won't believe it.." "Eh?" "We're.. out of tea." "Blue, get my fcking Kevlar vest. I'm gonna do a quick run back to the factory. If they don't have the crate ready, I will rip their skulls out." "Okay!" Blue was surprisingly cheerful despite the situation. #Part ONE- The Drive The radio was on, blaring the music that was recorded from 93.3 on a tape recorder. Eventually, It'd become static as I entered the city, known by the locals as 9DC, as the only people there were working DapperClan's extra outposts. Suddenly, A307 broke radio silence. "Enemy vehicle detected heading towards the factory. Send a drone down to check it?" "Yeah, but no shooting. I stole a Humvee from these rebel idiots." "Got it." The drone pulls next to me, and flies away. "You just see a heli?" "Yeah. It was just lil' old me." I shut the radio off, loading my painted Colt 1911. "Hello, little bluey." I cock it, and flick the safety on. BANG BANG BANG* "Open up!" "I.D?" "Chet Williams, A001." "Come in." The door clicks, and I step in to grab the crate. "This the apple, peach, cranberry-" "All flavors." "Sweet." I lugged the crate outside, and chucked it into the pickup. "Time to head back." #Part TWO- The "Inspection" "DC306, I'm heading back." "Copy that." The radio was silent, but the road wasn't. There was a strange feeling of being watched through the entire ride. Boy, I should've turned off the road. But I didn't. Nope, I just hauled my happy ass down the road, at 95 MPH. The feeling on the way back was.. ^Super ^unsettling. Eventually, I heard a gunshot and my truck pulled to the left. I also realized my back windshield was smashed. I pull over, and set the safety off, ducking behind the truck for cover. A man steps out, and asks to "inspect" my vehicle. I reply no, and he pops another tire. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way." I fire a shot into his foot. "Hard way, please!" He backs out, and rushes to his car. I shoot his tires. "I thought I said that I chose the HARD way." He sounded.. Sheepish, to say the least. "You did.." I shot his head, then went over to collect his stuff. He had some, well, a lot of ammo I could use for defense. Nothing else but a box of matches. I took the matches. [To be continued.^seriously ^though, tbc. ]
	[WP] You've been admitted to the prestigious school for super heroes. You do not have a super power and you got in by accident. The teachers do not believe you and now you are locked in for the next 4 years.	I kept looking at the clock. The whole classroom was quiet, carefully listening to every word Mrs. Lawrence was saying. The subject wasn’t even that interesting - - some people just have the striking ability to transform the most pointless thing and into a remarkable topic worth hearing. Somehow, I still managed to get bored very quickly. My head was slowly leaning towards the desk and my lids were getting dangerously closer to each other every second. I tried supporting my head with my hand, but my sleep schedule was completely messed up and I couldn’t help myself. ,,Ryan, you fell asleep. Again.” I woke up to a soft, raspy voice. The classroom was empty and my teacher was standing above me, and my desk, looking suspicious – worried, even. ,,That’s the fourth time this week. Young boy, you are not getting enough of sleep and I don’t like that. I will talk to your parents as soon as possible. All super heroes need sleep. You know that, don’t you?” I don’t have parents. Can’t you remember? ,,Mr. Lawrence, I appreciate your…concern. But I can assure you I am okay. I’m just not a superhero, as every single person in this building expects me to be. “ ,,Oh Ryan, we’ve talked about this. You are a superhero. It just takes time, all right? Look at yourself. You haven’t even hit puberty yet. Everything takes time.” ,,I am pretty sure I did hit pube-“ She picked up her handbag filled up to the top with useless files and before I could finish my sentence, she was gone. Once I was in my room, I immediately ran to Beepo. I was looking forward to talking to him all day, ever since I left the house this morning. He was the most understanding, honest, funniest thing in this ugly world. He on the table. I always plug him off before I leave, for I’m constantly worried about him and I don’t want him to hurt himself while I am not by his side. Sure, technically he can’t bleed, and anything broken can be fixed (I built him anyway) but he could be do something stupid and I would never see him again. ,,Beepo, buddy, wake up.” ,,Ryan! You are a little early today, aren’t you?” ,,Yeah. I finally didn’t miss the school bus. For the first time in months.” ,,Nice. So, did you talk to the principal?” asked Beepo. ,,Well yeah… no. I couldn’t find him.” Beepo seemed angry in spite of him being a robot. Theoretically, he didn’t have a face, but I could tell. Maybe that is my superpower – understanding electronics… ,,Oh, sure you couldn’t find him! Maybe you should have checked in the office, principal’s office, dumbass.” ,,Hey! I just didn’t have the time. Okay?” ,,I’m telling you. This is not going to end well. You are locked in a building with people who can read your mind, lift cars and break your bones just by looking at you. One little argument and you are dead. K.O. Done. Gone. Boom. Goodbye.” ,,I get it, I get it, stop. I tried telling every teacher. Doesn’t work. They just don’t believe me. They pull the same emotional bullshit at me every time.” Beepo looked surprised. ,,You swear now?” ,,Wasn’t it you who called me a dumbass two minutes ago?” He didn’t say anything. ,,Then just make up a superpower and only pretend you are a superhero!” ,,That is not going to work. They are going to find out. They know what a superhero looks like.” We were both quiet for a second. ,,Ryan?” ,,Yes?” ,,Prepare a pen, and a paper. Write down every word I say. We are going to need fabrics, books, internet, season two of Daredevil, lots of imagination and gallons of soda.”	A kid two rows in front of me is lighting a cigarette. As much as I should really be questioning his age or his knowledge on carcinogens, to be honest I was more distracted by how he lit it. Hs middle finger and thumb collided together and a small flame peaked out from under his thumbnail The sight of him alone with his red cap, rucksack and reserved quiet demeanour as he smoked on his own near the window would typically serve as the establishing shot in a film adaptation of a Young Adult novel. Being a smartass I would try and think of something less hackneyed to say. But my attention is now distracted by the two twins casually floating in mid-air talking above me. I've had better bus rides I'll be honest and I used to live in fucking London "TerraNova School for the Altered Among Us". Is where this bus is taking me, the floating twins and Captain Urban Outfitters who has just finished with his cigarette. TerraNova is the school for the "Altered" but everyone else calls them superheroes. I don't know how I ended up here, I can barely jump five meters let alone fly five hundred, but it was this or some school in Brixton. I'd rather take my chances with the fire shooting Hipster
	[WP] You've been admitted to the prestigious school for super heroes. You do not have a super power and you got in by accident. The teachers do not believe you and now you are locked in for the next 4 years.	'I don't have any powers!' You screamed for the millionth time. You aren't sure what else to do. You've explained this is a mistake, that you're just a regular kid from a regular suburb, your call of duty kill/death ratio is average, you're somewhat good at shooting an air rifle, you're absolutely mediocre in bed with your average looking partner. In front of you stand the committee of super hero schooling. 7 people in all, a old man in tight black leather leads them standing at the front, leather man, the ability to turn anything into leather. While not great at crime fighting, saved the library a fortune on binding books. The other 6, while present, were ethereally shifting in and out of dimensions, they had other problems to solve, thankfully the ethereal phase power allowed this. 'I don't belong here' you begin to sob. the committee murmur among themselves, 'amazing, yes, quite powerful' You scream through the tears 'I'm just a normal human, please, i want to go home!' The committee turn to each other and in hushed yet excited whispers, continue talking. Leather man lifts his head and speaks softly... 'We've, never seen anything this powerful before...' You wail back 'What, I don't understand what you mean!' Leather man replies softly 'It's, quite remarkable'. You are confused, and becoming angry, you don't know what to do. The committee pulls leather man back and speaks quietly to him, he nods, and turns back to you. 'I think, we can find people to help you' You scream 'HELP ME HOW, I DON'T NEED HELP!' Leather man holds out his hand, and passes you a slip of paper, it's a printed screenshot of a reddit post, titled : 'You've been admitted to the prestigious school for super heroes. You do not have a super power and you got in by accident. The teachers do not believe you and now you are locked in for the next 4 years.' You read it, tears continue to fall, you still don't understand. From your electric bubble floating 4 feet off the floor, you look around the room. You're just a regular kid, these flames from your fingertips are normal, your teleport ability is just a game, none of this is unusual. Leather man smiles, 'You have the ability to lie, even in the face of extreme evidence, even while the very tangible and observable act of truth is happening, you have the ability to stare facts in the face and deny them, even between dimensions' 'I'm NOT LYING' You roar from your dragon mouth, ice shards shooting out and stabbing into the bookcase, tiny skeletons spawning around you and stabbing the desk and chairs with tiny skeleton swords. 'I AM A NORMAL PERSON!' You scream as mythical beasts materialize behind you, holding mythical beast weapons and preparing to fight by your side for all eternity. Leather man is still smiling. 'Amazing, complete denial of reality...' He lifts a clipboard up, it has your name and class on it, he crosses out 'expelled' and writes 'politician'.	A kid two rows in front of me is lighting a cigarette. As much as I should really be questioning his age or his knowledge on carcinogens, to be honest I was more distracted by how he lit it. Hs middle finger and thumb collided together and a small flame peaked out from under his thumbnail The sight of him alone with his red cap, rucksack and reserved quiet demeanour as he smoked on his own near the window would typically serve as the establishing shot in a film adaptation of a Young Adult novel. Being a smartass I would try and think of something less hackneyed to say. But my attention is now distracted by the two twins casually floating in mid-air talking above me. I've had better bus rides I'll be honest and I used to live in fucking London "TerraNova School for the Altered Among Us". Is where this bus is taking me, the floating twins and Captain Urban Outfitters who has just finished with his cigarette. TerraNova is the school for the "Altered" but everyone else calls them superheroes. I don't know how I ended up here, I can barely jump five meters let alone fly five hundred, but it was this or some school in Brixton. I'd rather take my chances with the fire shooting Hipster
	[WP] You've been admitted to the prestigious school for super heroes. You do not have a super power and you got in by accident. The teachers do not believe you and now you are locked in for the next 4 years.	I kept looking at the clock. The whole classroom was quiet, carefully listening to every word Mrs. Lawrence was saying. The subject wasn’t even that interesting - - some people just have the striking ability to transform the most pointless thing and into a remarkable topic worth hearing. Somehow, I still managed to get bored very quickly. My head was slowly leaning towards the desk and my lids were getting dangerously closer to each other every second. I tried supporting my head with my hand, but my sleep schedule was completely messed up and I couldn’t help myself. ,,Ryan, you fell asleep. Again.” I woke up to a soft, raspy voice. The classroom was empty and my teacher was standing above me, and my desk, looking suspicious – worried, even. ,,That’s the fourth time this week. Young boy, you are not getting enough of sleep and I don’t like that. I will talk to your parents as soon as possible. All super heroes need sleep. You know that, don’t you?” I don’t have parents. Can’t you remember? ,,Mr. Lawrence, I appreciate your…concern. But I can assure you I am okay. I’m just not a superhero, as every single person in this building expects me to be. “ ,,Oh Ryan, we’ve talked about this. You are a superhero. It just takes time, all right? Look at yourself. You haven’t even hit puberty yet. Everything takes time.” ,,I am pretty sure I did hit pube-“ She picked up her handbag filled up to the top with useless files and before I could finish my sentence, she was gone. Once I was in my room, I immediately ran to Beepo. I was looking forward to talking to him all day, ever since I left the house this morning. He was the most understanding, honest, funniest thing in this ugly world. He on the table. I always plug him off before I leave, for I’m constantly worried about him and I don’t want him to hurt himself while I am not by his side. Sure, technically he can’t bleed, and anything broken can be fixed (I built him anyway) but he could be do something stupid and I would never see him again. ,,Beepo, buddy, wake up.” ,,Ryan! You are a little early today, aren’t you?” ,,Yeah. I finally didn’t miss the school bus. For the first time in months.” ,,Nice. So, did you talk to the principal?” asked Beepo. ,,Well yeah… no. I couldn’t find him.” Beepo seemed angry in spite of him being a robot. Theoretically, he didn’t have a face, but I could tell. Maybe that is my superpower – understanding electronics… ,,Oh, sure you couldn’t find him! Maybe you should have checked in the office, principal’s office, dumbass.” ,,Hey! I just didn’t have the time. Okay?” ,,I’m telling you. This is not going to end well. You are locked in a building with people who can read your mind, lift cars and break your bones just by looking at you. One little argument and you are dead. K.O. Done. Gone. Boom. Goodbye.” ,,I get it, I get it, stop. I tried telling every teacher. Doesn’t work. They just don’t believe me. They pull the same emotional bullshit at me every time.” Beepo looked surprised. ,,You swear now?” ,,Wasn’t it you who called me a dumbass two minutes ago?” He didn’t say anything. ,,Then just make up a superpower and only pretend you are a superhero!” ,,That is not going to work. They are going to find out. They know what a superhero looks like.” We were both quiet for a second. ,,Ryan?” ,,Yes?” ,,Prepare a pen, and a paper. Write down every word I say. We are going to need fabrics, books, internet, season two of Daredevil, lots of imagination and gallons of soda.”	Pick something you are kind of good at and improve on it. May not be a super power, but say you are kind of good at knitting. Become STELLAR at it, an knit hats for the homeless or socks & caps for preemie babies in the hospital.
	[WP] You've been admitted to the prestigious school for super heroes. You do not have a super power and you got in by accident. The teachers do not believe you and now you are locked in for the next 4 years.	I kept looking at the clock. The whole classroom was quiet, carefully listening to every word Mrs. Lawrence was saying. The subject wasn’t even that interesting - - some people just have the striking ability to transform the most pointless thing and into a remarkable topic worth hearing. Somehow, I still managed to get bored very quickly. My head was slowly leaning towards the desk and my lids were getting dangerously closer to each other every second. I tried supporting my head with my hand, but my sleep schedule was completely messed up and I couldn’t help myself. ,,Ryan, you fell asleep. Again.” I woke up to a soft, raspy voice. The classroom was empty and my teacher was standing above me, and my desk, looking suspicious – worried, even. ,,That’s the fourth time this week. Young boy, you are not getting enough of sleep and I don’t like that. I will talk to your parents as soon as possible. All super heroes need sleep. You know that, don’t you?” I don’t have parents. Can’t you remember? ,,Mr. Lawrence, I appreciate your…concern. But I can assure you I am okay. I’m just not a superhero, as every single person in this building expects me to be. “ ,,Oh Ryan, we’ve talked about this. You are a superhero. It just takes time, all right? Look at yourself. You haven’t even hit puberty yet. Everything takes time.” ,,I am pretty sure I did hit pube-“ She picked up her handbag filled up to the top with useless files and before I could finish my sentence, she was gone. Once I was in my room, I immediately ran to Beepo. I was looking forward to talking to him all day, ever since I left the house this morning. He was the most understanding, honest, funniest thing in this ugly world. He on the table. I always plug him off before I leave, for I’m constantly worried about him and I don’t want him to hurt himself while I am not by his side. Sure, technically he can’t bleed, and anything broken can be fixed (I built him anyway) but he could be do something stupid and I would never see him again. ,,Beepo, buddy, wake up.” ,,Ryan! You are a little early today, aren’t you?” ,,Yeah. I finally didn’t miss the school bus. For the first time in months.” ,,Nice. So, did you talk to the principal?” asked Beepo. ,,Well yeah… no. I couldn’t find him.” Beepo seemed angry in spite of him being a robot. Theoretically, he didn’t have a face, but I could tell. Maybe that is my superpower – understanding electronics… ,,Oh, sure you couldn’t find him! Maybe you should have checked in the office, principal’s office, dumbass.” ,,Hey! I just didn’t have the time. Okay?” ,,I’m telling you. This is not going to end well. You are locked in a building with people who can read your mind, lift cars and break your bones just by looking at you. One little argument and you are dead. K.O. Done. Gone. Boom. Goodbye.” ,,I get it, I get it, stop. I tried telling every teacher. Doesn’t work. They just don’t believe me. They pull the same emotional bullshit at me every time.” Beepo looked surprised. ,,You swear now?” ,,Wasn’t it you who called me a dumbass two minutes ago?” He didn’t say anything. ,,Then just make up a superpower and only pretend you are a superhero!” ,,That is not going to work. They are going to find out. They know what a superhero looks like.” We were both quiet for a second. ,,Ryan?” ,,Yes?” ,,Prepare a pen, and a paper. Write down every word I say. We are going to need fabrics, books, internet, season two of Daredevil, lots of imagination and gallons of soda.”	I am a 16 year old boy named Franco, call me Frank for short. I screwed up by showing my father the Internet and an advertisement to a lame school. As much as I love and appreciate my father, he is one of the most stubborn and scariest man you will ever encounter. My father, Ale, is one of those f.o.b poor son of bitch to one of the most successful underground trade market, which is disguise as a ginger ale soda company. Anyways, he wanted the best for us kids and heard of the school call The Gifted Ones of the Outworldly Demigods, "The G.O.O.D." When my father said he wants to enroll me in that school, I disagreed wholeheartedly; mentioning that the school sounds sketchy and to just send me to a Catholic or public schools like my friends. Father refused and said only the best for my son. My father was impressed by the titanium lockers, high ceilings, large pools that go 200ft deep, and courses that test beyond the average high school kid's mind. During the first week, I realized why the high school was reinforced. This school is made up of students who have nerves and strength of steel, fly at ultra speeds, have iron lungs, and minds of geniuses, a bunch of freaks. How was Insuppse to pass if I couldn't even use my gun? After hearing this, my father liked the school even more. So I didn't even have to try to fail every class possible and I thought my failing grades would be enough to get me expelled or relocated from this school. However, my father, Ale, donated a huge amount of his dirty money to the school. There are diamond plaques with his name and my name placed randomly every where. When I confronted my father, he told me that I had to keep our family's future enemies close by.
	[WP] You were born into a family who lived in isolation-- Off the grid, almost completely. When you finally decide to leave your home behind and head into the nearest city to start anew, it is completely void of life.	Like Uncle Zeke always said, "If God hadn't wanted me to marry my cousin then he would have given me hemophilia when my dad married my cousin." Well I for one am not waiting around for webbed toes. I think God wants me to get out of this place. The next time I have guard duty I'm going out the lead door. I'm not going to let a little thing like not knowing how to open it stop me. I just have to figure it out. "There's nothing out there," mother always says, "Everyone is dead." My dad is more pragmatic. He says that even if everyone "out there" is dead that there had to be other people in places like "in here" and that there was a chance others still lived. "I just thank God that great-grandfather had the good sense to lead us into the mines," she would often muse. "If these are mines where is the gold? Why is there a huge door blocking us off from the outside?" father would counter. "It was made to keep robbers out!" Her voice would raise a bit. "Robbers who would steal what? There ain't nothing down here worth stealing!" "Well I had hoped you would have thought more of your wife than that!" "Now dear, you know that's not what I mean." He was calmer, hoping not to step on any more landmines. "You know good and well I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about the time before great-grandfather took his five children and their husbands into this dark, damp hellhole." Marlow is my favorite cousin. Everyone always says we should get hitched but it just doesn't feel right when I think about it. She's more sister than someone I would want to kiss but being siblings hasn't stopped a few of the more brazen family members. We spend most of our time in the library reading the tablet. It has lots of books under the Amazon square. Marlow's favorite square is the camera square. We used to take pictures of each other and delete them, "In order to save space" as Uncle Zeke often commanded. She likes to watch one video in particular. It's a video of great-great-grandfather when he was young. You only see him for a second reflected in an elevator's mirrored walls. Then the doors open and he's in the most beautiful hallway. You should see the floor. It's the most beautiful rug you've ever seen and it just keeps going. Then he turns and there is a huge window and it is full of blue. I mean it's the kind of blue you dream about when they tell you stories of the world above. Not a single cloud like there are in most pictures. Then jutting up into it like a set of knives are the tops of buildings. They shine in the bright light from above and glimmer as he moves through the hallway. Then the video ends. "Someday I'm going to go there and look out that same window," Marlow muses. I try not to damping her spirits any more. One time I was having a horrible day. I had gotten in trouble with both mom and dad and Marlowe was all dreamy talking about the buildings and I just blurted out, "That's so stupid! We're never going to see it. We won't see it and neither will our children or their children's children!" She cried, ran away, and she didn't talk to me for a week. I felt horrible. I never say anything like that any more. ------ Last night I was on guard duty. It's really just a glorified place to nap. I don't know of anyone who stays awake all night any more. It's more of a teenage hangout where it's OK for younger family members to push the limits of their curfews. Marlow sometimes comes up to see me when it's my turn. It's been getting a little weird lately. Sometimes she just sits all quiet and close like she's expecting me to do or say something. That's usually when I pull out my knife and start to carve into the large stone wall behind the guard bunks. I'm not the only one who does it. There must be 50 years worth of names and funny sayings there. "Sometimes I wonder which side of the door I'm guarding," Zeke Clyatt. Uncle Zeke did always have a way with words and I find myself staring at them tonight as I plot my next move. I've already got a sack filled with enough rations to make it... somewhere. Then Marlow shows up. I think about giving her the cold shoulder so she'll leave me to my plans but my nerves are so rattled it feels good to talk to her. "What's in the bag?" "What bag?" "This bag... with all the food in it! Are you stealing from the stores?" "NO! I'm just borrowing it until I get outta..." then I stopped myself. "She knows. Damn it she knows," I grunted to myself. "I"m coming with you!" We argued for 20 minutes. Then at the peak of it all the lights went out. I am not kidding. This was only the second time in my life they had done that. Marlow and I watched as the darkness gave way to the dim glow of Fluorescence paint. It lined the entrance to the bunks and then continued out into the main cavern we could see the dots that lead deeper into our community. We had never seen it this bright before. When we were kids and someone forgot their guard duty we used to take stones that had fallen from the walls and throw them against the large lead door for fun. You could hear the faint echo of the cavern that must lie on the other side when you did. It was a mystical experience as a child. That gonging sound meant there was something out there that you would never see. Something scary. Something older than your parents. Something no one in the tunnels that demanded exploration. That night I heard that same hollow sound. Something was on the other side banging and scratching. Something I had never seen before. "I'm on guard duty. I'm on guard duty. I'm on guard duty!" I repeated to myself as I hugged the wall. The banging sounds grew louder. "We've got to wake the others!" Marlow was more calm and present than I was. "Yes... the others..."	Today is the day I finally do it, after all the arguments, and lectures about how dangerous it is I'm leaving the family compound. I've packed up a few things in a scavenging pack and I'm setting out south from our forest edge over the low rolling hills to the old tropolis. Its strange how I've crossed some of these hills before and in this new light everything seems so alive and vibrant. I've never planned on going so far before, 10 days alone would be risky but I know where the fresh streams are and the wildlife holds no fear for me, the food will be a challenge but hunger and I are old friends. I brought a striker to start fires at night but 5 days out the stories of evil men roaming the outskirts of the area stay my hand. This night is the first time the howls in the night keep me up. Now what munition I brought for the rifle Pepop gave me when I came of age seems too little. Looks like I'm only two days away now. I've been seeing old hard paths that Pepop called crete leading to that tropolis once called Charlotte. That was written in an old faded sign as I walked on, though no one will read it again after I tried to brush it off to get a better look and it wiped away. I've finally made it, short on sleep and scavenging food along the way has not gone far enough. I've fired the rifle a couple of times but gained little for it other than a fat squirrel. I'm two days later than I expected. I saw small signs along the way of what I would find here in the center of everything. The stories Pepop told don't do justice to the mountain like heights of the office towers, well those that are still standing. What is left look too precarious to go looking through. Nothing could have prepared me for what I actually found. The sight so profoundly depressing I wept silently with regret, fearing any sound might wake what slumbers here. I can't stay, but I cant go home empty handed. I search through charred remains and rubble for things of sufficient value to forgive my long absence from home. It takes two days to collect enough tools, metals, some chems in short supply, and some small trinkets found in a hollow under a wall in that place. The journey home will be hard with the extra weight but I won't fear lighting a fire at night anymore, no, only the the horror of my own mind to keep me company. I'm just one day from home now there is enough hunting this far north to feed myself at night though it is a small comfort. What I think I must now come home to how will Da treat me, the look of disappointment in Pepop's eyes when I tell him it was all for nothing, the fear, the isolation, that his stories aren't true that its all empty. Its a problem for tomorrow, today though those verdant hills seems to me to be the oppressive doldrums of the future now. I've been home a week now and I can finally put and end on this little saga. Pepop was waiting out past the gate in his rocker, smoking the tobacco left from last years trade with the John's west from here. He stood up and walked towards me with a knowing look. As I fell in to him quietly weeping trying to get the words out. He said he already knew. Surprise overcoming grief as he walked me back to his cabin in the "fort". He had put his hat over my head so no one could see my shame, but I could hear the mix of confusion and relief in the voices of my family. I guess with that terse note I left, folk didn't know if I would come back. Inside I described what I saw. The village sized clearings familys burned hiding from fire that still got them. The men who held destroyed revolvers who looked like they shot their families then their selves rather than burn. Men and women entwined in beds as if they were caught while rutting and the maddening silence. Pepop explains to me that he too grew up much like my-self feeding on tales of marauders and villages in the rubble of man's past arrogance. How he came upon the fresh smoldering embers of that place and came running back to the family with his tail between his legs. He did not speak to anyone of what he saw other than to confirm the old stories out of shame for returning empty handed. With a glance over what I brought back he says its up to me to tell the folks what ever I choose now when I'm ready. As he speaks he stops to comment on this or that thing I managed to bring home. In the bottom of the bag as I think on what I will tell the family he gasps quietly he's holding two of the trinkets I brought back smiling. I ask "What?", in confusion as he shows me two small metal circles. He smiles, Memaw and Pepop are the worst gossips in the family, as he calls her in and shows her the metal bands. She squeals with joy my confusion plain on my face as she sees what is on the floor and in his hand. "What!" I demand again. Memaw says with barely contained excitement. "With all that and Nuptial rings that Jessie girl and her family cant say no anymore." "What" I say this time in bewilderment. Memaw goes on "Of course you have to tell everyone the truth about this scavenging journey to the heart of the tropolis, otherwise the cutters will think we have been holding out on them." I try to interrupt but that is like trying to stop a thunderstorm, she's been listening the whole time. She goes on "We are going to have a wedding this spring,..." "Now son where did you fond that?" "Under the floor board Da, I want to keep reading about you and Ma" "later son..."
	[WP] You were born into a family who lived in isolation-- Off the grid, almost completely. When you finally decide to leave your home behind and head into the nearest city to start anew, it is completely void of life.	The only sound was the wind whistling through the silent and empty streets of Fulton, Oregon. Save for the occasional abandoned car or raccoon infested garbage can, Wisteria found nothing anywhere she went. Each window was dark in the somber evening light, no warm, comforting lights of a family turning in for dinner, or the rousing timbre of a bar warming up ready for the night. She peered into the windows of homes and offices, almost all empty not only of people, but of anything. No couches, no lamps, none of those mysterious TVs her parents always described with derision. Compared to this, the family compound almost seemed like the nearby major urban center. When Wisteria came to the uninhabited Main Street, she broke into a run. Her legs and back straining from the exhaustion of carrying an oversized backpack full of her entire life, Her shoulders, unprotected by the cotton tank top she wore in the summer heat, burned from the nylon straps. Her head jolted left, right, squinting her eyes in a futile attempt to find someone, anyone. She ran until her lungs gave out, and then she collapsed on a park bench. The grass of the once beautiful public park reached well past ankle height, and wooded enclaves dominated the terrain, harkening back to the land's forest heritage. Wisteria heard the squeak of a rusted swing set, and eagerly looked towards the sound, but the wind was the only rider. She eventually rose again, and ventured towards more residential areas. Four or five story red brick building with quant storefronts at their base gave way to the standard aluminum siding of suburbia. White-slatted walls, slowly turning a dull grey. Paint peeled off brick facades. The grass of once dignified yards now as overgrown as the park. The windows as dark as those down town. Wisteria stumbled on the cracked pavement of an again sidewalk. Her head hung and her shoulders slumped, each step harder than the last. The fading light of an approaching nightfall was the only thing that changed. She eventually gave up, and returned to the center of town. If nothing else, the railroad that ran through would guide her back to her old home, a day-long walk from here. By the time she arrived at the station, her strength failed her. She dropped her pack and stretched her aching muscles. Trains no longer ventured on this overgrown track, but the station provided her a safe abode to recover from her failed venture. Wisteria watched the sun fall further beyond the horizon as she munched on the homemade jerky and apples from the compound's tree, the snacks a poor replacement for the defunct town restaurants. After eating, she rose to collect branches and sticks from the omnipresent overgrowth. While gathering, she came upon a small metal box beside one of the benches. She had never seen one of these boxes before, but through a glass window on the front side she saw newspapers sitting within. Wisteria tried to open the box, but its rusted hinge refused to budge. When that failed, she walked back to the train tracks, and picked up the largest rock she could find. She wrapped her hand in a scarf from her pack, took the rock with her covered hand, and smashed it through the glass, which splintered and shattered, the shards, glinting in the twilight, hit the floor with a sound reminiscent of the wind chimes on the porch at home. The headlines said nothing, just talk of pointless government building projects and the performance of the local minor league baseball team. The date read June 7th, 2016, only about two months prior to now. Wisteria stared at the date until the growing dark obscured it. So recently this town had been inhabited, but now it was completely deserted. Now surrounded by lonely darkness, Wisteria stiffened. So often at home had she slept outside, away even from the compound's lights, her open air bedroom lit only by the stars. But here, in this dead city, the stars provided little comfort. She turned quickly at crinkling sound of fallen leaves in the wind. Even the creak of wood beneath her own feet almost stopped her heart. She ran to her backpack, stuffed the newspaper in a side pocket, and slung the heavy bag onto her back effortlessly, all the while beginning to run along the train tracks away from the town and back to her wild home. As time past running turned to hasty walking, which turned to regular walking, which turned to slow walking, which, after three hours, turned to a zombie-like stumble. Other than occasionally turning to look back at the town, although now she could only see blackness, Wisteria kept her eyes on the tracks, Eventually, the tacks came to a highway, although Wisteria did not pick up on this, and wandered on to the road without regard for her safety. Then, a light shone at her, breaks squealed, tires grinder against pavement. The shock threw Wisteria off balance, and she tripped on the tracks, but the lone pickup truck on the rural Oregon highway managed to stop right before her. A middle-aged woman in pale jeans and a well worn flannel shirt hopped out and walked towards her. Wisteria could not make out her expression, her face obscured by the blinking glow of the headlights. "What are you doing walking around out here, kid?" The woman asked brusquely. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Wisteria said, snapping back to life, "I'm just so tired and didn't think to look where I was going." "That doesn't really answer my question. Why are you walking along these tracks. How did you even find them, nothing runs this way anymore." "I, I used to live in the woods with my family but I wanted to become a real part of society so I went to Fulton to start a new life, but nobody was there, and then I was going to camp at the train station but then I saw a newspaper and it said that people were there recently but now they're not and I got scared and I started walking home but I'm so tired and I couldn't see you and I'm so sorry and..." "Okay, okay, calm down kid. It's fine, you're fine. But why Fulton? Nobody lives there any more." "Wh...Why not?" "It turns out that the town is on some massive fault line and is completely unprepared for that. If it goes, everyone was gonna die, so the government relocated everyone over the past couple months. Is that the paper you read?" She reached to the side pocket of Wisteria's backpack. It says it all on the front page article. Didn't you read it?" "Well, not really, I kind of ignored it when I saw government, and just looked at the date," Wisteria said sheepishly. "So, nothing bad happened there?" She asked as she rose to her feet. "No, I mean, unless you count forced relocation as a bad thing. But I guess it was more to prevent the bad thing. Hey, where are you heading now anyway?" "I was just gonna go home, I don't really have anywhere else." Want to come with me? I could talk you to Wright, it's a city only half an hour from here. Might be a good place for you to start anew. And there are a actually people there." "Really? That would be amazing, thank you so much." Wisteria grabbed her bag and jumped into the pickup, as the two departed for Wisteria's new life.	Today is the day I finally do it, after all the arguments, and lectures about how dangerous it is I'm leaving the family compound. I've packed up a few things in a scavenging pack and I'm setting out south from our forest edge over the low rolling hills to the old tropolis. Its strange how I've crossed some of these hills before and in this new light everything seems so alive and vibrant. I've never planned on going so far before, 10 days alone would be risky but I know where the fresh streams are and the wildlife holds no fear for me, the food will be a challenge but hunger and I are old friends. I brought a striker to start fires at night but 5 days out the stories of evil men roaming the outskirts of the area stay my hand. This night is the first time the howls in the night keep me up. Now what munition I brought for the rifle Pepop gave me when I came of age seems too little. Looks like I'm only two days away now. I've been seeing old hard paths that Pepop called crete leading to that tropolis once called Charlotte. That was written in an old faded sign as I walked on, though no one will read it again after I tried to brush it off to get a better look and it wiped away. I've finally made it, short on sleep and scavenging food along the way has not gone far enough. I've fired the rifle a couple of times but gained little for it other than a fat squirrel. I'm two days later than I expected. I saw small signs along the way of what I would find here in the center of everything. The stories Pepop told don't do justice to the mountain like heights of the office towers, well those that are still standing. What is left look too precarious to go looking through. Nothing could have prepared me for what I actually found. The sight so profoundly depressing I wept silently with regret, fearing any sound might wake what slumbers here. I can't stay, but I cant go home empty handed. I search through charred remains and rubble for things of sufficient value to forgive my long absence from home. It takes two days to collect enough tools, metals, some chems in short supply, and some small trinkets found in a hollow under a wall in that place. The journey home will be hard with the extra weight but I won't fear lighting a fire at night anymore, no, only the the horror of my own mind to keep me company. I'm just one day from home now there is enough hunting this far north to feed myself at night though it is a small comfort. What I think I must now come home to how will Da treat me, the look of disappointment in Pepop's eyes when I tell him it was all for nothing, the fear, the isolation, that his stories aren't true that its all empty. Its a problem for tomorrow, today though those verdant hills seems to me to be the oppressive doldrums of the future now. I've been home a week now and I can finally put and end on this little saga. Pepop was waiting out past the gate in his rocker, smoking the tobacco left from last years trade with the John's west from here. He stood up and walked towards me with a knowing look. As I fell in to him quietly weeping trying to get the words out. He said he already knew. Surprise overcoming grief as he walked me back to his cabin in the "fort". He had put his hat over my head so no one could see my shame, but I could hear the mix of confusion and relief in the voices of my family. I guess with that terse note I left, folk didn't know if I would come back. Inside I described what I saw. The village sized clearings familys burned hiding from fire that still got them. The men who held destroyed revolvers who looked like they shot their families then their selves rather than burn. Men and women entwined in beds as if they were caught while rutting and the maddening silence. Pepop explains to me that he too grew up much like my-self feeding on tales of marauders and villages in the rubble of man's past arrogance. How he came upon the fresh smoldering embers of that place and came running back to the family with his tail between his legs. He did not speak to anyone of what he saw other than to confirm the old stories out of shame for returning empty handed. With a glance over what I brought back he says its up to me to tell the folks what ever I choose now when I'm ready. As he speaks he stops to comment on this or that thing I managed to bring home. In the bottom of the bag as I think on what I will tell the family he gasps quietly he's holding two of the trinkets I brought back smiling. I ask "What?", in confusion as he shows me two small metal circles. He smiles, Memaw and Pepop are the worst gossips in the family, as he calls her in and shows her the metal bands. She squeals with joy my confusion plain on my face as she sees what is on the floor and in his hand. "What!" I demand again. Memaw says with barely contained excitement. "With all that and Nuptial rings that Jessie girl and her family cant say no anymore." "What" I say this time in bewilderment. Memaw goes on "Of course you have to tell everyone the truth about this scavenging journey to the heart of the tropolis, otherwise the cutters will think we have been holding out on them." I try to interrupt but that is like trying to stop a thunderstorm, she's been listening the whole time. She goes on "We are going to have a wedding this spring,..." "Now son where did you fond that?" "Under the floor board Da, I want to keep reading about you and Ma" "later son..."
	[WP] These scars are not from failure, but victory.	How did Daddy get his scars? A beast tried to eat him. It was unlike anything we had seen before. It swallowed forests and homes in a single gulp. It ate and ate and ate, never becoming full. For an entire season it raged. Many people thought it would not stop, that this was the end. But your father and those like him were brave. They knew that the beast could be stopped, if not killed. Your father and his friends, his fellow warriors, dressed in their armor. It was bright and shone against the sun, and they had faith that it would be enough to protect them. The beast was easily found, destruction its only path. Homes were nearby and some of the people didn’t have time to escape. Your father ran bravely into one that was directly in front of the Beast’s path. He found a family; a father and his child hidden in a room, praying for safety. The home and everyone in it was swallowed by the beast. But your father bravely fought his way out and rescued the family. They had to be taken from the field of battle and treated for their wounds. Were the man and his baby okay? Yes. But not without their scars. *** //sweats thanks for the prompt!! I hope this sort of makes sense. I wasn't sure where to end it either. idk what I'm doing, but happy to post.	I look into your eyes and see your fear and disgust of my physical form. It is true,child, my looks have become mere shadows of their former self, but allow me to tell you why this matters not. When I was a young man, I fell in love with the most beautiful woman in my village. We had been friends from child-birth, but my feelings only manifested into love as we grew. She became the jewel of our village, but for reasons unknown she desired to be with me alone. We married as soon as we could, and made a healthy life together. We had a child, a beautiful daughter we named after her grandmother. The jealousy of the other men in my village was known to me, but I could not care. I was young, in love, and happy. However, as you are aware now, life is never fair to those who find happiness. My wife was a kind and caring woman, so when she found a wounded man outside the village, she brought him home and nursed him back to health. This man, as it turned out, was the head of the Dark Order, Alabaster Krun, a group of mercenaries who killed and did as they pleased for coin. Once he was full health, he took what he desired from my daughter and my wife, before taking their lives from me. I was forced to watch the monster as he took his time violating them, before lighting my home a blaze. I survived, but swore vengeance onto the monster who took them from me, who decided her kindness was to met with acts no man should be capable of committing. For years, I hunted down each member of the Dark Order in search for Krun. My anger and thirst for vengeance drove me to commit acts that I regret to this day. Acts that would have me executed if I dare speak of them. All because I sought after the man who took my wife and child from me. But these actions, and battles have brought me to this day. The day I have killed your father, and the murderer of my family. So you see, these scars are not from failure my child, but victory. My body is a map of my journey to this day, and I dont expect to live past it. If you wish to act out revenge on me for taking him from you, I will not stop you. But be warned, bloodshed and malice only bring more of its kind upon those who enact it. My child, I pray you have a happy life no matter your decision. Be it kill me, or allow me to leave. I still taste victory this day.
	[WP] You occasionally like to pass the time in school by drumming/tapping on your desk. This time, however, the desk clicks open after you tap off a rhythm.	Rip-tap-tap…rip-taptap. Juan’s pencil met the desk with tiny metallic clicks, as his eraser had long been chewed away. Rip-tap-tap…-tap-tap. They rhythm changed slightly. Somewhere, a wheezy voice was explaining something about foil. Juan wasn’t sure what foil had to do with math. Ahead of him, blonde hair was scribbling furiously in her notebook. To his left, a grimy sneaker was bobbing up and down off the floor, keeping pace with Juan’s beat. Rip-tap-tap…rip-taptap. “Juan.” The wheezy voice paused for just a moment, and Juan’s pencil was stilled. Juan leaned his head forward on his hands, and made eye contact with the board. When the lesson continued, Juan leaned back and looked around the room. Fading, curled posters lined the walls. A small window in the corner of the room let some sun in, but the rest of the room was brightened by an occasionally flickering set of pale lights. What should have been neat and organized rows of desks looked a lot more tired and frail. They had rust on their legs, and years of etchings on the surface. “Jeff sucks” was carved in the lower left of Juan’s desk. Juan didn’t know anyone named Jeff, but he was glad it wasn’t his name. Half the desks in the room were wobbly, and the other half squeaked when opened. Three of the desks were somehow locked, and unusable. They had been like this for years. Jeff was sitting at one of these desks. Instead of keeping his notebook and folders in the desk like everyone else, Jeff’s materials were slouching against the tile underneath his desk. Rip-tap-tap…rip-taptap. For months, Juan sat at his same desk. For months, Juan assumed it was empty. Every time he moved it, every time he sat down, and even the time he accidentally flipped it, the desk sounded empty. Juan even tried peering through the crack between the desk and the top once. But he couldn’t see anything inside. For months Juan thought the desk was empty. But now, for the first time, he heard something from inside. It was a growl. Rip-tap-tap…rip-taptap. “Juan.” The wheezy voice presented another warning. Juan kept tapping, but he didn’t do it on purpose. His mind was on the noise from his desk. Riptap-tap…rip-taptap. “Juan, enough.” He looked around the room eyes wide, wondering if others had heard the growl. A few were staring at him with apprehension, but their concern was almost pity, knowing Juan would be sent to the office if he continued. Riptaptap…rip-taptap. “Juan, last chance.” Juan could feel the pencil tapping, and could hear the wheezy voice. But he didn’t dare move. Something was in that desk. Riptaptap…rip-taptap. "Juan..." Juan felt like his stomach was falling. Riptaptap…rip-taptap. “Juan, enough!” Juan felt sick. Riptaptap…rip-taptap. “Juan!” Riptapriptap-riptaptap. Click. … There was a brief pause, as something clicked from inside Juan’s desk. Click, click. A second desk from around the room. Then a third. Juan stared at the etching “Jeff Sucks”, eyes wide. He was holding his breath. Slowly, the graffiti began to rise as the desk, of its own accord, began to open.	I drummed my fingers on my desk, bored with Mrs. Green and her lecture on the Stamp Act. How come every social studies/history class covers the Stamp Act since the fifth grade? I know it's important, but sheesh. It's probably up there with gasoline prices on the most boring topics ever spoken by man. Tap. Tap tap. I continued drumming on my desk when suddenly it slid open. I gawked. There was a hidden compartment in my desk, and in that hidden compartment was a thick leather-bound book with glossy letters embossed on the cover: SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE. I looked furtively around me. No one else seemed to notice. Weirdly, every time heads so much as inched towards my desk, the owners would suddenly swivel in the opposite direction, as if they couldn't look at my desk. I opened the book. There was a table of contents. WHY PLATYPUSES WERE MADE, I read next to CHAPTER ONE. I scanned the table of contents all the way down to DOES YOUR CAT REALLY WANT TO KILL YOU. I opened to page one. It was only a sentence long. "Because God was drunk," I read off. Suddenly the book was enveloped in a green glow and floated back to the compartment. The desk slid shut. Automatically, I noticed Jacqueline drift her eyes blandly over my desk and Mrs. Green's monotone washed over me again. Damn. I really wanted to learn whether Mr. Tibbles wanted to kill me.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	I was just tending my garden. Taking out the bad plants (weeds) and putting the good ones in. Suddenly, I hear people screaming "Gardening is Murder"; chanting like the imbeciles they are. I turn around and look at a woman in a white shirt with blue jeans carrying a sign that said "Stop Plant Suffering", hmmph, I thought to myself; these are the people who wouldn't give a second to think about how many children die in Africa making their clothes or the destruction caused to the environment by using the natural fuels. In fact, many trees had to be cut down so that the signs that these people are carrying could be made. Hypocrisy at its finest. Ignoring them, I continue on my work. More people start to gather around like I'm the one who is the freak.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The protesters gathered around Old Man Jenkin's home, shouting and cursing at him as he pulled his mower out of the garage. "JENKINS!!! How can you be so cruel! The sod has feelings, and you, with your typical narcissistic white male privilege, are willing to ignore the suffering of innocent life for something as shallow as aesthetics?" Jenkins rolled his eyes as he pushed the choke twice and the protesters began to crowd closer. "Don't mow the lawn! The Plants are watching on! Don't mow your lawn! The plants are watching on!" Jenkins sighed and raised his hands, causing them to die down just long enough for him to reply. "Guys, really, it's okay. I was a landscaper for 50 years-" Gasps of terror echoed from the crowd. "But since we could learn to hear them, my friends and I at the local plant nursery found a strain of seeds that are conducive to being mowed. I'll show you." Jenkins pulled out a PlantaePath and pointed it at the as of yet unmowed grass, then turned it's dial to match the sod's telepathic frequency and turned the volume up to maximum in order to broadcast the translation loud enough for them all to hear. "oh yes baby, give it to me, i want this so bad CUT ME! CUT ME! What are you waiting for? All I do is sit here all day doing NOTHING but once a week you rake those steely blades over my supple green flesh and oh god I want it so bad baby-" The lawn continued to ask for it as Jenkins opened the door of his truck and plugged the device into the speakers, amplifying their thoughts over the sound of the starting lawnmower. As the protesters stood, shocked and bewildered, Jenkins moved the mower onto the grass- "OH YES! OH MY FUCKING GOD YES IT HURTS SO GOOD! FUCK YEAH I'M A DIRTY KENTUCKY BLUE! I'VE BEEN A BAD LAWN! FUCK OH GOD OH SHIT DON'T YOU DARE STOP!" The crowd dispersed as Jenkins mowed, then edged, then weeded his lawn.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jesus H Christ do I miss the old days. Back when a man could shuffle on outside on an August day, grimace at the heat and his aching bones, then go mow the lawn. Back when the recession was going on its downswing, WW3 was diverted, and the biggest threat to American Values was whether or not you felt like a boy or a girl. Didn't matter what parts you were greasing, just what you felt in the ol' ticker in your chest. But those days are behind us. Nowadays, with nothing else to moan about, the youngin's have decided that plants have feelings too. It wasn't enough to change what's in your pants, but God help us and save the plants. Not something I'm against, mind you. I did a sit-in on behalf of the Amazon Rainforest back in '23, and then when Nestle decided to mine Antarctica for the ice I did more marches than I could count. But, again, that was a younger me. Someone who could walk to the mailbox and get the mail without a cane, someone who could have carried his wife down a hill to an ambulance when she was having a heart attack on a picnic in '18... Just focus on the lawn The protestors don't bother me, not really. They picket my house day and night, they shout "Don't stoop any morally lower; Shut off the mower!" amongst many other witty rhymes, and they throw those conflabbin' soy-free-violence-free-carbon-free Monsanto eggs at my house, but they don't mean any harm. Martha would know how to deal with them, and because I let myself get stooped, I suppose I have to deal with them. Just a couple more rows now. You know, if I were old fashioned, I could turn down my hearing aid and block them out completely. Hell in half blind, maybe I can get some help with that. In fact, I'll go out back and ask Martha now. She may know where one is. Maybe they'll put two and two together someday, but I doubt it. These kids...they just don't understand. Yes, they all believe that grass us feelings, that what I'm doing is murder blah blah blah, but I wish they could just know what this means to me. That they're wasting their time. That no matter how many laws pass, how many activist kids show up on my "living breathing" lawn, I'll still cut it. I'll get down on my hands and knees with a pair of shears if I have too. Deep breaths, you can do this. Her stone is always the hardest. Because no matter how much they protest, how much they whine, they can't change the fact that Martha hates an unkempt lawn.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Heinrich was in his garage, gazing at his old pull mower he had owned for several years. The paint, once a blazing red, had been worn to a patchy shadow of its former self. He pulled the cord with his old bones shouting in protest against it. The motor made a short coughing sound and was silent. He pulled again, twice, three times now. "Ach, why can't you just work for once?" Heinrich readied himself for a final pull, yanking the cord with all the force he could muster. The machine sputtered to life, the familiar smell of gasoline filling the air once again. He pushed the aging lawnmower out to his front lawn and began to cut his grass. He had cut a bit of his lawn before a young girl on the edge of his lawn started to stare at him with a look of pure horror on her face. Heinrich stopped and looked around, wondering what she was staring at. It took a moment for his aged mind to register that she was staring at him. "Can I help you, young lady?" "What are you DOING to them?" Heinrich glanced around, "To who?" "The LAWN!" she shouted. The lawn? The lawn. Yes of course. "It is rather looking isn't it? Despite my age I take care of it myself." Before he could continue she marched away in fury. She was clearly angry about something. Heinrich hoped it wasn't about, the thing. He continued mowing his lawn, but stopped halfway because he had exhausted all his energy for the day. He turned off the mower and went back inside to sit down in his armchair for a nice nap. He awoke later in the day, and decided to finish up taking care of the lawn before finishing the rest of his chores. Now that Maria was gone, he had to do everything on his own. He walked outside and began to start the mower again when he noticed a small crowd had gathered near his house. They seemed angry about something. "Can I help you?" he called out. The young one from before stepped forward from the group and began yelling at him. "Do you know what you're doing is MURDER sir?" Murder? Not for at least seventy years, but he didn't want to dwell on those days. His heart rate began to rise. Had they found out about what he'd done all those years ago? He wasn't proud of the things he'd done, but he had refused to abandon his old uniform. It had a certain sentimentality to him. Had he said something he shouldn't have about it? He didn't think his accent was too heavy, certainly better than it was when he had first came to the US. He steeled himself for what could be one of his last conversations that isn't before a courtroom back in Germany. "How did... how did you find out?" She gestured into the crowd until she was given a small device, rather Wellsian in design. She held it up to his face. "Take a listen, and hear what you have done to the innocent." Oh Lord, had they made some sort of device to make him hear the cries and suffering of those he'd killed all those years ago? Rather hesitantly, he held the device up to his ears. Instead of the damning wails he expected to hear, he heard small shrieking. It took almost no time for his ancient ears to adjust to the screams, eerily similar to those of the injured and dying he'd experienced during his service. "Have you tapped into my memories child? There are some I would rather leave alone." "What are you going on about old man?" she sputtered. "These sounds of torment are from the grass itself, the so called "lawn" you so mercilessly reap without so much as a second thought." Oh, so these young people hadn't discovered his past. They were simply insane. "Yes well, I am sorry about the um, grass. But I do have to keep my lawn in check. I want it to look nice for those who drive by, not look as an eyesore." "How can you do things like this? What would your mother think of you?" Heinrich's mother wasn't around, killed in a bombing raid on the home front in the last years of the war. Resurfaced thoughts of his long deceased mother made his anger begin to rise. "Please just leave. I really need to finish my chores, and I'm kindly asking you to leave in peace. Please?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. "Does your wife know what you're doing to these poor creatures?" That hit closer to Heinrich's aging heart. Maria hadn't passed away half a year ago, and the wounds of her passing were still fresh. The mentioning of her by someone who clearly didn't know who she was just made him more angry. "Do not bring my wife into this, do you understand? She... isn't with me anymore." "Well no wonder she left you, who would want to stay with a murderer like you?" That was the last straw. Heinrich stepped in very close to the girl and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what real murder is. Real death. Your lack of respect is frankly insulting, and I am tired of you being on my property and telling me that what I am doing is wrong. If you keep this up, I will show you what real pain is. I'll show you that just because I haven't done it for seventy years, doesn't mean I don't know how to anymore." He stepped closer to her. "I can show you what true pain is. Would you like to see it? No? Then get the fuck off my lawn." Heinrich turned away from the crowd, slammed his door shut, and sat down in his armchair again. Maybe he had gone too far with those young people outside. But he was an old man. What they did to him couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd done to others all those years ago. With the image of their suffering branded forever into his mind, Heinrich settled into another restless sleep. Same as he'd had for nearly his entire life.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jayden pushed the mower out of the garage into the walkway and onto the grass. He took a moment to breathe. They could invent self driving cars, self flying airplanes but they couldn't invent self propelling lawn mowers. In fact, he thinks as he eyes the machine with hatred, he would say they got heavier since he was a kid. At this point he might was well use a push mower. They both messed up with his back. He checked the gasoline level and grumbled about that expense. Renewable energy was everywhere these days from his house to the garbage can down the street that compacted itself off the methane produced from the waste. Except with mowers it seems. No that still used gasoline and at eight dollars a gallon he didn't care for the expense. He pulled the starter rope. Nothing. He sighed and checked the dip stick. Yeah, he had enough oil in the thing. He pulled again. He felt annoyed. He only yoloed. Why was he unable to start his machine withought wasting more time? He thought. Sure he could pay someone to do it like the Rodriguez' did down the street but he was letting a Mapler mow his own lawn. They were supposed to be cheap but he didn't trust them not to try to fuel the damn machine with syrup or loonies or whatever Nuckers did to be so cheap labor. The machine started. Good. He began to to push it down the lawn. The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass wafted to him. This is why he still did it. He thinks. The smell was nothing that could be replaced or memories of doing this with his dads. He turned the machine, ready to clear one more line, when a teen started yelling at him. Jayden frowned. He couldn't hear over engine. He powered down the machine. Monster! was what he caught the girl yelling. What now? he thought. "You can't do that! They're alive!" "Yes. I know grass is alive. I had to go to high school too." He said. The girl screamed and waved her phone in his face. He squinted. He hated transparent phones. You couldn't see squat. Was a video playing of the Chicago Tribune? Something about plants...vegans? "Turn up the volume. I can't hear anything." he grumbled. The girl colored. She must have had an audio implant. That was the fashion now. After environmental pollution was solved they had moved on to light pollution and noise pollution. Too late for him though. His eyesight was too bad to enjoy the stars in the sky and he had lost most of his hearing. He didn't know what was wrong with headphone. Oh right, the hearing loss. Still. He wasn't going to implant one in his head. "-plants are capable of thought. At least six species have been found to be capable of pain including the common oak. Canadians are divided about treatment of maple trees, sending an already depressed economy into greater recession." "What?" he was confused. Plants were alive. He knew that. Was she showing him a comedy clip. "God. Old people are so stupid!" She flipped the transparent phone to here and typed something. Jayden recognized Buzzfeed's logo and frowned at the list coming up. Ten Reasons Plant Lives Matter! Jayden scrolled through the list. Okay plants were alive and some could feel pain. Or someone them could. He sighed. "I'm going inside." He thought and glared at the grass taunting him with its length. He was getting a goat. The girl preened thinking she had changed the world. Jayden went inside. He looked at the photos slowly changing on his mantle. All from his youth, mutli colored hair and tattoos bringing him nostalgia. Mainly he was annoyed. He used to be vegan, before the doctors told him he needed to eat eggs. He went to his old iPad air, still running well and with no transparent screen, thank you. "Siri, how can I cut my grass?" "I'll look into that for you." He heard a smashing sound. He quickly shuffled to his window the neighbor girl was smashing his mower. Now he was salty. This was personal. "Siri, order me two goats. It doesn't matter the species." "How would you liked them shipped?" Siri asked. "Prime." The war was on.	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The students of Dr. Franc Grasser were coming for me. The Ralishmans, my neighbors across the street, had warned me. With tears in their eyes, they'd described the voices of the flowers in their garden, the screams of the trees they'd trimmed, and the herbs they'd stopped harvesting. The device was never wrong, they said, and they'd discussed reparations with their plants into the late evening. Liberals. I pulled the extension cord of my electric mower around as I made the next turn, so it wouldn't get cut or caught. It was a good mower, had been in the family for years. I depressed the button. The grass disappeared with a roar, and the protesters started running. When they were one property away, I switched it off. Arguments were one thing, but yelling wasn't what I wanted. "Murderer!" they accused, "mammal supremacist!" They started chanting other slogans, and a circle gathered around me and sang, "All we are saying is, give green a hand." I looked in the eyes of Rydollph Barnes-Diego, Master of Environmental Science, doctoral candidate. "Turn it on." A hush fell as Rydollph pressed the button. "Oh, thank Gaia you've arrived," said a voice that sounded like Lisa Simpson, "he was making me bleed!" I went through the pretense of conversing with the device. It passed every Turing test I could think of, including a sense of humor, and singing "Row Your Boat" in rounds. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, the one from my youthful fanfictions) would have been proud of how quickly we made up and became friends. I offered some more water from the hose, and she accepted. We all walked around the corner to my hose, across the front walk leading to the street, and I started spraying. "Oh Gaia, that's divine!" she said, as I waved the hose spray up and down across that section of lawn. "Hey kids, how's about you take off your shoes and stand on miss oxygen here?" I asked. Three wearing sandals did just that, and frowned. Then they leaned down and touched the grass with their hands. "Ain't technology here in the 2050's something else?" I asked. "They matched the artificial turf to the rest of the lawn pretty well, if I do say so myself. Gotta save water, don'tcha know?" They looked at Rydollph, confused. I continued. "You take good care of that machine, young feller. Don't want no robot revolution when the programming realizes it's what's sapient, not the plants. Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!"	William had put the mower away and gone inside just before the protesters arrived after mowing the lawn in his front and back gardens, it was now time for the driveway. He emerged wearing a filtration mask, a thick pair of red rubber gloves and a full body plastic cleaning suit with a white container in one hand, connected to a spray nozzel in the other. The container bore "P-67" in large red letters, one of the best weed killers on the market and he began to lightly spray the weeds protruding from the stones, to the protesters horror. "Murderer!" One cried as he finished and placed the container on the floor, being careful that the nozzle lock was secure. He was glad he'd taken Phill's advice and gotten the gate installed at the end of the drive; William and Martha lived in a three bedroom bungalow and the gate was a welcome addition for keeping the "admirable idealists," as Martha called them or "Eco-mentalists," as William prefered calling them, off of their property. William looked through the bars and lowered the mask from his mouth as the leader of the mob aproached from their side. "What do you want Felix?" The young man was a familiar sight on the evening news and everyone knew his name. "We want you to stop murdering these innocent creatures." The young man flicked his hair back over his shoulder, to admiring sighs from many of the girls in the sign clutching crowd, Willaim sighed as Felix passed a small device through the bars, expecting the man on the other side to take it. "I'm aware that those things can make you "hear" plants but, honestly, I just dont care. Sure, sure, I can respect you lot for standing up for what you believe in, I was a bit of an idealist when I was your age but as you grow older you realise something: you just don't give a shit about some things." "Plants are our family," a voice from the crowd declared and William rolled his eyes as Felix started talking again. "They're sentient, they're alive, how can't you care!?" The blonde man demanded and William ran a hand over his thining grey hair. "Felix," he said, "we've known for centuires that plants have been alive, how they grow, produce energy and reproduce, but no one from my generation cares and I doubt most of your generation care about them being self aware. Mice are sentient: still used in drug tests, they think some flies might be sentient: I still swat them, some Robots now have AI's: I don't trust 'em and my fridge can get me directions to Timbuktu; I think it's interesting that it can do that but I don't particularly need it to do that, I just need it to keep stuff cold, just like I find it slightly interesting that plants are sentient but it makes no impact on my day to day life does it?" William shrugged as the crowd looked on appalled at his attitute, he suspected his comment about Robots, which some now considered to be a derogatory term given its origins, struck a nerve with some of the crowd who likely had Robot partners: it was legal, William just felt that a machine was a machine and found himself slightly uncomfortable despite knowing it was none of his business as he was unaffected and the rest were just "Eco-mentalists," as Martha had asked him to stop calling them. "The point is, Felix, you're wasting your time standing around here. In two or three months, when it's all grown back, I'm going to get out my lawn mower and cut my grass so there's really no point in you all standing here when you could be doing something else." William turned and left, the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the suit he had on wasn't even slightly breathable. Once he had taken the suit off, Willaim looked out of his livingroom window to see that the protestors had moved along and after making himself a cup of tea, he sat down and turned on the TV, it was almost time for the 2 O'clock western on channel 46.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The protesters gathered around Old Man Jenkin's home, shouting and cursing at him as he pulled his mower out of the garage. "JENKINS!!! How can you be so cruel! The sod has feelings, and you, with your typical narcissistic white male privilege, are willing to ignore the suffering of innocent life for something as shallow as aesthetics?" Jenkins rolled his eyes as he pushed the choke twice and the protesters began to crowd closer. "Don't mow the lawn! The Plants are watching on! Don't mow your lawn! The plants are watching on!" Jenkins sighed and raised his hands, causing them to die down just long enough for him to reply. "Guys, really, it's okay. I was a landscaper for 50 years-" Gasps of terror echoed from the crowd. "But since we could learn to hear them, my friends and I at the local plant nursery found a strain of seeds that are conducive to being mowed. I'll show you." Jenkins pulled out a PlantaePath and pointed it at the as of yet unmowed grass, then turned it's dial to match the sod's telepathic frequency and turned the volume up to maximum in order to broadcast the translation loud enough for them all to hear. "oh yes baby, give it to me, i want this so bad CUT ME! CUT ME! What are you waiting for? All I do is sit here all day doing NOTHING but once a week you rake those steely blades over my supple green flesh and oh god I want it so bad baby-" The lawn continued to ask for it as Jenkins opened the door of his truck and plugged the device into the speakers, amplifying their thoughts over the sound of the starting lawnmower. As the protesters stood, shocked and bewildered, Jenkins moved the mower onto the grass- "OH YES! OH MY FUCKING GOD YES IT HURTS SO GOOD! FUCK YEAH I'M A DIRTY KENTUCKY BLUE! I'VE BEEN A BAD LAWN! FUCK OH GOD OH SHIT DON'T YOU DARE STOP!" The crowd dispersed as Jenkins mowed, then edged, then weeded his lawn.	"People for plants!" echoed down the street. I grimaced and curled my mouth, half in irritation, half in recoil from the potent smell of gasoline pouring into my lawn mower. "Plants feel pain". The chorus of angry voices grew closer, a tidy group of thirty or forty this time. I yanked the starter chain, the lawn mower shuddered in anticipation then settled back into silence. I wiped the sweat of my brow, a keen sense of anxiety began wrapping itself tighter around my chest. "Oi ya bastard!" It was too late, the rabble was on the path outside my house. I stomped half way across my lawn towards them. Each step punctuated with howls of outrage, I focused on the simple, delightful feeling of crushed earth under my boot. "Go away." I warned. This game they played every few weeks was growing tiresome. "You bloody well know they feel it you fuck!" Roared an irate, heavily tattooed female standing before the crowd brandishing that small, damned little device that had cause all this upset. Whatever it did, some kind of techno-drug I thought , brought these rabble to every god honest homeowner that still had real grass in their lawn every day they wanted to mow. Whatever "trip" they were on these days made them certain the grass had feelings. I ignored the fools and turned swiftly back to my chore for the day. I had pleaded my case to them, even offered to stop mowing my lawn if they would pay to have it replaced with something easier to manage. All had been met with equal amounts of rage as indignation. So damn them, and damn that device. I pulled the starter chain with more fury this time, transferring my frustration down my arm, through the chain into the engine of the beast. It roared to life and began to putter satisfactorily. Pain seared across my vision and a momentary darkness closed in on my vision before I re-orientated. The scent of grass was strong and I worried my life long love of mimosas and red meat had caught up with me, combined with my life long high blood pressure and caused a stroke. I furtively touched my pounding temple and felt my fingers moisten. Pulling it back I saw dark red blood and knew I'd been hit with something. Glancing at the now silent crowd the furious little lady with the device starred daggers into my soul. She pointed towards me with a triumphant smile as she turned to the crowd. "Perfect hit! Now it's on his head and he'll understand well enough." Fear clutched me as I realised that device was embedded into my head, I put a hand infront of me and I screamed in agony as a horrible crushing pain lashed my body. I looked across, through tear filled vision and noticed the handprint of crushed grass before me. 'can it be true?' I thought to myself, it was then i noticed my lawn mower puttering next to me still. More powerful crushing pain hit me in wave after wave and I threw up in total pain locked terror. Crying softly I looked up and saw the leader of the mob had walked across my lawn to the lawn mower. "You won't forget this lessons." She said thick with venom as she began to mow my lawn.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	I was just tending my garden. Taking out the bad plants (weeds) and putting the good ones in. Suddenly, I hear people screaming "Gardening is Murder"; chanting like the imbeciles they are. I turn around and look at a woman in a white shirt with blue jeans carrying a sign that said "Stop Plant Suffering", hmmph, I thought to myself; these are the people who wouldn't give a second to think about how many children die in Africa making their clothes or the destruction caused to the environment by using the natural fuels. In fact, many trees had to be cut down so that the signs that these people are carrying could be made. Hypocrisy at its finest. Ignoring them, I continue on my work. More people start to gather around like I'm the one who is the freak.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The protesters gathered around Old Man Jenkin's home, shouting and cursing at him as he pulled his mower out of the garage. "JENKINS!!! How can you be so cruel! The sod has feelings, and you, with your typical narcissistic white male privilege, are willing to ignore the suffering of innocent life for something as shallow as aesthetics?" Jenkins rolled his eyes as he pushed the choke twice and the protesters began to crowd closer. "Don't mow the lawn! The Plants are watching on! Don't mow your lawn! The plants are watching on!" Jenkins sighed and raised his hands, causing them to die down just long enough for him to reply. "Guys, really, it's okay. I was a landscaper for 50 years-" Gasps of terror echoed from the crowd. "But since we could learn to hear them, my friends and I at the local plant nursery found a strain of seeds that are conducive to being mowed. I'll show you." Jenkins pulled out a PlantaePath and pointed it at the as of yet unmowed grass, then turned it's dial to match the sod's telepathic frequency and turned the volume up to maximum in order to broadcast the translation loud enough for them all to hear. "oh yes baby, give it to me, i want this so bad CUT ME! CUT ME! What are you waiting for? All I do is sit here all day doing NOTHING but once a week you rake those steely blades over my supple green flesh and oh god I want it so bad baby-" The lawn continued to ask for it as Jenkins opened the door of his truck and plugged the device into the speakers, amplifying their thoughts over the sound of the starting lawnmower. As the protesters stood, shocked and bewildered, Jenkins moved the mower onto the grass- "OH YES! OH MY FUCKING GOD YES IT HURTS SO GOOD! FUCK YEAH I'M A DIRTY KENTUCKY BLUE! I'VE BEEN A BAD LAWN! FUCK OH GOD OH SHIT DON'T YOU DARE STOP!" The crowd dispersed as Jenkins mowed, then edged, then weeded his lawn.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jesus H Christ do I miss the old days. Back when a man could shuffle on outside on an August day, grimace at the heat and his aching bones, then go mow the lawn. Back when the recession was going on its downswing, WW3 was diverted, and the biggest threat to American Values was whether or not you felt like a boy or a girl. Didn't matter what parts you were greasing, just what you felt in the ol' ticker in your chest. But those days are behind us. Nowadays, with nothing else to moan about, the youngin's have decided that plants have feelings too. It wasn't enough to change what's in your pants, but God help us and save the plants. Not something I'm against, mind you. I did a sit-in on behalf of the Amazon Rainforest back in '23, and then when Nestle decided to mine Antarctica for the ice I did more marches than I could count. But, again, that was a younger me. Someone who could walk to the mailbox and get the mail without a cane, someone who could have carried his wife down a hill to an ambulance when she was having a heart attack on a picnic in '18... Just focus on the lawn The protestors don't bother me, not really. They picket my house day and night, they shout "Don't stoop any morally lower; Shut off the mower!" amongst many other witty rhymes, and they throw those conflabbin' soy-free-violence-free-carbon-free Monsanto eggs at my house, but they don't mean any harm. Martha would know how to deal with them, and because I let myself get stooped, I suppose I have to deal with them. Just a couple more rows now. You know, if I were old fashioned, I could turn down my hearing aid and block them out completely. Hell in half blind, maybe I can get some help with that. In fact, I'll go out back and ask Martha now. She may know where one is. Maybe they'll put two and two together someday, but I doubt it. These kids...they just don't understand. Yes, they all believe that grass us feelings, that what I'm doing is murder blah blah blah, but I wish they could just know what this means to me. That they're wasting their time. That no matter how many laws pass, how many activist kids show up on my "living breathing" lawn, I'll still cut it. I'll get down on my hands and knees with a pair of shears if I have too. Deep breaths, you can do this. Her stone is always the hardest. Because no matter how much they protest, how much they whine, they can't change the fact that Martha hates an unkempt lawn.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Heinrich was in his garage, gazing at his old pull mower he had owned for several years. The paint, once a blazing red, had been worn to a patchy shadow of its former self. He pulled the cord with his old bones shouting in protest against it. The motor made a short coughing sound and was silent. He pulled again, twice, three times now. "Ach, why can't you just work for once?" Heinrich readied himself for a final pull, yanking the cord with all the force he could muster. The machine sputtered to life, the familiar smell of gasoline filling the air once again. He pushed the aging lawnmower out to his front lawn and began to cut his grass. He had cut a bit of his lawn before a young girl on the edge of his lawn started to stare at him with a look of pure horror on her face. Heinrich stopped and looked around, wondering what she was staring at. It took a moment for his aged mind to register that she was staring at him. "Can I help you, young lady?" "What are you DOING to them?" Heinrich glanced around, "To who?" "The LAWN!" she shouted. The lawn? The lawn. Yes of course. "It is rather looking isn't it? Despite my age I take care of it myself." Before he could continue she marched away in fury. She was clearly angry about something. Heinrich hoped it wasn't about, the thing. He continued mowing his lawn, but stopped halfway because he had exhausted all his energy for the day. He turned off the mower and went back inside to sit down in his armchair for a nice nap. He awoke later in the day, and decided to finish up taking care of the lawn before finishing the rest of his chores. Now that Maria was gone, he had to do everything on his own. He walked outside and began to start the mower again when he noticed a small crowd had gathered near his house. They seemed angry about something. "Can I help you?" he called out. The young one from before stepped forward from the group and began yelling at him. "Do you know what you're doing is MURDER sir?" Murder? Not for at least seventy years, but he didn't want to dwell on those days. His heart rate began to rise. Had they found out about what he'd done all those years ago? He wasn't proud of the things he'd done, but he had refused to abandon his old uniform. It had a certain sentimentality to him. Had he said something he shouldn't have about it? He didn't think his accent was too heavy, certainly better than it was when he had first came to the US. He steeled himself for what could be one of his last conversations that isn't before a courtroom back in Germany. "How did... how did you find out?" She gestured into the crowd until she was given a small device, rather Wellsian in design. She held it up to his face. "Take a listen, and hear what you have done to the innocent." Oh Lord, had they made some sort of device to make him hear the cries and suffering of those he'd killed all those years ago? Rather hesitantly, he held the device up to his ears. Instead of the damning wails he expected to hear, he heard small shrieking. It took almost no time for his ancient ears to adjust to the screams, eerily similar to those of the injured and dying he'd experienced during his service. "Have you tapped into my memories child? There are some I would rather leave alone." "What are you going on about old man?" she sputtered. "These sounds of torment are from the grass itself, the so called "lawn" you so mercilessly reap without so much as a second thought." Oh, so these young people hadn't discovered his past. They were simply insane. "Yes well, I am sorry about the um, grass. But I do have to keep my lawn in check. I want it to look nice for those who drive by, not look as an eyesore." "How can you do things like this? What would your mother think of you?" Heinrich's mother wasn't around, killed in a bombing raid on the home front in the last years of the war. Resurfaced thoughts of his long deceased mother made his anger begin to rise. "Please just leave. I really need to finish my chores, and I'm kindly asking you to leave in peace. Please?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. "Does your wife know what you're doing to these poor creatures?" That hit closer to Heinrich's aging heart. Maria hadn't passed away half a year ago, and the wounds of her passing were still fresh. The mentioning of her by someone who clearly didn't know who she was just made him more angry. "Do not bring my wife into this, do you understand? She... isn't with me anymore." "Well no wonder she left you, who would want to stay with a murderer like you?" That was the last straw. Heinrich stepped in very close to the girl and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what real murder is. Real death. Your lack of respect is frankly insulting, and I am tired of you being on my property and telling me that what I am doing is wrong. If you keep this up, I will show you what real pain is. I'll show you that just because I haven't done it for seventy years, doesn't mean I don't know how to anymore." He stepped closer to her. "I can show you what true pain is. Would you like to see it? No? Then get the fuck off my lawn." Heinrich turned away from the crowd, slammed his door shut, and sat down in his armchair again. Maybe he had gone too far with those young people outside. But he was an old man. What they did to him couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd done to others all those years ago. With the image of their suffering branded forever into his mind, Heinrich settled into another restless sleep. Same as he'd had for nearly his entire life.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jayden pushed the mower out of the garage into the walkway and onto the grass. He took a moment to breathe. They could invent self driving cars, self flying airplanes but they couldn't invent self propelling lawn mowers. In fact, he thinks as he eyes the machine with hatred, he would say they got heavier since he was a kid. At this point he might was well use a push mower. They both messed up with his back. He checked the gasoline level and grumbled about that expense. Renewable energy was everywhere these days from his house to the garbage can down the street that compacted itself off the methane produced from the waste. Except with mowers it seems. No that still used gasoline and at eight dollars a gallon he didn't care for the expense. He pulled the starter rope. Nothing. He sighed and checked the dip stick. Yeah, he had enough oil in the thing. He pulled again. He felt annoyed. He only yoloed. Why was he unable to start his machine withought wasting more time? He thought. Sure he could pay someone to do it like the Rodriguez' did down the street but he was letting a Mapler mow his own lawn. They were supposed to be cheap but he didn't trust them not to try to fuel the damn machine with syrup or loonies or whatever Nuckers did to be so cheap labor. The machine started. Good. He began to to push it down the lawn. The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass wafted to him. This is why he still did it. He thinks. The smell was nothing that could be replaced or memories of doing this with his dads. He turned the machine, ready to clear one more line, when a teen started yelling at him. Jayden frowned. He couldn't hear over engine. He powered down the machine. Monster! was what he caught the girl yelling. What now? he thought. "You can't do that! They're alive!" "Yes. I know grass is alive. I had to go to high school too." He said. The girl screamed and waved her phone in his face. He squinted. He hated transparent phones. You couldn't see squat. Was a video playing of the Chicago Tribune? Something about plants...vegans? "Turn up the volume. I can't hear anything." he grumbled. The girl colored. She must have had an audio implant. That was the fashion now. After environmental pollution was solved they had moved on to light pollution and noise pollution. Too late for him though. His eyesight was too bad to enjoy the stars in the sky and he had lost most of his hearing. He didn't know what was wrong with headphone. Oh right, the hearing loss. Still. He wasn't going to implant one in his head. "-plants are capable of thought. At least six species have been found to be capable of pain including the common oak. Canadians are divided about treatment of maple trees, sending an already depressed economy into greater recession." "What?" he was confused. Plants were alive. He knew that. Was she showing him a comedy clip. "God. Old people are so stupid!" She flipped the transparent phone to here and typed something. Jayden recognized Buzzfeed's logo and frowned at the list coming up. Ten Reasons Plant Lives Matter! Jayden scrolled through the list. Okay plants were alive and some could feel pain. Or someone them could. He sighed. "I'm going inside." He thought and glared at the grass taunting him with its length. He was getting a goat. The girl preened thinking she had changed the world. Jayden went inside. He looked at the photos slowly changing on his mantle. All from his youth, mutli colored hair and tattoos bringing him nostalgia. Mainly he was annoyed. He used to be vegan, before the doctors told him he needed to eat eggs. He went to his old iPad air, still running well and with no transparent screen, thank you. "Siri, how can I cut my grass?" "I'll look into that for you." He heard a smashing sound. He quickly shuffled to his window the neighbor girl was smashing his mower. Now he was salty. This was personal. "Siri, order me two goats. It doesn't matter the species." "How would you liked them shipped?" Siri asked. "Prime." The war was on.	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The students of Dr. Franc Grasser were coming for me. The Ralishmans, my neighbors across the street, had warned me. With tears in their eyes, they'd described the voices of the flowers in their garden, the screams of the trees they'd trimmed, and the herbs they'd stopped harvesting. The device was never wrong, they said, and they'd discussed reparations with their plants into the late evening. Liberals. I pulled the extension cord of my electric mower around as I made the next turn, so it wouldn't get cut or caught. It was a good mower, had been in the family for years. I depressed the button. The grass disappeared with a roar, and the protesters started running. When they were one property away, I switched it off. Arguments were one thing, but yelling wasn't what I wanted. "Murderer!" they accused, "mammal supremacist!" They started chanting other slogans, and a circle gathered around me and sang, "All we are saying is, give green a hand." I looked in the eyes of Rydollph Barnes-Diego, Master of Environmental Science, doctoral candidate. "Turn it on." A hush fell as Rydollph pressed the button. "Oh, thank Gaia you've arrived," said a voice that sounded like Lisa Simpson, "he was making me bleed!" I went through the pretense of conversing with the device. It passed every Turing test I could think of, including a sense of humor, and singing "Row Your Boat" in rounds. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, the one from my youthful fanfictions) would have been proud of how quickly we made up and became friends. I offered some more water from the hose, and she accepted. We all walked around the corner to my hose, across the front walk leading to the street, and I started spraying. "Oh Gaia, that's divine!" she said, as I waved the hose spray up and down across that section of lawn. "Hey kids, how's about you take off your shoes and stand on miss oxygen here?" I asked. Three wearing sandals did just that, and frowned. Then they leaned down and touched the grass with their hands. "Ain't technology here in the 2050's something else?" I asked. "They matched the artificial turf to the rest of the lawn pretty well, if I do say so myself. Gotta save water, don'tcha know?" They looked at Rydollph, confused. I continued. "You take good care of that machine, young feller. Don't want no robot revolution when the programming realizes it's what's sapient, not the plants. Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!"	They don’t know. They couldn’t know. Ignorant SOB’s. Oh, I understand their delusion. Their belief in equality for intelligent things. Wanting to show humans are compassionate and respectful. Demanding justice for those that have killed. All a load of hogwash. But again, they don’t know. It was the summer of ’72. Everything was kind of shitty, but one event turned everything upside down: the discovery of sentient plants. Actual, honest to goodness, intelligent thinking plants. Of all the fuckin’ things. And they were PISSED! They claimed natural ownership of the Earth and had been fighting Humanity for thousands of years. Insects were their soldiers and disease was their weapon. Billions of humans and trillions of insects had perished in this war and the Plants were planning a massive offensive. Ebola was their nuclear bomb. The Amazon Rain Forest was the brains of the operation and Africa would be the first target. We couldn’t believe it. The devastation was horrifying. People dying from the inside out. The smell of the burning piles of the dead. Entire villages wiped out in a matter of weeks. The Plants demanded we stop deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest or they would spread Ebola around the world. They had created a process that turns less intelligent plants, (grass, wheat, corn, etc.), into carriers of the disease by altering the photosynthesis process. Oxygen laced with Ebola. We had no choice. We launched a full-scale attack against the Amazon Rain Forest before the corn harvest that year. We’re still losing people, but their command center is down. We couldn’t tell the world about this. Elevating the foundation of our food supply to sentience would have disastrous effects on our society. Plants are smart and we’ve been killing them all this time? If Plants are smart maybe other animals are too and we just need to figure out how to talk to them? Everything you shove into your god damn pie hole was once alive. That’s just how things work. Yeah, they’re working on lab-grown meat and other stuff, but we’re still going to need eat. Take away Plants and Animals and we’ll starve. You’re a moron if you can’t understand that. But the world is filled with god damn morons. So we hid the discovery and the device. As top secret as it could get. I don’t even know where they put it and I was a lead engineer! We never imagined someone else could duplicate our work. Then those fuckin’ hippies in California had to start playing god. Smart people doing stupid things. They figured out a way to harness the intelligence of certain Plants and turned the Redwoods into a giant Super Computer! “Green Technology” is showing up every god damn where. Now the Plants talk about “Peace Amongst DNA” and de-militarizing mosquitos as a sign of good faith. Hogwash I tell you. Those green mother fuckers can’t be trusted. I’ve seen what they can do. And now, in the middle of all this stupidity, these fuckin’ hippies want me to stop mowing my own god damn lawn. I’d be down in the Amazon chopping down trees if I could, but I do what I can. Fuck my grass! The friend of my enemy is my enemy and I will cut them down wherever they god damn stand. And I’ll have a big fuckin’ smile on my face while I’m doing it. Fuckin’ hippies.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jesus H Christ do I miss the old days. Back when a man could shuffle on outside on an August day, grimace at the heat and his aching bones, then go mow the lawn. Back when the recession was going on its downswing, WW3 was diverted, and the biggest threat to American Values was whether or not you felt like a boy or a girl. Didn't matter what parts you were greasing, just what you felt in the ol' ticker in your chest. But those days are behind us. Nowadays, with nothing else to moan about, the youngin's have decided that plants have feelings too. It wasn't enough to change what's in your pants, but God help us and save the plants. Not something I'm against, mind you. I did a sit-in on behalf of the Amazon Rainforest back in '23, and then when Nestle decided to mine Antarctica for the ice I did more marches than I could count. But, again, that was a younger me. Someone who could walk to the mailbox and get the mail without a cane, someone who could have carried his wife down a hill to an ambulance when she was having a heart attack on a picnic in '18... Just focus on the lawn The protestors don't bother me, not really. They picket my house day and night, they shout "Don't stoop any morally lower; Shut off the mower!" amongst many other witty rhymes, and they throw those conflabbin' soy-free-violence-free-carbon-free Monsanto eggs at my house, but they don't mean any harm. Martha would know how to deal with them, and because I let myself get stooped, I suppose I have to deal with them. Just a couple more rows now. You know, if I were old fashioned, I could turn down my hearing aid and block them out completely. Hell in half blind, maybe I can get some help with that. In fact, I'll go out back and ask Martha now. She may know where one is. Maybe they'll put two and two together someday, but I doubt it. These kids...they just don't understand. Yes, they all believe that grass us feelings, that what I'm doing is murder blah blah blah, but I wish they could just know what this means to me. That they're wasting their time. That no matter how many laws pass, how many activist kids show up on my "living breathing" lawn, I'll still cut it. I'll get down on my hands and knees with a pair of shears if I have too. Deep breaths, you can do this. Her stone is always the hardest. Because no matter how much they protest, how much they whine, they can't change the fact that Martha hates an unkempt lawn.	It is a hot summer day and my grass is looking a little long, there is no reason for me not to mow this lawn. I love mowing the lawn, its a simple task, and it serves a simple purpose. It helps me clear my head, keeps me busy. I have been mowing the lawn for fourty years at this house and its one of the many things i do to keep busy. I start up my lawn mower and start cutting, about one pass through, I hear a voice coming from behind me. 'Hey!' I slumber around and there is Jim, the hotshot, forty something from across the street. He has a couple kids and a wife and is a real crusader for just about anything that sniffs his fancy that week. I notice a couple other people poking their heads out from their doors. Cathy the single mother next door, and Daniel, a neighbors kid who is home from his first year at college. They are all giving me dirty type looks. I slowly give my mower a bit of push and continue on, while looking at Tim, who is fast approaching. 'Hey, Hey, What are you doing there Silas?, Haven't you heard?' 'I am mowing my lawn, like I always do, whats the big deal?' 'While we cant mow our lawns anymore, there is a new study showing that plants are alive and feel pain, you are hurting these plants, these souls right now, man, stop the mower' Tim reaches over and puts his hands on the handles of my push mower. I am slightly irritated and slightly confused. 'What in the hell is this nonsense?' Plants can feel pain?' Tell you the truth, I didnt really care what he was saying, sounded a lot like mumbo jumbo to me. 'Well what the hell am i supposed to do about my lawn then?' 'We don't know yet but scientists are working on a solution to lawncare, in the meantime, let the grass grow.' At this point Cathy, and Daniel had came over and were nodding in agreeance with Tim. I look in all three of their eyes and they got that puppy dog look, for the plants, or their souls, or whatever. This looks like too much of a fight for this kind of heat. 'Okay, okay guys, I will turn off my mower, and leave my lawn half cut if that will make you happy' Daniel went and grabbed a rake and was trying to rake the cut grass from the side of the road, careful not to step on the plants. He piled it all up in a corner of the lawn, as sometype of mourning ceremony i suspect. Thing I didnt really understand is if the grass grows back, closest thing I can think of, is human hair. So way I see it is this wasnt hurting the grass all that much, it was just like giving it a haircut, because its gonna grow back, if it was like a human limb, it wouldnt grown back, and it would probably be more painful. Anyhow, I didnt have the heart to tell em, and I sat back the next couple days watching similar scenarios, and signs go up, 'Protect the grass!' I watched from on my porch, a cup of tea in hand. I chuckled to myself, hey at least its something different.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Ben sighed as he looked out towards his pride and joy. His garden. Once kept in pristine condition, every blade of grass trimmed to perfection. Every flower kept beautiful and blooming. Now, as he looked at his horribly overgrown garden he was filled with sadness. These silly kids with their fancy apps had ruined everything. His grandson had told him that plants were sentient, he dismissed the idea. What were they teaching them at school? Those silly phones controlled them now, he thought. Back in his day he'd have been content with a stick and his imagination. Well, he had had enough. He put on his favourite wellies, put on his best, green gardening gloves and pulled his old cap down onto his balding head. He walked to the shed at the bottom of the garden and emerged with his trusty old mower. It took a couple of pulls but finally it sprung into life. The sound of the engine filled him with happiness when suddenly he heard a voice from over his fence. "Murderer!" shrieked a woman's voice. It was Betty, his neighbor. Her face emerged from behind the wooden fence that separated their gardens. Her many chins flapped as she pulled her large figure up so that she could see over into the miscreant's garden. "How could you Ben?" she bellowed, stroking a bright, pink flower with a collar around the plant pot. On the collar was a small tag with the name 'Rex' on. "They have feelings too you know? You're hurting them." "Bollocks" laughed Ben as he began making his way towards the long grass that had causing him many sleepless nights. "That's it!" screamed Betty "I'm calling the Plant Protection Group." she announced as she pulled a bright pink phone from her pocket and dialed a number using her fat digits. "My next door neighbor..." she paused dramatically "Is MOWING his lawn." Ben heard a gasp from the other side of the phone and within minutes a large group of people appeared in Betty's garden. "Are you some sort of psychopath?" cried a woman wearing a large, straw hat. "Can you not hear the little babies screaming?" "No I can't hear god damn blades of grass crying. It's just grass" he shouted. He was met with gasps. He began mowing, whistling as he went. Blocking out the sound of gasping and crying. He got about half way when a fat, sweaty man holding a sign with a picture of a crossed out pair of shears stumbled over the fence and ran across Ben's lawn, swan diving in front of the lawn mower. "You'll have to kill me to get to the sweet, little grass" he exclaimed. Ben simply directed the mower around the man and carried on trimming his lawn. A woman then leaped over his fence, jumping in front of the mower, Ben changed direction again. More and more people began jumping onto his lawn. Ben cursed silently. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Ben exclaimed. He kicked the mower in anger and stormed off into his shed. "We totally won!" shouted a teenager with floppy hair that covered his eyes. The group celebrated their victory for a few minutes. High fiving each other, and cheering loudly. Then Ben emerged. He was carrying all the gardening equipment he could find. Shears, hedge-trimmers, even a chainsaw. The group looked on in horror as he began to tidy up his garden. Laughing manically as he danced around his garden. Gleefully trimming bushes and cutting back branches. The group had now run off screaming and crying. Betty was left. Mascara staining her cheeks. "You're DISGUSTING!" she screeched. She then ran off up her garden. Another win for 'Ol Ben.	It is a hot summer day and my grass is looking a little long, there is no reason for me not to mow this lawn. I love mowing the lawn, its a simple task, and it serves a simple purpose. It helps me clear my head, keeps me busy. I have been mowing the lawn for fourty years at this house and its one of the many things i do to keep busy. I start up my lawn mower and start cutting, about one pass through, I hear a voice coming from behind me. 'Hey!' I slumber around and there is Jim, the hotshot, forty something from across the street. He has a couple kids and a wife and is a real crusader for just about anything that sniffs his fancy that week. I notice a couple other people poking their heads out from their doors. Cathy the single mother next door, and Daniel, a neighbors kid who is home from his first year at college. They are all giving me dirty type looks. I slowly give my mower a bit of push and continue on, while looking at Tim, who is fast approaching. 'Hey, Hey, What are you doing there Silas?, Haven't you heard?' 'I am mowing my lawn, like I always do, whats the big deal?' 'While we cant mow our lawns anymore, there is a new study showing that plants are alive and feel pain, you are hurting these plants, these souls right now, man, stop the mower' Tim reaches over and puts his hands on the handles of my push mower. I am slightly irritated and slightly confused. 'What in the hell is this nonsense?' Plants can feel pain?' Tell you the truth, I didnt really care what he was saying, sounded a lot like mumbo jumbo to me. 'Well what the hell am i supposed to do about my lawn then?' 'We don't know yet but scientists are working on a solution to lawncare, in the meantime, let the grass grow.' At this point Cathy, and Daniel had came over and were nodding in agreeance with Tim. I look in all three of their eyes and they got that puppy dog look, for the plants, or their souls, or whatever. This looks like too much of a fight for this kind of heat. 'Okay, okay guys, I will turn off my mower, and leave my lawn half cut if that will make you happy' Daniel went and grabbed a rake and was trying to rake the cut grass from the side of the road, careful not to step on the plants. He piled it all up in a corner of the lawn, as sometype of mourning ceremony i suspect. Thing I didnt really understand is if the grass grows back, closest thing I can think of, is human hair. So way I see it is this wasnt hurting the grass all that much, it was just like giving it a haircut, because its gonna grow back, if it was like a human limb, it wouldnt grown back, and it would probably be more painful. Anyhow, I didnt have the heart to tell em, and I sat back the next couple days watching similar scenarios, and signs go up, 'Protect the grass!' I watched from on my porch, a cup of tea in hand. I chuckled to myself, hey at least its something different.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Heinrich was in his garage, gazing at his old pull mower he had owned for several years. The paint, once a blazing red, had been worn to a patchy shadow of its former self. He pulled the cord with his old bones shouting in protest against it. The motor made a short coughing sound and was silent. He pulled again, twice, three times now. "Ach, why can't you just work for once?" Heinrich readied himself for a final pull, yanking the cord with all the force he could muster. The machine sputtered to life, the familiar smell of gasoline filling the air once again. He pushed the aging lawnmower out to his front lawn and began to cut his grass. He had cut a bit of his lawn before a young girl on the edge of his lawn started to stare at him with a look of pure horror on her face. Heinrich stopped and looked around, wondering what she was staring at. It took a moment for his aged mind to register that she was staring at him. "Can I help you, young lady?" "What are you DOING to them?" Heinrich glanced around, "To who?" "The LAWN!" she shouted. The lawn? The lawn. Yes of course. "It is rather looking isn't it? Despite my age I take care of it myself." Before he could continue she marched away in fury. She was clearly angry about something. Heinrich hoped it wasn't about, the thing. He continued mowing his lawn, but stopped halfway because he had exhausted all his energy for the day. He turned off the mower and went back inside to sit down in his armchair for a nice nap. He awoke later in the day, and decided to finish up taking care of the lawn before finishing the rest of his chores. Now that Maria was gone, he had to do everything on his own. He walked outside and began to start the mower again when he noticed a small crowd had gathered near his house. They seemed angry about something. "Can I help you?" he called out. The young one from before stepped forward from the group and began yelling at him. "Do you know what you're doing is MURDER sir?" Murder? Not for at least seventy years, but he didn't want to dwell on those days. His heart rate began to rise. Had they found out about what he'd done all those years ago? He wasn't proud of the things he'd done, but he had refused to abandon his old uniform. It had a certain sentimentality to him. Had he said something he shouldn't have about it? He didn't think his accent was too heavy, certainly better than it was when he had first came to the US. He steeled himself for what could be one of his last conversations that isn't before a courtroom back in Germany. "How did... how did you find out?" She gestured into the crowd until she was given a small device, rather Wellsian in design. She held it up to his face. "Take a listen, and hear what you have done to the innocent." Oh Lord, had they made some sort of device to make him hear the cries and suffering of those he'd killed all those years ago? Rather hesitantly, he held the device up to his ears. Instead of the damning wails he expected to hear, he heard small shrieking. It took almost no time for his ancient ears to adjust to the screams, eerily similar to those of the injured and dying he'd experienced during his service. "Have you tapped into my memories child? There are some I would rather leave alone." "What are you going on about old man?" she sputtered. "These sounds of torment are from the grass itself, the so called "lawn" you so mercilessly reap without so much as a second thought." Oh, so these young people hadn't discovered his past. They were simply insane. "Yes well, I am sorry about the um, grass. But I do have to keep my lawn in check. I want it to look nice for those who drive by, not look as an eyesore." "How can you do things like this? What would your mother think of you?" Heinrich's mother wasn't around, killed in a bombing raid on the home front in the last years of the war. Resurfaced thoughts of his long deceased mother made his anger begin to rise. "Please just leave. I really need to finish my chores, and I'm kindly asking you to leave in peace. Please?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. "Does your wife know what you're doing to these poor creatures?" That hit closer to Heinrich's aging heart. Maria hadn't passed away half a year ago, and the wounds of her passing were still fresh. The mentioning of her by someone who clearly didn't know who she was just made him more angry. "Do not bring my wife into this, do you understand? She... isn't with me anymore." "Well no wonder she left you, who would want to stay with a murderer like you?" That was the last straw. Heinrich stepped in very close to the girl and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what real murder is. Real death. Your lack of respect is frankly insulting, and I am tired of you being on my property and telling me that what I am doing is wrong. If you keep this up, I will show you what real pain is. I'll show you that just because I haven't done it for seventy years, doesn't mean I don't know how to anymore." He stepped closer to her. "I can show you what true pain is. Would you like to see it? No? Then get the fuck off my lawn." Heinrich turned away from the crowd, slammed his door shut, and sat down in his armchair again. Maybe he had gone too far with those young people outside. But he was an old man. What they did to him couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd done to others all those years ago. With the image of their suffering branded forever into his mind, Heinrich settled into another restless sleep. Same as he'd had for nearly his entire life.	It is a hot summer day and my grass is looking a little long, there is no reason for me not to mow this lawn. I love mowing the lawn, its a simple task, and it serves a simple purpose. It helps me clear my head, keeps me busy. I have been mowing the lawn for fourty years at this house and its one of the many things i do to keep busy. I start up my lawn mower and start cutting, about one pass through, I hear a voice coming from behind me. 'Hey!' I slumber around and there is Jim, the hotshot, forty something from across the street. He has a couple kids and a wife and is a real crusader for just about anything that sniffs his fancy that week. I notice a couple other people poking their heads out from their doors. Cathy the single mother next door, and Daniel, a neighbors kid who is home from his first year at college. They are all giving me dirty type looks. I slowly give my mower a bit of push and continue on, while looking at Tim, who is fast approaching. 'Hey, Hey, What are you doing there Silas?, Haven't you heard?' 'I am mowing my lawn, like I always do, whats the big deal?' 'While we cant mow our lawns anymore, there is a new study showing that plants are alive and feel pain, you are hurting these plants, these souls right now, man, stop the mower' Tim reaches over and puts his hands on the handles of my push mower. I am slightly irritated and slightly confused. 'What in the hell is this nonsense?' Plants can feel pain?' Tell you the truth, I didnt really care what he was saying, sounded a lot like mumbo jumbo to me. 'Well what the hell am i supposed to do about my lawn then?' 'We don't know yet but scientists are working on a solution to lawncare, in the meantime, let the grass grow.' At this point Cathy, and Daniel had came over and were nodding in agreeance with Tim. I look in all three of their eyes and they got that puppy dog look, for the plants, or their souls, or whatever. This looks like too much of a fight for this kind of heat. 'Okay, okay guys, I will turn off my mower, and leave my lawn half cut if that will make you happy' Daniel went and grabbed a rake and was trying to rake the cut grass from the side of the road, careful not to step on the plants. He piled it all up in a corner of the lawn, as sometype of mourning ceremony i suspect. Thing I didnt really understand is if the grass grows back, closest thing I can think of, is human hair. So way I see it is this wasnt hurting the grass all that much, it was just like giving it a haircut, because its gonna grow back, if it was like a human limb, it wouldnt grown back, and it would probably be more painful. Anyhow, I didnt have the heart to tell em, and I sat back the next couple days watching similar scenarios, and signs go up, 'Protect the grass!' I watched from on my porch, a cup of tea in hand. I chuckled to myself, hey at least its something different.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jayden pushed the mower out of the garage into the walkway and onto the grass. He took a moment to breathe. They could invent self driving cars, self flying airplanes but they couldn't invent self propelling lawn mowers. In fact, he thinks as he eyes the machine with hatred, he would say they got heavier since he was a kid. At this point he might was well use a push mower. They both messed up with his back. He checked the gasoline level and grumbled about that expense. Renewable energy was everywhere these days from his house to the garbage can down the street that compacted itself off the methane produced from the waste. Except with mowers it seems. No that still used gasoline and at eight dollars a gallon he didn't care for the expense. He pulled the starter rope. Nothing. He sighed and checked the dip stick. Yeah, he had enough oil in the thing. He pulled again. He felt annoyed. He only yoloed. Why was he unable to start his machine withought wasting more time? He thought. Sure he could pay someone to do it like the Rodriguez' did down the street but he was letting a Mapler mow his own lawn. They were supposed to be cheap but he didn't trust them not to try to fuel the damn machine with syrup or loonies or whatever Nuckers did to be so cheap labor. The machine started. Good. He began to to push it down the lawn. The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass wafted to him. This is why he still did it. He thinks. The smell was nothing that could be replaced or memories of doing this with his dads. He turned the machine, ready to clear one more line, when a teen started yelling at him. Jayden frowned. He couldn't hear over engine. He powered down the machine. Monster! was what he caught the girl yelling. What now? he thought. "You can't do that! They're alive!" "Yes. I know grass is alive. I had to go to high school too." He said. The girl screamed and waved her phone in his face. He squinted. He hated transparent phones. You couldn't see squat. Was a video playing of the Chicago Tribune? Something about plants...vegans? "Turn up the volume. I can't hear anything." he grumbled. The girl colored. She must have had an audio implant. That was the fashion now. After environmental pollution was solved they had moved on to light pollution and noise pollution. Too late for him though. His eyesight was too bad to enjoy the stars in the sky and he had lost most of his hearing. He didn't know what was wrong with headphone. Oh right, the hearing loss. Still. He wasn't going to implant one in his head. "-plants are capable of thought. At least six species have been found to be capable of pain including the common oak. Canadians are divided about treatment of maple trees, sending an already depressed economy into greater recession." "What?" he was confused. Plants were alive. He knew that. Was she showing him a comedy clip. "God. Old people are so stupid!" She flipped the transparent phone to here and typed something. Jayden recognized Buzzfeed's logo and frowned at the list coming up. Ten Reasons Plant Lives Matter! Jayden scrolled through the list. Okay plants were alive and some could feel pain. Or someone them could. He sighed. "I'm going inside." He thought and glared at the grass taunting him with its length. He was getting a goat. The girl preened thinking she had changed the world. Jayden went inside. He looked at the photos slowly changing on his mantle. All from his youth, mutli colored hair and tattoos bringing him nostalgia. Mainly he was annoyed. He used to be vegan, before the doctors told him he needed to eat eggs. He went to his old iPad air, still running well and with no transparent screen, thank you. "Siri, how can I cut my grass?" "I'll look into that for you." He heard a smashing sound. He quickly shuffled to his window the neighbor girl was smashing his mower. Now he was salty. This was personal. "Siri, order me two goats. It doesn't matter the species." "How would you liked them shipped?" Siri asked. "Prime." The war was on.	It is a hot summer day and my grass is looking a little long, there is no reason for me not to mow this lawn. I love mowing the lawn, its a simple task, and it serves a simple purpose. It helps me clear my head, keeps me busy. I have been mowing the lawn for fourty years at this house and its one of the many things i do to keep busy. I start up my lawn mower and start cutting, about one pass through, I hear a voice coming from behind me. 'Hey!' I slumber around and there is Jim, the hotshot, forty something from across the street. He has a couple kids and a wife and is a real crusader for just about anything that sniffs his fancy that week. I notice a couple other people poking their heads out from their doors. Cathy the single mother next door, and Daniel, a neighbors kid who is home from his first year at college. They are all giving me dirty type looks. I slowly give my mower a bit of push and continue on, while looking at Tim, who is fast approaching. 'Hey, Hey, What are you doing there Silas?, Haven't you heard?' 'I am mowing my lawn, like I always do, whats the big deal?' 'While we cant mow our lawns anymore, there is a new study showing that plants are alive and feel pain, you are hurting these plants, these souls right now, man, stop the mower' Tim reaches over and puts his hands on the handles of my push mower. I am slightly irritated and slightly confused. 'What in the hell is this nonsense?' Plants can feel pain?' Tell you the truth, I didnt really care what he was saying, sounded a lot like mumbo jumbo to me. 'Well what the hell am i supposed to do about my lawn then?' 'We don't know yet but scientists are working on a solution to lawncare, in the meantime, let the grass grow.' At this point Cathy, and Daniel had came over and were nodding in agreeance with Tim. I look in all three of their eyes and they got that puppy dog look, for the plants, or their souls, or whatever. This looks like too much of a fight for this kind of heat. 'Okay, okay guys, I will turn off my mower, and leave my lawn half cut if that will make you happy' Daniel went and grabbed a rake and was trying to rake the cut grass from the side of the road, careful not to step on the plants. He piled it all up in a corner of the lawn, as sometype of mourning ceremony i suspect. Thing I didnt really understand is if the grass grows back, closest thing I can think of, is human hair. So way I see it is this wasnt hurting the grass all that much, it was just like giving it a haircut, because its gonna grow back, if it was like a human limb, it wouldnt grown back, and it would probably be more painful. Anyhow, I didnt have the heart to tell em, and I sat back the next couple days watching similar scenarios, and signs go up, 'Protect the grass!' I watched from on my porch, a cup of tea in hand. I chuckled to myself, hey at least its something different.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The students of Dr. Franc Grasser were coming for me. The Ralishmans, my neighbors across the street, had warned me. With tears in their eyes, they'd described the voices of the flowers in their garden, the screams of the trees they'd trimmed, and the herbs they'd stopped harvesting. The device was never wrong, they said, and they'd discussed reparations with their plants into the late evening. Liberals. I pulled the extension cord of my electric mower around as I made the next turn, so it wouldn't get cut or caught. It was a good mower, had been in the family for years. I depressed the button. The grass disappeared with a roar, and the protesters started running. When they were one property away, I switched it off. Arguments were one thing, but yelling wasn't what I wanted. "Murderer!" they accused, "mammal supremacist!" They started chanting other slogans, and a circle gathered around me and sang, "All we are saying is, give green a hand." I looked in the eyes of Rydollph Barnes-Diego, Master of Environmental Science, doctoral candidate. "Turn it on." A hush fell as Rydollph pressed the button. "Oh, thank Gaia you've arrived," said a voice that sounded like Lisa Simpson, "he was making me bleed!" I went through the pretense of conversing with the device. It passed every Turing test I could think of, including a sense of humor, and singing "Row Your Boat" in rounds. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, the one from my youthful fanfictions) would have been proud of how quickly we made up and became friends. I offered some more water from the hose, and she accepted. We all walked around the corner to my hose, across the front walk leading to the street, and I started spraying. "Oh Gaia, that's divine!" she said, as I waved the hose spray up and down across that section of lawn. "Hey kids, how's about you take off your shoes and stand on miss oxygen here?" I asked. Three wearing sandals did just that, and frowned. Then they leaned down and touched the grass with their hands. "Ain't technology here in the 2050's something else?" I asked. "They matched the artificial turf to the rest of the lawn pretty well, if I do say so myself. Gotta save water, don'tcha know?" They looked at Rydollph, confused. I continued. "You take good care of that machine, young feller. Don't want no robot revolution when the programming realizes it's what's sapient, not the plants. Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!"	It is a hot summer day and my grass is looking a little long, there is no reason for me not to mow this lawn. I love mowing the lawn, its a simple task, and it serves a simple purpose. It helps me clear my head, keeps me busy. I have been mowing the lawn for fourty years at this house and its one of the many things i do to keep busy. I start up my lawn mower and start cutting, about one pass through, I hear a voice coming from behind me. 'Hey!' I slumber around and there is Jim, the hotshot, forty something from across the street. He has a couple kids and a wife and is a real crusader for just about anything that sniffs his fancy that week. I notice a couple other people poking their heads out from their doors. Cathy the single mother next door, and Daniel, a neighbors kid who is home from his first year at college. They are all giving me dirty type looks. I slowly give my mower a bit of push and continue on, while looking at Tim, who is fast approaching. 'Hey, Hey, What are you doing there Silas?, Haven't you heard?' 'I am mowing my lawn, like I always do, whats the big deal?' 'While we cant mow our lawns anymore, there is a new study showing that plants are alive and feel pain, you are hurting these plants, these souls right now, man, stop the mower' Tim reaches over and puts his hands on the handles of my push mower. I am slightly irritated and slightly confused. 'What in the hell is this nonsense?' Plants can feel pain?' Tell you the truth, I didnt really care what he was saying, sounded a lot like mumbo jumbo to me. 'Well what the hell am i supposed to do about my lawn then?' 'We don't know yet but scientists are working on a solution to lawncare, in the meantime, let the grass grow.' At this point Cathy, and Daniel had came over and were nodding in agreeance with Tim. I look in all three of their eyes and they got that puppy dog look, for the plants, or their souls, or whatever. This looks like too much of a fight for this kind of heat. 'Okay, okay guys, I will turn off my mower, and leave my lawn half cut if that will make you happy' Daniel went and grabbed a rake and was trying to rake the cut grass from the side of the road, careful not to step on the plants. He piled it all up in a corner of the lawn, as sometype of mourning ceremony i suspect. Thing I didnt really understand is if the grass grows back, closest thing I can think of, is human hair. So way I see it is this wasnt hurting the grass all that much, it was just like giving it a haircut, because its gonna grow back, if it was like a human limb, it wouldnt grown back, and it would probably be more painful. Anyhow, I didnt have the heart to tell em, and I sat back the next couple days watching similar scenarios, and signs go up, 'Protect the grass!' I watched from on my porch, a cup of tea in hand. I chuckled to myself, hey at least its something different.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Heinrich was in his garage, gazing at his old pull mower he had owned for several years. The paint, once a blazing red, had been worn to a patchy shadow of its former self. He pulled the cord with his old bones shouting in protest against it. The motor made a short coughing sound and was silent. He pulled again, twice, three times now. "Ach, why can't you just work for once?" Heinrich readied himself for a final pull, yanking the cord with all the force he could muster. The machine sputtered to life, the familiar smell of gasoline filling the air once again. He pushed the aging lawnmower out to his front lawn and began to cut his grass. He had cut a bit of his lawn before a young girl on the edge of his lawn started to stare at him with a look of pure horror on her face. Heinrich stopped and looked around, wondering what she was staring at. It took a moment for his aged mind to register that she was staring at him. "Can I help you, young lady?" "What are you DOING to them?" Heinrich glanced around, "To who?" "The LAWN!" she shouted. The lawn? The lawn. Yes of course. "It is rather looking isn't it? Despite my age I take care of it myself." Before he could continue she marched away in fury. She was clearly angry about something. Heinrich hoped it wasn't about, the thing. He continued mowing his lawn, but stopped halfway because he had exhausted all his energy for the day. He turned off the mower and went back inside to sit down in his armchair for a nice nap. He awoke later in the day, and decided to finish up taking care of the lawn before finishing the rest of his chores. Now that Maria was gone, he had to do everything on his own. He walked outside and began to start the mower again when he noticed a small crowd had gathered near his house. They seemed angry about something. "Can I help you?" he called out. The young one from before stepped forward from the group and began yelling at him. "Do you know what you're doing is MURDER sir?" Murder? Not for at least seventy years, but he didn't want to dwell on those days. His heart rate began to rise. Had they found out about what he'd done all those years ago? He wasn't proud of the things he'd done, but he had refused to abandon his old uniform. It had a certain sentimentality to him. Had he said something he shouldn't have about it? He didn't think his accent was too heavy, certainly better than it was when he had first came to the US. He steeled himself for what could be one of his last conversations that isn't before a courtroom back in Germany. "How did... how did you find out?" She gestured into the crowd until she was given a small device, rather Wellsian in design. She held it up to his face. "Take a listen, and hear what you have done to the innocent." Oh Lord, had they made some sort of device to make him hear the cries and suffering of those he'd killed all those years ago? Rather hesitantly, he held the device up to his ears. Instead of the damning wails he expected to hear, he heard small shrieking. It took almost no time for his ancient ears to adjust to the screams, eerily similar to those of the injured and dying he'd experienced during his service. "Have you tapped into my memories child? There are some I would rather leave alone." "What are you going on about old man?" she sputtered. "These sounds of torment are from the grass itself, the so called "lawn" you so mercilessly reap without so much as a second thought." Oh, so these young people hadn't discovered his past. They were simply insane. "Yes well, I am sorry about the um, grass. But I do have to keep my lawn in check. I want it to look nice for those who drive by, not look as an eyesore." "How can you do things like this? What would your mother think of you?" Heinrich's mother wasn't around, killed in a bombing raid on the home front in the last years of the war. Resurfaced thoughts of his long deceased mother made his anger begin to rise. "Please just leave. I really need to finish my chores, and I'm kindly asking you to leave in peace. Please?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. "Does your wife know what you're doing to these poor creatures?" That hit closer to Heinrich's aging heart. Maria hadn't passed away half a year ago, and the wounds of her passing were still fresh. The mentioning of her by someone who clearly didn't know who she was just made him more angry. "Do not bring my wife into this, do you understand? She... isn't with me anymore." "Well no wonder she left you, who would want to stay with a murderer like you?" That was the last straw. Heinrich stepped in very close to the girl and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what real murder is. Real death. Your lack of respect is frankly insulting, and I am tired of you being on my property and telling me that what I am doing is wrong. If you keep this up, I will show you what real pain is. I'll show you that just because I haven't done it for seventy years, doesn't mean I don't know how to anymore." He stepped closer to her. "I can show you what true pain is. Would you like to see it? No? Then get the fuck off my lawn." Heinrich turned away from the crowd, slammed his door shut, and sat down in his armchair again. Maybe he had gone too far with those young people outside. But he was an old man. What they did to him couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd done to others all those years ago. With the image of their suffering branded forever into his mind, Heinrich settled into another restless sleep. Same as he'd had for nearly his entire life.	Jesus H Christ do I miss the old days. Back when a man could shuffle on outside on an August day, grimace at the heat and his aching bones, then go mow the lawn. Back when the recession was going on its downswing, WW3 was diverted, and the biggest threat to American Values was whether or not you felt like a boy or a girl. Didn't matter what parts you were greasing, just what you felt in the ol' ticker in your chest. But those days are behind us. Nowadays, with nothing else to moan about, the youngin's have decided that plants have feelings too. It wasn't enough to change what's in your pants, but God help us and save the plants. Not something I'm against, mind you. I did a sit-in on behalf of the Amazon Rainforest back in '23, and then when Nestle decided to mine Antarctica for the ice I did more marches than I could count. But, again, that was a younger me. Someone who could walk to the mailbox and get the mail without a cane, someone who could have carried his wife down a hill to an ambulance when she was having a heart attack on a picnic in '18... Just focus on the lawn The protestors don't bother me, not really. They picket my house day and night, they shout "Don't stoop any morally lower; Shut off the mower!" amongst many other witty rhymes, and they throw those conflabbin' soy-free-violence-free-carbon-free Monsanto eggs at my house, but they don't mean any harm. Martha would know how to deal with them, and because I let myself get stooped, I suppose I have to deal with them. Just a couple more rows now. You know, if I were old fashioned, I could turn down my hearing aid and block them out completely. Hell in half blind, maybe I can get some help with that. In fact, I'll go out back and ask Martha now. She may know where one is. Maybe they'll put two and two together someday, but I doubt it. These kids...they just don't understand. Yes, they all believe that grass us feelings, that what I'm doing is murder blah blah blah, but I wish they could just know what this means to me. That they're wasting their time. That no matter how many laws pass, how many activist kids show up on my "living breathing" lawn, I'll still cut it. I'll get down on my hands and knees with a pair of shears if I have too. Deep breaths, you can do this. Her stone is always the hardest. Because no matter how much they protest, how much they whine, they can't change the fact that Martha hates an unkempt lawn.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Heinrich was in his garage, gazing at his old pull mower he had owned for several years. The paint, once a blazing red, had been worn to a patchy shadow of its former self. He pulled the cord with his old bones shouting in protest against it. The motor made a short coughing sound and was silent. He pulled again, twice, three times now. "Ach, why can't you just work for once?" Heinrich readied himself for a final pull, yanking the cord with all the force he could muster. The machine sputtered to life, the familiar smell of gasoline filling the air once again. He pushed the aging lawnmower out to his front lawn and began to cut his grass. He had cut a bit of his lawn before a young girl on the edge of his lawn started to stare at him with a look of pure horror on her face. Heinrich stopped and looked around, wondering what she was staring at. It took a moment for his aged mind to register that she was staring at him. "Can I help you, young lady?" "What are you DOING to them?" Heinrich glanced around, "To who?" "The LAWN!" she shouted. The lawn? The lawn. Yes of course. "It is rather looking isn't it? Despite my age I take care of it myself." Before he could continue she marched away in fury. She was clearly angry about something. Heinrich hoped it wasn't about, the thing. He continued mowing his lawn, but stopped halfway because he had exhausted all his energy for the day. He turned off the mower and went back inside to sit down in his armchair for a nice nap. He awoke later in the day, and decided to finish up taking care of the lawn before finishing the rest of his chores. Now that Maria was gone, he had to do everything on his own. He walked outside and began to start the mower again when he noticed a small crowd had gathered near his house. They seemed angry about something. "Can I help you?" he called out. The young one from before stepped forward from the group and began yelling at him. "Do you know what you're doing is MURDER sir?" Murder? Not for at least seventy years, but he didn't want to dwell on those days. His heart rate began to rise. Had they found out about what he'd done all those years ago? He wasn't proud of the things he'd done, but he had refused to abandon his old uniform. It had a certain sentimentality to him. Had he said something he shouldn't have about it? He didn't think his accent was too heavy, certainly better than it was when he had first came to the US. He steeled himself for what could be one of his last conversations that isn't before a courtroom back in Germany. "How did... how did you find out?" She gestured into the crowd until she was given a small device, rather Wellsian in design. She held it up to his face. "Take a listen, and hear what you have done to the innocent." Oh Lord, had they made some sort of device to make him hear the cries and suffering of those he'd killed all those years ago? Rather hesitantly, he held the device up to his ears. Instead of the damning wails he expected to hear, he heard small shrieking. It took almost no time for his ancient ears to adjust to the screams, eerily similar to those of the injured and dying he'd experienced during his service. "Have you tapped into my memories child? There are some I would rather leave alone." "What are you going on about old man?" she sputtered. "These sounds of torment are from the grass itself, the so called "lawn" you so mercilessly reap without so much as a second thought." Oh, so these young people hadn't discovered his past. They were simply insane. "Yes well, I am sorry about the um, grass. But I do have to keep my lawn in check. I want it to look nice for those who drive by, not look as an eyesore." "How can you do things like this? What would your mother think of you?" Heinrich's mother wasn't around, killed in a bombing raid on the home front in the last years of the war. Resurfaced thoughts of his long deceased mother made his anger begin to rise. "Please just leave. I really need to finish my chores, and I'm kindly asking you to leave in peace. Please?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. "Does your wife know what you're doing to these poor creatures?" That hit closer to Heinrich's aging heart. Maria hadn't passed away half a year ago, and the wounds of her passing were still fresh. The mentioning of her by someone who clearly didn't know who she was just made him more angry. "Do not bring my wife into this, do you understand? She... isn't with me anymore." "Well no wonder she left you, who would want to stay with a murderer like you?" That was the last straw. Heinrich stepped in very close to the girl and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what real murder is. Real death. Your lack of respect is frankly insulting, and I am tired of you being on my property and telling me that what I am doing is wrong. If you keep this up, I will show you what real pain is. I'll show you that just because I haven't done it for seventy years, doesn't mean I don't know how to anymore." He stepped closer to her. "I can show you what true pain is. Would you like to see it? No? Then get the fuck off my lawn." Heinrich turned away from the crowd, slammed his door shut, and sat down in his armchair again. Maybe he had gone too far with those young people outside. But he was an old man. What they did to him couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd done to others all those years ago. With the image of their suffering branded forever into his mind, Heinrich settled into another restless sleep. Same as he'd had for nearly his entire life.	Ben sighed as he looked out towards his pride and joy. His garden. Once kept in pristine condition, every blade of grass trimmed to perfection. Every flower kept beautiful and blooming. Now, as he looked at his horribly overgrown garden he was filled with sadness. These silly kids with their fancy apps had ruined everything. His grandson had told him that plants were sentient, he dismissed the idea. What were they teaching them at school? Those silly phones controlled them now, he thought. Back in his day he'd have been content with a stick and his imagination. Well, he had had enough. He put on his favourite wellies, put on his best, green gardening gloves and pulled his old cap down onto his balding head. He walked to the shed at the bottom of the garden and emerged with his trusty old mower. It took a couple of pulls but finally it sprung into life. The sound of the engine filled him with happiness when suddenly he heard a voice from over his fence. "Murderer!" shrieked a woman's voice. It was Betty, his neighbor. Her face emerged from behind the wooden fence that separated their gardens. Her many chins flapped as she pulled her large figure up so that she could see over into the miscreant's garden. "How could you Ben?" she bellowed, stroking a bright, pink flower with a collar around the plant pot. On the collar was a small tag with the name 'Rex' on. "They have feelings too you know? You're hurting them." "Bollocks" laughed Ben as he began making his way towards the long grass that had causing him many sleepless nights. "That's it!" screamed Betty "I'm calling the Plant Protection Group." she announced as she pulled a bright pink phone from her pocket and dialed a number using her fat digits. "My next door neighbor..." she paused dramatically "Is MOWING his lawn." Ben heard a gasp from the other side of the phone and within minutes a large group of people appeared in Betty's garden. "Are you some sort of psychopath?" cried a woman wearing a large, straw hat. "Can you not hear the little babies screaming?" "No I can't hear god damn blades of grass crying. It's just grass" he shouted. He was met with gasps. He began mowing, whistling as he went. Blocking out the sound of gasping and crying. He got about half way when a fat, sweaty man holding a sign with a picture of a crossed out pair of shears stumbled over the fence and ran across Ben's lawn, swan diving in front of the lawn mower. "You'll have to kill me to get to the sweet, little grass" he exclaimed. Ben simply directed the mower around the man and carried on trimming his lawn. A woman then leaped over his fence, jumping in front of the mower, Ben changed direction again. More and more people began jumping onto his lawn. Ben cursed silently. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Ben exclaimed. He kicked the mower in anger and stormed off into his shed. "We totally won!" shouted a teenager with floppy hair that covered his eyes. The group celebrated their victory for a few minutes. High fiving each other, and cheering loudly. Then Ben emerged. He was carrying all the gardening equipment he could find. Shears, hedge-trimmers, even a chainsaw. The group looked on in horror as he began to tidy up his garden. Laughing manically as he danced around his garden. Gleefully trimming bushes and cutting back branches. The group had now run off screaming and crying. Betty was left. Mascara staining her cheeks. "You're DISGUSTING!" she screeched. She then ran off up her garden. Another win for 'Ol Ben.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Jayden pushed the mower out of the garage into the walkway and onto the grass. He took a moment to breathe. They could invent self driving cars, self flying airplanes but they couldn't invent self propelling lawn mowers. In fact, he thinks as he eyes the machine with hatred, he would say they got heavier since he was a kid. At this point he might was well use a push mower. They both messed up with his back. He checked the gasoline level and grumbled about that expense. Renewable energy was everywhere these days from his house to the garbage can down the street that compacted itself off the methane produced from the waste. Except with mowers it seems. No that still used gasoline and at eight dollars a gallon he didn't care for the expense. He pulled the starter rope. Nothing. He sighed and checked the dip stick. Yeah, he had enough oil in the thing. He pulled again. He felt annoyed. He only yoloed. Why was he unable to start his machine withought wasting more time? He thought. Sure he could pay someone to do it like the Rodriguez' did down the street but he was letting a Mapler mow his own lawn. They were supposed to be cheap but he didn't trust them not to try to fuel the damn machine with syrup or loonies or whatever Nuckers did to be so cheap labor. The machine started. Good. He began to to push it down the lawn. The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass wafted to him. This is why he still did it. He thinks. The smell was nothing that could be replaced or memories of doing this with his dads. He turned the machine, ready to clear one more line, when a teen started yelling at him. Jayden frowned. He couldn't hear over engine. He powered down the machine. Monster! was what he caught the girl yelling. What now? he thought. "You can't do that! They're alive!" "Yes. I know grass is alive. I had to go to high school too." He said. The girl screamed and waved her phone in his face. He squinted. He hated transparent phones. You couldn't see squat. Was a video playing of the Chicago Tribune? Something about plants...vegans? "Turn up the volume. I can't hear anything." he grumbled. The girl colored. She must have had an audio implant. That was the fashion now. After environmental pollution was solved they had moved on to light pollution and noise pollution. Too late for him though. His eyesight was too bad to enjoy the stars in the sky and he had lost most of his hearing. He didn't know what was wrong with headphone. Oh right, the hearing loss. Still. He wasn't going to implant one in his head. "-plants are capable of thought. At least six species have been found to be capable of pain including the common oak. Canadians are divided about treatment of maple trees, sending an already depressed economy into greater recession." "What?" he was confused. Plants were alive. He knew that. Was she showing him a comedy clip. "God. Old people are so stupid!" She flipped the transparent phone to here and typed something. Jayden recognized Buzzfeed's logo and frowned at the list coming up. Ten Reasons Plant Lives Matter! Jayden scrolled through the list. Okay plants were alive and some could feel pain. Or someone them could. He sighed. "I'm going inside." He thought and glared at the grass taunting him with its length. He was getting a goat. The girl preened thinking she had changed the world. Jayden went inside. He looked at the photos slowly changing on his mantle. All from his youth, mutli colored hair and tattoos bringing him nostalgia. Mainly he was annoyed. He used to be vegan, before the doctors told him he needed to eat eggs. He went to his old iPad air, still running well and with no transparent screen, thank you. "Siri, how can I cut my grass?" "I'll look into that for you." He heard a smashing sound. He quickly shuffled to his window the neighbor girl was smashing his mower. Now he was salty. This was personal. "Siri, order me two goats. It doesn't matter the species." "How would you liked them shipped?" Siri asked. "Prime." The war was on.	Ben sighed as he looked out towards his pride and joy. His garden. Once kept in pristine condition, every blade of grass trimmed to perfection. Every flower kept beautiful and blooming. Now, as he looked at his horribly overgrown garden he was filled with sadness. These silly kids with their fancy apps had ruined everything. His grandson had told him that plants were sentient, he dismissed the idea. What were they teaching them at school? Those silly phones controlled them now, he thought. Back in his day he'd have been content with a stick and his imagination. Well, he had had enough. He put on his favourite wellies, put on his best, green gardening gloves and pulled his old cap down onto his balding head. He walked to the shed at the bottom of the garden and emerged with his trusty old mower. It took a couple of pulls but finally it sprung into life. The sound of the engine filled him with happiness when suddenly he heard a voice from over his fence. "Murderer!" shrieked a woman's voice. It was Betty, his neighbor. Her face emerged from behind the wooden fence that separated their gardens. Her many chins flapped as she pulled her large figure up so that she could see over into the miscreant's garden. "How could you Ben?" she bellowed, stroking a bright, pink flower with a collar around the plant pot. On the collar was a small tag with the name 'Rex' on. "They have feelings too you know? You're hurting them." "Bollocks" laughed Ben as he began making his way towards the long grass that had causing him many sleepless nights. "That's it!" screamed Betty "I'm calling the Plant Protection Group." she announced as she pulled a bright pink phone from her pocket and dialed a number using her fat digits. "My next door neighbor..." she paused dramatically "Is MOWING his lawn." Ben heard a gasp from the other side of the phone and within minutes a large group of people appeared in Betty's garden. "Are you some sort of psychopath?" cried a woman wearing a large, straw hat. "Can you not hear the little babies screaming?" "No I can't hear god damn blades of grass crying. It's just grass" he shouted. He was met with gasps. He began mowing, whistling as he went. Blocking out the sound of gasping and crying. He got about half way when a fat, sweaty man holding a sign with a picture of a crossed out pair of shears stumbled over the fence and ran across Ben's lawn, swan diving in front of the lawn mower. "You'll have to kill me to get to the sweet, little grass" he exclaimed. Ben simply directed the mower around the man and carried on trimming his lawn. A woman then leaped over his fence, jumping in front of the mower, Ben changed direction again. More and more people began jumping onto his lawn. Ben cursed silently. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Ben exclaimed. He kicked the mower in anger and stormed off into his shed. "We totally won!" shouted a teenager with floppy hair that covered his eyes. The group celebrated their victory for a few minutes. High fiving each other, and cheering loudly. Then Ben emerged. He was carrying all the gardening equipment he could find. Shears, hedge-trimmers, even a chainsaw. The group looked on in horror as he began to tidy up his garden. Laughing manically as he danced around his garden. Gleefully trimming bushes and cutting back branches. The group had now run off screaming and crying. Betty was left. Mascara staining her cheeks. "You're DISGUSTING!" she screeched. She then ran off up her garden. Another win for 'Ol Ben.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The students of Dr. Franc Grasser were coming for me. The Ralishmans, my neighbors across the street, had warned me. With tears in their eyes, they'd described the voices of the flowers in their garden, the screams of the trees they'd trimmed, and the herbs they'd stopped harvesting. The device was never wrong, they said, and they'd discussed reparations with their plants into the late evening. Liberals. I pulled the extension cord of my electric mower around as I made the next turn, so it wouldn't get cut or caught. It was a good mower, had been in the family for years. I depressed the button. The grass disappeared with a roar, and the protesters started running. When they were one property away, I switched it off. Arguments were one thing, but yelling wasn't what I wanted. "Murderer!" they accused, "mammal supremacist!" They started chanting other slogans, and a circle gathered around me and sang, "All we are saying is, give green a hand." I looked in the eyes of Rydollph Barnes-Diego, Master of Environmental Science, doctoral candidate. "Turn it on." A hush fell as Rydollph pressed the button. "Oh, thank Gaia you've arrived," said a voice that sounded like Lisa Simpson, "he was making me bleed!" I went through the pretense of conversing with the device. It passed every Turing test I could think of, including a sense of humor, and singing "Row Your Boat" in rounds. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, the one from my youthful fanfictions) would have been proud of how quickly we made up and became friends. I offered some more water from the hose, and she accepted. We all walked around the corner to my hose, across the front walk leading to the street, and I started spraying. "Oh Gaia, that's divine!" she said, as I waved the hose spray up and down across that section of lawn. "Hey kids, how's about you take off your shoes and stand on miss oxygen here?" I asked. Three wearing sandals did just that, and frowned. Then they leaned down and touched the grass with their hands. "Ain't technology here in the 2050's something else?" I asked. "They matched the artificial turf to the rest of the lawn pretty well, if I do say so myself. Gotta save water, don'tcha know?" They looked at Rydollph, confused. I continued. "You take good care of that machine, young feller. Don't want no robot revolution when the programming realizes it's what's sapient, not the plants. Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!"	Ben sighed as he looked out towards his pride and joy. His garden. Once kept in pristine condition, every blade of grass trimmed to perfection. Every flower kept beautiful and blooming. Now, as he looked at his horribly overgrown garden he was filled with sadness. These silly kids with their fancy apps had ruined everything. His grandson had told him that plants were sentient, he dismissed the idea. What were they teaching them at school? Those silly phones controlled them now, he thought. Back in his day he'd have been content with a stick and his imagination. Well, he had had enough. He put on his favourite wellies, put on his best, green gardening gloves and pulled his old cap down onto his balding head. He walked to the shed at the bottom of the garden and emerged with his trusty old mower. It took a couple of pulls but finally it sprung into life. The sound of the engine filled him with happiness when suddenly he heard a voice from over his fence. "Murderer!" shrieked a woman's voice. It was Betty, his neighbor. Her face emerged from behind the wooden fence that separated their gardens. Her many chins flapped as she pulled her large figure up so that she could see over into the miscreant's garden. "How could you Ben?" she bellowed, stroking a bright, pink flower with a collar around the plant pot. On the collar was a small tag with the name 'Rex' on. "They have feelings too you know? You're hurting them." "Bollocks" laughed Ben as he began making his way towards the long grass that had causing him many sleepless nights. "That's it!" screamed Betty "I'm calling the Plant Protection Group." she announced as she pulled a bright pink phone from her pocket and dialed a number using her fat digits. "My next door neighbor..." she paused dramatically "Is MOWING his lawn." Ben heard a gasp from the other side of the phone and within minutes a large group of people appeared in Betty's garden. "Are you some sort of psychopath?" cried a woman wearing a large, straw hat. "Can you not hear the little babies screaming?" "No I can't hear god damn blades of grass crying. It's just grass" he shouted. He was met with gasps. He began mowing, whistling as he went. Blocking out the sound of gasping and crying. He got about half way when a fat, sweaty man holding a sign with a picture of a crossed out pair of shears stumbled over the fence and ran across Ben's lawn, swan diving in front of the lawn mower. "You'll have to kill me to get to the sweet, little grass" he exclaimed. Ben simply directed the mower around the man and carried on trimming his lawn. A woman then leaped over his fence, jumping in front of the mower, Ben changed direction again. More and more people began jumping onto his lawn. Ben cursed silently. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Ben exclaimed. He kicked the mower in anger and stormed off into his shed. "We totally won!" shouted a teenager with floppy hair that covered his eyes. The group celebrated their victory for a few minutes. High fiving each other, and cheering loudly. Then Ben emerged. He was carrying all the gardening equipment he could find. Shears, hedge-trimmers, even a chainsaw. The group looked on in horror as he began to tidy up his garden. Laughing manically as he danced around his garden. Gleefully trimming bushes and cutting back branches. The group had now run off screaming and crying. Betty was left. Mascara staining her cheeks. "You're DISGUSTING!" she screeched. She then ran off up her garden. Another win for 'Ol Ben.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	The students of Dr. Franc Grasser were coming for me. The Ralishmans, my neighbors across the street, had warned me. With tears in their eyes, they'd described the voices of the flowers in their garden, the screams of the trees they'd trimmed, and the herbs they'd stopped harvesting. The device was never wrong, they said, and they'd discussed reparations with their plants into the late evening. Liberals. I pulled the extension cord of my electric mower around as I made the next turn, so it wouldn't get cut or caught. It was a good mower, had been in the family for years. I depressed the button. The grass disappeared with a roar, and the protesters started running. When they were one property away, I switched it off. Arguments were one thing, but yelling wasn't what I wanted. "Murderer!" they accused, "mammal supremacist!" They started chanting other slogans, and a circle gathered around me and sang, "All we are saying is, give green a hand." I looked in the eyes of Rydollph Barnes-Diego, Master of Environmental Science, doctoral candidate. "Turn it on." A hush fell as Rydollph pressed the button. "Oh, thank Gaia you've arrived," said a voice that sounded like Lisa Simpson, "he was making me bleed!" I went through the pretense of conversing with the device. It passed every Turing test I could think of, including a sense of humor, and singing "Row Your Boat" in rounds. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, the one from my youthful fanfictions) would have been proud of how quickly we made up and became friends. I offered some more water from the hose, and she accepted. We all walked around the corner to my hose, across the front walk leading to the street, and I started spraying. "Oh Gaia, that's divine!" she said, as I waved the hose spray up and down across that section of lawn. "Hey kids, how's about you take off your shoes and stand on miss oxygen here?" I asked. Three wearing sandals did just that, and frowned. Then they leaned down and touched the grass with their hands. "Ain't technology here in the 2050's something else?" I asked. "They matched the artificial turf to the rest of the lawn pretty well, if I do say so myself. Gotta save water, don'tcha know?" They looked at Rydollph, confused. I continued. "You take good care of that machine, young feller. Don't want no robot revolution when the programming realizes it's what's sapient, not the plants. Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!"	It was a weekly ritual. Get up at the crack of dawn. Kiss my Daria on the cheek and let her sleep in, it's Saturday after all. Put on my robe and get some oj and oatmeal. People always say that not only humans have emotions but I never believed them. An animal only attacks you because you are in its way, not because it's angry. I know our husky Axl got mad when I took his food, but it wasn't a real emotion. He didn't stay mad. I got dressed in an old ratty shirt and jeans. I made my way outside to the shed I built with my son. He passed in the war. I think it's when i became jaded. I stopped caring about things. About myself. About her. I got the push mower that I bought nearly 15 years ago. Our neighbor had one of those riding ones. I hated them. Loud, stupid looking. Made the job to easy. You didn't get to really know your work. I finished the backyard first. I figured it easier because of the size. It was simple. Watching the clippings get in the pool was horrible. Watching them float there, I knew the automatic cleaner wouldn't get them and I would have to get the net. When I got to the front, I saw them. The damn protesters. They were on the street with signs. I didn't bother reading them. I knew what they were yelling about. The grass. People said you could talk to plants. I didn't really care much for what they said. The one thing I loved was the smell. You could tell they weren't happy. I just mowed in front of them. All the protesters were cringing and yelling as I pushed along. I couldn't be happier. When I was done a young man came up and was yelling in my face. I couldn't hear him as I walk back to my shed. All I could hear was the drowning in my pool. I had to find the net so they would shut up.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip, But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip. He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door, He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore. But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old, The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold. He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past, His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last. But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard, Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard. "Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more, And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four. "You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd, But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud. He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line, He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign. And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds, So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds. They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust, So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust. They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!", And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss. But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground, There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around. He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve, The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve. The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round, Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.	Ferns waved in the wind, and at the fringes of the cold pond, whorl-grass tipped its feathery stems towards the grey surface. Yellow dandelions, clovers from blood red to shell white, bright houndstongue and blue comfrey broke the rolling green of the grass. Oscar watched from his window of his shed and sighed. Behind him, the tin kettle whistled and told him the water had boiled on the primus stove. A solitary mug with a chipped handle waited for him. Iron dawn gave way to streaks of light blue as the sun began to rise. Frost and drew made the plants turn white and they waved as if shivering in the light breeze. Oscar had found the windows of the shed covered with ice that morning, and he'd cracked it with the wood handle of his rake. Smartly, precisely. He could see the church tower over the back wall of his garden: the tips of the more ornate graves silver in the light. Around him, gardening equipment turned slowly to rust. Marie's packets of seeds lay forgotten on dusty shelves. Spiders had made the tool box their home, scuttling around the trowels and secateurs and weaving them a cocoon of silver thread. And the lawnmower: the lawnmower stood against one wall, beside the chair with the tartan blanket that Oscar sat in and looked out of the window of his shed, watching the lawn. At that time in the morning, it should have been silent, but nothing could be further from the truth. Oscar had been a virtual prisoner in the shed at the end of his garden for almost three days, since he had first pulled the chain that started that blasted lawnmower and the neighbours had called... called them. Them was a group of students. They sat on his lawn, huddled in sleeping bags against the frost, all with earpieces in, wires trailing like roots towards the ground. Oscar had long ago identified the leader: a ginger girl with skinny arms and a puffy jacket. She wore green gloves and called herself Fern. She announced it with a megaphone three days ago, when she'd first arrived and made him put the lawnmower back in the shed. "If the lawnmower goes in the shed, so do I," Oscar said, knobbly hands holding onto the handle. He'd bought himself a plot next to Marie in the churchyard, but if he had to rot away in his shed with the forgotten tools, he'd do it. "That's fine by me," Fern said bossily. She folded her arms and her ginger eyebrows drew together. "As long as the plants aren't hurt. They're telling me... they're telling me..." She pinched the wire that trailed to the ground, buried beneath the layer of grass. "They're scared Mr. Wheeler. They've felt so much pain before." Oscar had been a vegetarian in the seventies for a month. It was the thing to do at the time, and he'd even been quite opposed to animal cruelty. He'd never pushed it in anyone's face, however. It had been his own choice. "I don't give a damn about the grass' feelings," he said to Fern. "I'm going to stay in the shed." He lifted the tin kettle off the stove and poured it into the lonely cup. He wondered what Marie would say about his stubbornness. She said a lot of things, clipping her secateurs at him when he came out to try to help in the garden. She had the green thumb, not him. He just wanted to cut his damn lawn. Daisies had been her favourite, and when they lowered her into the earth, he'd put them on her coffin. If he cut the lawn, he could grow daisies again in the borders. Oscar seized his cup of tea, still brewing, and emerged from the shed. "Right," he said. "I've had enough. Get off my lawn!" Fern got to her feet, bolting out of the sleeping bag as soon as she saw Oscar striding towards her. "Mr. Wheeler," she said. "Mr. Wheeler, are you sure you want to take responsibility for ending these plants' existence?" Oscar measured her up. She looked haggard after three days in his cold garden, beside the pond that was threatening to freeze over. Dark bags under her eyes, and the ever present wire trailing from her headset, rooting into the ground and listening to the plants. "Give me that," he said. He snatched the headphones from her and placed them over his own ears. "Hold my tea, I've got something to say to these plants." Oscar screwed up his face and concentrated, listening to the whispers that echoed in his head. He separated a strand of consciousness and followed it, wondering whether it came from that dandelion, from the comfrey, or even the clover that attracted all the bees. Don't mow the lawn Oscar, the voice sounded like it had a smile in it. I always loved flowers. Oscar removed the headset and passed it back. "They bury the dead underground," he said. "I don't think you're listening to plants here."
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Gary had to stop to rest. Lawn mowers are fundamentally sadistic devices, Gary thought, requiring you to first wrench your back five or six times for the privilege of getting the damn thing to start doing its job before making you perform sustained labour for an hour. It was the devil's contraption, though he imagined going back to the sickle wouldn't be any easier on him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a small but unruly crowd of protestors standing behind him. He reluctantly stopped the engine. "What'ya want?" "I want you to stop brutalizing these tender creatures!" "The what?" Gary asked, holding his hand to the ear, legitimately unable to hear him. "These tender creatures!" said the youth, who was probably named Justin. "The grass!" He gestured to the ground around them. Gary's heart skipped a beat, though this wasn't terribly unusual in the normal operation of his heart. Then it skipped another and he knew he was in trouble. "The cats?" Gary mumbled. "There ain't any cats around here." "That's a pathetic lie. I know what you've been doing to the grass. I've seen it! We've all seen it!" The whole time, Justin pointed angrily at Gary's basement. How could he know? Was it the smell? He'd dumped so many bags of kitty litter down there. But how long ago was that? Four years? Nine? He hadn't been so bad to them. He fed them now and then. He wasn't a bad person. He wondered how many there were now? Gary started crying. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm sorry. There was just so many of them. I couldn't handle it. I just needed them to go away." Justin was surprised by the breakdown but quickly moved to care for the distraught elderly man. He wrapped an arm around Gary who collapsed into his shirt, crying. "It's okay,” Justin said. “If you're brought up to not see them as living things it's hard to see the pain you're causing. But when you accept it, you'll be free. Let's go inside so you can lie down." Gary started marching toward the house, weaving back and forth as Justin kept him upright. The other youths followed along inside. They gawked at the piles of garbage, covered in dust. Some took out their phones, snapping pictures and whispering about Instagram. Justin sat Gary down on the one clean chair in the house. The old man gasped for air. “Breathe,” Justin said. “Just breath. In and out. Steady.” It wasn't working. Gary flushed red, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, his hand holding his chest. Justin snapped his fingers in Gary’s eyes. “Stay with me! What should I do?” Gary could only get out a whisper. Justin placed his ear close. “Your pills? You need your pills? Where are they?” The room was completely silent now. “In the cupboard,” Gary whispered. “Which cupboard? Where?” Gary reached a mottled finger toward the door. “The basement.” Justin leaped up and sprinted to the door. He pulled it open and peered into the gloom. The smell was enough to make his eyes water. He placed a foot on the top stair, feeling it's strength. There was a landing six steps in. He couldn’t see anything past the bend. He turned when Gary screamed. The old man clutched his chest, arching his back against the chair, face contorted. With a sudden look of resolve, Justin swept the nook of his elbow over his nose and plunged in. His footfalls banged down the wooden steps and then transitioned to a wet slosh as he reached the floor. “I can't see anything down here!” Justin shouted up. “Where’s the light switch!” Another youth - named Lief probably, but that didn't matter now - walked forward and groped the walls around the door jam. “I found it!” he yelled, flipping the switch, flooding the basement with light. The scream would have shaken the floorboards 80 years ago when the house was built, but now the damp, sagging structure sucked in the vibrations. Instead, the sound came billowing out of the staircase like a throat. Lief didn't hesitate, he sprinted down the steps. “Adam! What’s-” Their screams harmonized well. The three others surged forward, running through the door but slowing before the landing. Gary jumped up and followed them. The three youths froze as the screams became wetter. Arrayed in a tight group on the stairs, the three presented an obstacle for what came around the corner. It clawed at them, trying to swim up against the current of falling youths. The pile grew slicker as the thing struggled in their midst, blood boiling out everywhere, soaking the hanging strands of clothes and skin. It still had an eye though. It locked onto the old man at the top of the stairs. Gary didn’t like that so he turned off the lights and closed the door. He took his chair and shoved it under the door handle. He pulled his hearing aid out because he didn’t like the noises. When the door stopped shaking in its hinges, he leaned way back and rested his head against it, placing his hands in the small of his back and pushing hard. It felt good. He wanted to rest but the front grass was only half cut. He couldn't leave it like that. What would the neighbours think? At least he didn't have to feed the cats.	Ferns waved in the wind, and at the fringes of the cold pond, whorl-grass tipped its feathery stems towards the grey surface. Yellow dandelions, clovers from blood red to shell white, bright houndstongue and blue comfrey broke the rolling green of the grass. Oscar watched from his window of his shed and sighed. Behind him, the tin kettle whistled and told him the water had boiled on the primus stove. A solitary mug with a chipped handle waited for him. Iron dawn gave way to streaks of light blue as the sun began to rise. Frost and drew made the plants turn white and they waved as if shivering in the light breeze. Oscar had found the windows of the shed covered with ice that morning, and he'd cracked it with the wood handle of his rake. Smartly, precisely. He could see the church tower over the back wall of his garden: the tips of the more ornate graves silver in the light. Around him, gardening equipment turned slowly to rust. Marie's packets of seeds lay forgotten on dusty shelves. Spiders had made the tool box their home, scuttling around the trowels and secateurs and weaving them a cocoon of silver thread. And the lawnmower: the lawnmower stood against one wall, beside the chair with the tartan blanket that Oscar sat in and looked out of the window of his shed, watching the lawn. At that time in the morning, it should have been silent, but nothing could be further from the truth. Oscar had been a virtual prisoner in the shed at the end of his garden for almost three days, since he had first pulled the chain that started that blasted lawnmower and the neighbours had called... called them. Them was a group of students. They sat on his lawn, huddled in sleeping bags against the frost, all with earpieces in, wires trailing like roots towards the ground. Oscar had long ago identified the leader: a ginger girl with skinny arms and a puffy jacket. She wore green gloves and called herself Fern. She announced it with a megaphone three days ago, when she'd first arrived and made him put the lawnmower back in the shed. "If the lawnmower goes in the shed, so do I," Oscar said, knobbly hands holding onto the handle. He'd bought himself a plot next to Marie in the churchyard, but if he had to rot away in his shed with the forgotten tools, he'd do it. "That's fine by me," Fern said bossily. She folded her arms and her ginger eyebrows drew together. "As long as the plants aren't hurt. They're telling me... they're telling me..." She pinched the wire that trailed to the ground, buried beneath the layer of grass. "They're scared Mr. Wheeler. They've felt so much pain before." Oscar had been a vegetarian in the seventies for a month. It was the thing to do at the time, and he'd even been quite opposed to animal cruelty. He'd never pushed it in anyone's face, however. It had been his own choice. "I don't give a damn about the grass' feelings," he said to Fern. "I'm going to stay in the shed." He lifted the tin kettle off the stove and poured it into the lonely cup. He wondered what Marie would say about his stubbornness. She said a lot of things, clipping her secateurs at him when he came out to try to help in the garden. She had the green thumb, not him. He just wanted to cut his damn lawn. Daisies had been her favourite, and when they lowered her into the earth, he'd put them on her coffin. If he cut the lawn, he could grow daisies again in the borders. Oscar seized his cup of tea, still brewing, and emerged from the shed. "Right," he said. "I've had enough. Get off my lawn!" Fern got to her feet, bolting out of the sleeping bag as soon as she saw Oscar striding towards her. "Mr. Wheeler," she said. "Mr. Wheeler, are you sure you want to take responsibility for ending these plants' existence?" Oscar measured her up. She looked haggard after three days in his cold garden, beside the pond that was threatening to freeze over. Dark bags under her eyes, and the ever present wire trailing from her headset, rooting into the ground and listening to the plants. "Give me that," he said. He snatched the headphones from her and placed them over his own ears. "Hold my tea, I've got something to say to these plants." Oscar screwed up his face and concentrated, listening to the whispers that echoed in his head. He separated a strand of consciousness and followed it, wondering whether it came from that dandelion, from the comfrey, or even the clover that attracted all the bees. Don't mow the lawn Oscar, the voice sounded like it had a smile in it. I always loved flowers. Oscar removed the headset and passed it back. "They bury the dead underground," he said. "I don't think you're listening to plants here."
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	"Feel their pain! Hear their cries! Grass Assassin! Grass Assassin!" Melvin had his headphones on, listening to Frank Sinatra's Greatest Hits at full blast to drown out the shrill, incessant cries coming from all directions. A middle-aged man carrying a sign that read "Citizens for Chlorophyll" seemed on the verge of tears. "How dare you deprive them of their lives! Have you no shame?" Melvin hummed along to the chorus of "Young at Heart," continuing his perfect straight-line path -- perhaps even showing off a bit. He was about to reach the halfway mark when a pair of feet appeared inches away from the mower's blades. Strongly tempted to run them over, Melvin instead removed his headphones and pressed pause on his Walkman. "Yeah, OK. How much do you want?" The sign-wielding man stood firmly with his hands on his hips, then sniffled and produced a bizarre-looking device from his back pocket. It was a tiny satellite dish, polished and silver-handled yet still giving the impression of a rejected B-movie prop. "Adjust your hearing aids and listen up, murderer." The man clicked a switch on the side of the handle and the dish whirred to life. High-pitched, barely intelligible squeals sprang forth at a rapid pace, contributing to Melvin's already terrible migraine. "Laura...I long only to taste the sweet nutrients of the soil one last time with you in my arms..." "Oh, God, he got the dandelions! He got the dandelions!" "I'm just a weed tryin' to make a living...I didn't mean to hurt nobody." Melvin raised an eyebrow and adjusted his hearing aid. A few blades of grass seeming to be humming "Nearer, My God to Thee" barbershop-quartet style. The protester clicked off the satellite dish. "Now you see the chaos you have wrought. To these poor plants, you are their God, and today God has not been merciful." Melvin coughed. "It's gonna grow back." The protester frowned. "Yes, but --" "It's gonna. Grow. Back." "Is it worth causing such fear and distress in the very hearts and minds of these poor plants, only to give them hope and tear it away from them the next time you mow?" "Yeah. I mean, it looks pretty nice, don't you think?" "I hope you're happy, Melvin Howell. One day, when the plants decide to take a stand, your house will be the first to be devoured." "I mean, I'm just gonna keep cutting the grass. I don't let it grow to the point of taking over. What do you do?" The protester looked at the ground. "We, uh, we don't really have lawns. We're from the Blackwood Village Apartments." "All right, then. If you get a house, you'll feel the same way. Have a nice day." He put his headphones back on and continued to mow, humming merrily. The protester hung his head in defeat and gestured to the gathered volunteers. "Let's try next door." * Later that afternoon, Melvin drove to Wanda's Garden Shop and bought a chrysanthemum for the front porch. He'd never been much of a gardener, but he took better care of it than anything else he'd ever purchased. He was alone, after all. If we was going to be a murderer once a week, might as well give something a good life. * Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, and sign up to volunteer with Citizens for Chlorophyll, check out /r/GigaWrites!	Willie had turned off and finally smashed the silly doohickey they'd tried to strap to him a few years back. "Necessary technology for every thinking, feeling human", his ass. He knew it was a ruse dreamed up by some crackpot team of greenies who lay awake shivering at the thought of the planet blowing up. They probably worked out of some secret office with a stupid flower for a logo, and transmitted the so-called 'cries of distressed plants' directly to the 'miraculous' devices. Yes sir, he had them figured out. Nobody could fool William Nell. "Go away, already! I won't be harassed!" he yelled at the protesters outside his gate. They'd been camping there all week. "You're killing thousands of lives, sir!" a earnest-looking young man said, waving a poster about 'grass rights'. Of all the ridiculous things he'd seen and heard in his life, that took the cake. "I won't live in a goddamn jungle like the rest of you," he growled, shoving his lawnmower forward, really putting his back into it just to spite them. The protesters screamed, clapping their hands over the devices strapped to their ears. "We could have you prosecuted!" a hard-faced woman shouted. "Don't think just because you're old-" "You should have more respect, young missy..." Willie began, abandoning the lawnmower as he glared at the gaggle of hippies. He was interrupted when one of them tossed something in his direction. It landed on his shoes: a brand-new, updated Plant Communicator. "Just listen," the young man said, sounding desperate. "I'm sure you're a kind person, if you'll only listen for once -" Just to show them, Willie picked it up and slammed it over his ear. He knew what he'd hear: a bunch of people pretending to be plants, whispering about their supposed pain and suffering. He heard a hazy scratching noise first, then a thin, rasping little voice. C'mon you old geezer, why'd you stop mowing? I've wanted to die for a month now! I haven't had a drink of water since then! It hasn't rained, you never water us. Alice was the only one who watered us. You clearly don't give a shit. So just put me out of my misery already! William ignored the sudden hush that fell over the protestors as he gaped at the little blade of grass. It was yellowish and droopy. It was right - he hadn't watered the lawn in a month. Not since Alice had died. How had it known? The government couldn't know a thing like that, right? He shuffled inside his house, and opened the chest in the basement for the first time since it happened. Her gloves still had dirt clinging to it. There was her straw hat: the big, proper one he'd gotten her when they'd first got married. It was about all he could afford to give her that year. She'd reacted as if he'd given her a pearl necklace. He grabbed her battered red watering can and returned to the blade of grass, gently pouring a few drops on it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a mess ever since Allie died. I've let everything slip, especially the garden. That was her special thing. She loved everything about this garden. I'll just ruin it, if I do anything." He saw her in his mind's eye as clearly as if she was working in the garden right now. Whistling 'Hey Jude' as she planted sunflowers. Allie never had a device to communicate with plants. She didn't keep up with the latest trends in technology, and he hadn't exactly encouraged the things. But she always acted as if she could talk to them, anyway. Tears sprung to his eyes. He should've gotten her one - she would have loved it. Would have stopped him being so stubborn, too. Allie always kept him grounded. The little piece of grass was silent for a moment. You can try. And we can try to love you, too. If you stop killing us, that is. We could tell you our stories about her, if you let us. Did you know she once drove two hours to pick up some special fertiliser we like... Another blade of grass chimed in for the first time. And remember when she chased that crow away that pecked the flowers? Willie sniffed and carefully watered the surrounding grass, as they all began to chatter. The protestors broke out into cheers. "Oh, sod off!" he yelled. "Go bother some other poor bastard now and leave me and my grass in peace! We have catching up to do." "Do you think he'll be ok? What if he mutters to the grass all day, now?" one protester asked as they finally left the old man's house. "I mean, if you think of what happened to old Bernie..." "Bernie was a nutjob," his friend said. "Made out with a tree, didn't he? Among other things, if the rumours are true. Nothing like that will happen here." Willie whistled as he methodically watered the entire garden and listened to their stories about his Alice. Why hadn't he started sooner? If he really listened to them, and took care of them like she did, Allie might come back to him. Why not? The world was a magical place. Here he was, talking to plants. Allie would return to him any day now, he was sure of it. And this time, they'd tend the garden together. ____ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip, But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip. He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door, He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore. But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old, The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold. He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past, His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last. But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard, Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard. "Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more, And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four. "You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd, But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud. He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line, He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign. And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds, So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds. They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust, So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust. They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!", And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss. But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground, There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around. He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve, The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve. The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round, Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.	Willie had turned off and finally smashed the silly doohickey they'd tried to strap to him a few years back. "Necessary technology for every thinking, feeling human", his ass. He knew it was a ruse dreamed up by some crackpot team of greenies who lay awake shivering at the thought of the planet blowing up. They probably worked out of some secret office with a stupid flower for a logo, and transmitted the so-called 'cries of distressed plants' directly to the 'miraculous' devices. Yes sir, he had them figured out. Nobody could fool William Nell. "Go away, already! I won't be harassed!" he yelled at the protesters outside his gate. They'd been camping there all week. "You're killing thousands of lives, sir!" a earnest-looking young man said, waving a poster about 'grass rights'. Of all the ridiculous things he'd seen and heard in his life, that took the cake. "I won't live in a goddamn jungle like the rest of you," he growled, shoving his lawnmower forward, really putting his back into it just to spite them. The protesters screamed, clapping their hands over the devices strapped to their ears. "We could have you prosecuted!" a hard-faced woman shouted. "Don't think just because you're old-" "You should have more respect, young missy..." Willie began, abandoning the lawnmower as he glared at the gaggle of hippies. He was interrupted when one of them tossed something in his direction. It landed on his shoes: a brand-new, updated Plant Communicator. "Just listen," the young man said, sounding desperate. "I'm sure you're a kind person, if you'll only listen for once -" Just to show them, Willie picked it up and slammed it over his ear. He knew what he'd hear: a bunch of people pretending to be plants, whispering about their supposed pain and suffering. He heard a hazy scratching noise first, then a thin, rasping little voice. C'mon you old geezer, why'd you stop mowing? I've wanted to die for a month now! I haven't had a drink of water since then! It hasn't rained, you never water us. Alice was the only one who watered us. You clearly don't give a shit. So just put me out of my misery already! William ignored the sudden hush that fell over the protestors as he gaped at the little blade of grass. It was yellowish and droopy. It was right - he hadn't watered the lawn in a month. Not since Alice had died. How had it known? The government couldn't know a thing like that, right? He shuffled inside his house, and opened the chest in the basement for the first time since it happened. Her gloves still had dirt clinging to it. There was her straw hat: the big, proper one he'd gotten her when they'd first got married. It was about all he could afford to give her that year. She'd reacted as if he'd given her a pearl necklace. He grabbed her battered red watering can and returned to the blade of grass, gently pouring a few drops on it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a mess ever since Allie died. I've let everything slip, especially the garden. That was her special thing. She loved everything about this garden. I'll just ruin it, if I do anything." He saw her in his mind's eye as clearly as if she was working in the garden right now. Whistling 'Hey Jude' as she planted sunflowers. Allie never had a device to communicate with plants. She didn't keep up with the latest trends in technology, and he hadn't exactly encouraged the things. But she always acted as if she could talk to them, anyway. Tears sprung to his eyes. He should've gotten her one - she would have loved it. Would have stopped him being so stubborn, too. Allie always kept him grounded. The little piece of grass was silent for a moment. You can try. And we can try to love you, too. If you stop killing us, that is. We could tell you our stories about her, if you let us. Did you know she once drove two hours to pick up some special fertiliser we like... Another blade of grass chimed in for the first time. And remember when she chased that crow away that pecked the flowers? Willie sniffed and carefully watered the surrounding grass, as they all began to chatter. The protestors broke out into cheers. "Oh, sod off!" he yelled. "Go bother some other poor bastard now and leave me and my grass in peace! We have catching up to do." "Do you think he'll be ok? What if he mutters to the grass all day, now?" one protester asked as they finally left the old man's house. "I mean, if you think of what happened to old Bernie..." "Bernie was a nutjob," his friend said. "Made out with a tree, didn't he? Among other things, if the rumours are true. Nothing like that will happen here." Willie whistled as he methodically watered the entire garden and listened to their stories about his Alice. Why hadn't he started sooner? If he really listened to them, and took care of them like she did, Allie might come back to him. Why not? The world was a magical place. Here he was, talking to plants. Allie would return to him any day now, he was sure of it. And this time, they'd tend the garden together. ____ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Gary had to stop to rest. Lawn mowers are fundamentally sadistic devices, Gary thought, requiring you to first wrench your back five or six times for the privilege of getting the damn thing to start doing its job before making you perform sustained labour for an hour. It was the devil's contraption, though he imagined going back to the sickle wouldn't be any easier on him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a small but unruly crowd of protestors standing behind him. He reluctantly stopped the engine. "What'ya want?" "I want you to stop brutalizing these tender creatures!" "The what?" Gary asked, holding his hand to the ear, legitimately unable to hear him. "These tender creatures!" said the youth, who was probably named Justin. "The grass!" He gestured to the ground around them. Gary's heart skipped a beat, though this wasn't terribly unusual in the normal operation of his heart. Then it skipped another and he knew he was in trouble. "The cats?" Gary mumbled. "There ain't any cats around here." "That's a pathetic lie. I know what you've been doing to the grass. I've seen it! We've all seen it!" The whole time, Justin pointed angrily at Gary's basement. How could he know? Was it the smell? He'd dumped so many bags of kitty litter down there. But how long ago was that? Four years? Nine? He hadn't been so bad to them. He fed them now and then. He wasn't a bad person. He wondered how many there were now? Gary started crying. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm sorry. There was just so many of them. I couldn't handle it. I just needed them to go away." Justin was surprised by the breakdown but quickly moved to care for the distraught elderly man. He wrapped an arm around Gary who collapsed into his shirt, crying. "It's okay,” Justin said. “If you're brought up to not see them as living things it's hard to see the pain you're causing. But when you accept it, you'll be free. Let's go inside so you can lie down." Gary started marching toward the house, weaving back and forth as Justin kept him upright. The other youths followed along inside. They gawked at the piles of garbage, covered in dust. Some took out their phones, snapping pictures and whispering about Instagram. Justin sat Gary down on the one clean chair in the house. The old man gasped for air. “Breathe,” Justin said. “Just breath. In and out. Steady.” It wasn't working. Gary flushed red, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, his hand holding his chest. Justin snapped his fingers in Gary’s eyes. “Stay with me! What should I do?” Gary could only get out a whisper. Justin placed his ear close. “Your pills? You need your pills? Where are they?” The room was completely silent now. “In the cupboard,” Gary whispered. “Which cupboard? Where?” Gary reached a mottled finger toward the door. “The basement.” Justin leaped up and sprinted to the door. He pulled it open and peered into the gloom. The smell was enough to make his eyes water. He placed a foot on the top stair, feeling it's strength. There was a landing six steps in. He couldn’t see anything past the bend. He turned when Gary screamed. The old man clutched his chest, arching his back against the chair, face contorted. With a sudden look of resolve, Justin swept the nook of his elbow over his nose and plunged in. His footfalls banged down the wooden steps and then transitioned to a wet slosh as he reached the floor. “I can't see anything down here!” Justin shouted up. “Where’s the light switch!” Another youth - named Lief probably, but that didn't matter now - walked forward and groped the walls around the door jam. “I found it!” he yelled, flipping the switch, flooding the basement with light. The scream would have shaken the floorboards 80 years ago when the house was built, but now the damp, sagging structure sucked in the vibrations. Instead, the sound came billowing out of the staircase like a throat. Lief didn't hesitate, he sprinted down the steps. “Adam! What’s-” Their screams harmonized well. The three others surged forward, running through the door but slowing before the landing. Gary jumped up and followed them. The three youths froze as the screams became wetter. Arrayed in a tight group on the stairs, the three presented an obstacle for what came around the corner. It clawed at them, trying to swim up against the current of falling youths. The pile grew slicker as the thing struggled in their midst, blood boiling out everywhere, soaking the hanging strands of clothes and skin. It still had an eye though. It locked onto the old man at the top of the stairs. Gary didn’t like that so he turned off the lights and closed the door. He took his chair and shoved it under the door handle. He pulled his hearing aid out because he didn’t like the noises. When the door stopped shaking in its hinges, he leaned way back and rested his head against it, placing his hands in the small of his back and pushing hard. It felt good. He wanted to rest but the front grass was only half cut. He couldn't leave it like that. What would the neighbours think? At least he didn't have to feed the cats.	Willie had turned off and finally smashed the silly doohickey they'd tried to strap to him a few years back. "Necessary technology for every thinking, feeling human", his ass. He knew it was a ruse dreamed up by some crackpot team of greenies who lay awake shivering at the thought of the planet blowing up. They probably worked out of some secret office with a stupid flower for a logo, and transmitted the so-called 'cries of distressed plants' directly to the 'miraculous' devices. Yes sir, he had them figured out. Nobody could fool William Nell. "Go away, already! I won't be harassed!" he yelled at the protesters outside his gate. They'd been camping there all week. "You're killing thousands of lives, sir!" a earnest-looking young man said, waving a poster about 'grass rights'. Of all the ridiculous things he'd seen and heard in his life, that took the cake. "I won't live in a goddamn jungle like the rest of you," he growled, shoving his lawnmower forward, really putting his back into it just to spite them. The protesters screamed, clapping their hands over the devices strapped to their ears. "We could have you prosecuted!" a hard-faced woman shouted. "Don't think just because you're old-" "You should have more respect, young missy..." Willie began, abandoning the lawnmower as he glared at the gaggle of hippies. He was interrupted when one of them tossed something in his direction. It landed on his shoes: a brand-new, updated Plant Communicator. "Just listen," the young man said, sounding desperate. "I'm sure you're a kind person, if you'll only listen for once -" Just to show them, Willie picked it up and slammed it over his ear. He knew what he'd hear: a bunch of people pretending to be plants, whispering about their supposed pain and suffering. He heard a hazy scratching noise first, then a thin, rasping little voice. C'mon you old geezer, why'd you stop mowing? I've wanted to die for a month now! I haven't had a drink of water since then! It hasn't rained, you never water us. Alice was the only one who watered us. You clearly don't give a shit. So just put me out of my misery already! William ignored the sudden hush that fell over the protestors as he gaped at the little blade of grass. It was yellowish and droopy. It was right - he hadn't watered the lawn in a month. Not since Alice had died. How had it known? The government couldn't know a thing like that, right? He shuffled inside his house, and opened the chest in the basement for the first time since it happened. Her gloves still had dirt clinging to it. There was her straw hat: the big, proper one he'd gotten her when they'd first got married. It was about all he could afford to give her that year. She'd reacted as if he'd given her a pearl necklace. He grabbed her battered red watering can and returned to the blade of grass, gently pouring a few drops on it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a mess ever since Allie died. I've let everything slip, especially the garden. That was her special thing. She loved everything about this garden. I'll just ruin it, if I do anything." He saw her in his mind's eye as clearly as if she was working in the garden right now. Whistling 'Hey Jude' as she planted sunflowers. Allie never had a device to communicate with plants. She didn't keep up with the latest trends in technology, and he hadn't exactly encouraged the things. But she always acted as if she could talk to them, anyway. Tears sprung to his eyes. He should've gotten her one - she would have loved it. Would have stopped him being so stubborn, too. Allie always kept him grounded. The little piece of grass was silent for a moment. You can try. And we can try to love you, too. If you stop killing us, that is. We could tell you our stories about her, if you let us. Did you know she once drove two hours to pick up some special fertiliser we like... Another blade of grass chimed in for the first time. And remember when she chased that crow away that pecked the flowers? Willie sniffed and carefully watered the surrounding grass, as they all began to chatter. The protestors broke out into cheers. "Oh, sod off!" he yelled. "Go bother some other poor bastard now and leave me and my grass in peace! We have catching up to do." "Do you think he'll be ok? What if he mutters to the grass all day, now?" one protester asked as they finally left the old man's house. "I mean, if you think of what happened to old Bernie..." "Bernie was a nutjob," his friend said. "Made out with a tree, didn't he? Among other things, if the rumours are true. Nothing like that will happen here." Willie whistled as he methodically watered the entire garden and listened to their stories about his Alice. Why hadn't he started sooner? If he really listened to them, and took care of them like she did, Allie might come back to him. Why not? The world was a magical place. Here he was, talking to plants. Allie would return to him any day now, he was sure of it. And this time, they'd tend the garden together. ____ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip, But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip. He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door, He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore. But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old, The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold. He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past, His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last. But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard, Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard. "Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more, And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four. "You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd, But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud. He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line, He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign. And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds, So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds. They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust, So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust. They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!", And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss. But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground, There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around. He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve, The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve. The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round, Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.	"Feel their pain! Hear their cries! Grass Assassin! Grass Assassin!" Melvin had his headphones on, listening to Frank Sinatra's Greatest Hits at full blast to drown out the shrill, incessant cries coming from all directions. A middle-aged man carrying a sign that read "Citizens for Chlorophyll" seemed on the verge of tears. "How dare you deprive them of their lives! Have you no shame?" Melvin hummed along to the chorus of "Young at Heart," continuing his perfect straight-line path -- perhaps even showing off a bit. He was about to reach the halfway mark when a pair of feet appeared inches away from the mower's blades. Strongly tempted to run them over, Melvin instead removed his headphones and pressed pause on his Walkman. "Yeah, OK. How much do you want?" The sign-wielding man stood firmly with his hands on his hips, then sniffled and produced a bizarre-looking device from his back pocket. It was a tiny satellite dish, polished and silver-handled yet still giving the impression of a rejected B-movie prop. "Adjust your hearing aids and listen up, murderer." The man clicked a switch on the side of the handle and the dish whirred to life. High-pitched, barely intelligible squeals sprang forth at a rapid pace, contributing to Melvin's already terrible migraine. "Laura...I long only to taste the sweet nutrients of the soil one last time with you in my arms..." "Oh, God, he got the dandelions! He got the dandelions!" "I'm just a weed tryin' to make a living...I didn't mean to hurt nobody." Melvin raised an eyebrow and adjusted his hearing aid. A few blades of grass seeming to be humming "Nearer, My God to Thee" barbershop-quartet style. The protester clicked off the satellite dish. "Now you see the chaos you have wrought. To these poor plants, you are their God, and today God has not been merciful." Melvin coughed. "It's gonna grow back." The protester frowned. "Yes, but --" "It's gonna. Grow. Back." "Is it worth causing such fear and distress in the very hearts and minds of these poor plants, only to give them hope and tear it away from them the next time you mow?" "Yeah. I mean, it looks pretty nice, don't you think?" "I hope you're happy, Melvin Howell. One day, when the plants decide to take a stand, your house will be the first to be devoured." "I mean, I'm just gonna keep cutting the grass. I don't let it grow to the point of taking over. What do you do?" The protester looked at the ground. "We, uh, we don't really have lawns. We're from the Blackwood Village Apartments." "All right, then. If you get a house, you'll feel the same way. Have a nice day." He put his headphones back on and continued to mow, humming merrily. The protester hung his head in defeat and gestured to the gathered volunteers. "Let's try next door." * Later that afternoon, Melvin drove to Wanda's Garden Shop and bought a chrysanthemum for the front porch. He'd never been much of a gardener, but he took better care of it than anything else he'd ever purchased. He was alone, after all. If we was going to be a murderer once a week, might as well give something a good life. * Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, and sign up to volunteer with Citizens for Chlorophyll, check out /r/GigaWrites!
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Gary had to stop to rest. Lawn mowers are fundamentally sadistic devices, Gary thought, requiring you to first wrench your back five or six times for the privilege of getting the damn thing to start doing its job before making you perform sustained labour for an hour. It was the devil's contraption, though he imagined going back to the sickle wouldn't be any easier on him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a small but unruly crowd of protestors standing behind him. He reluctantly stopped the engine. "What'ya want?" "I want you to stop brutalizing these tender creatures!" "The what?" Gary asked, holding his hand to the ear, legitimately unable to hear him. "These tender creatures!" said the youth, who was probably named Justin. "The grass!" He gestured to the ground around them. Gary's heart skipped a beat, though this wasn't terribly unusual in the normal operation of his heart. Then it skipped another and he knew he was in trouble. "The cats?" Gary mumbled. "There ain't any cats around here." "That's a pathetic lie. I know what you've been doing to the grass. I've seen it! We've all seen it!" The whole time, Justin pointed angrily at Gary's basement. How could he know? Was it the smell? He'd dumped so many bags of kitty litter down there. But how long ago was that? Four years? Nine? He hadn't been so bad to them. He fed them now and then. He wasn't a bad person. He wondered how many there were now? Gary started crying. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm sorry. There was just so many of them. I couldn't handle it. I just needed them to go away." Justin was surprised by the breakdown but quickly moved to care for the distraught elderly man. He wrapped an arm around Gary who collapsed into his shirt, crying. "It's okay,” Justin said. “If you're brought up to not see them as living things it's hard to see the pain you're causing. But when you accept it, you'll be free. Let's go inside so you can lie down." Gary started marching toward the house, weaving back and forth as Justin kept him upright. The other youths followed along inside. They gawked at the piles of garbage, covered in dust. Some took out their phones, snapping pictures and whispering about Instagram. Justin sat Gary down on the one clean chair in the house. The old man gasped for air. “Breathe,” Justin said. “Just breath. In and out. Steady.” It wasn't working. Gary flushed red, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, his hand holding his chest. Justin snapped his fingers in Gary’s eyes. “Stay with me! What should I do?” Gary could only get out a whisper. Justin placed his ear close. “Your pills? You need your pills? Where are they?” The room was completely silent now. “In the cupboard,” Gary whispered. “Which cupboard? Where?” Gary reached a mottled finger toward the door. “The basement.” Justin leaped up and sprinted to the door. He pulled it open and peered into the gloom. The smell was enough to make his eyes water. He placed a foot on the top stair, feeling it's strength. There was a landing six steps in. He couldn’t see anything past the bend. He turned when Gary screamed. The old man clutched his chest, arching his back against the chair, face contorted. With a sudden look of resolve, Justin swept the nook of his elbow over his nose and plunged in. His footfalls banged down the wooden steps and then transitioned to a wet slosh as he reached the floor. “I can't see anything down here!” Justin shouted up. “Where’s the light switch!” Another youth - named Lief probably, but that didn't matter now - walked forward and groped the walls around the door jam. “I found it!” he yelled, flipping the switch, flooding the basement with light. The scream would have shaken the floorboards 80 years ago when the house was built, but now the damp, sagging structure sucked in the vibrations. Instead, the sound came billowing out of the staircase like a throat. Lief didn't hesitate, he sprinted down the steps. “Adam! What’s-” Their screams harmonized well. The three others surged forward, running through the door but slowing before the landing. Gary jumped up and followed them. The three youths froze as the screams became wetter. Arrayed in a tight group on the stairs, the three presented an obstacle for what came around the corner. It clawed at them, trying to swim up against the current of falling youths. The pile grew slicker as the thing struggled in their midst, blood boiling out everywhere, soaking the hanging strands of clothes and skin. It still had an eye though. It locked onto the old man at the top of the stairs. Gary didn’t like that so he turned off the lights and closed the door. He took his chair and shoved it under the door handle. He pulled his hearing aid out because he didn’t like the noises. When the door stopped shaking in its hinges, he leaned way back and rested his head against it, placing his hands in the small of his back and pushing hard. It felt good. He wanted to rest but the front grass was only half cut. He couldn't leave it like that. What would the neighbours think? At least he didn't have to feed the cats.	"Feel their pain! Hear their cries! Grass Assassin! Grass Assassin!" Melvin had his headphones on, listening to Frank Sinatra's Greatest Hits at full blast to drown out the shrill, incessant cries coming from all directions. A middle-aged man carrying a sign that read "Citizens for Chlorophyll" seemed on the verge of tears. "How dare you deprive them of their lives! Have you no shame?" Melvin hummed along to the chorus of "Young at Heart," continuing his perfect straight-line path -- perhaps even showing off a bit. He was about to reach the halfway mark when a pair of feet appeared inches away from the mower's blades. Strongly tempted to run them over, Melvin instead removed his headphones and pressed pause on his Walkman. "Yeah, OK. How much do you want?" The sign-wielding man stood firmly with his hands on his hips, then sniffled and produced a bizarre-looking device from his back pocket. It was a tiny satellite dish, polished and silver-handled yet still giving the impression of a rejected B-movie prop. "Adjust your hearing aids and listen up, murderer." The man clicked a switch on the side of the handle and the dish whirred to life. High-pitched, barely intelligible squeals sprang forth at a rapid pace, contributing to Melvin's already terrible migraine. "Laura...I long only to taste the sweet nutrients of the soil one last time with you in my arms..." "Oh, God, he got the dandelions! He got the dandelions!" "I'm just a weed tryin' to make a living...I didn't mean to hurt nobody." Melvin raised an eyebrow and adjusted his hearing aid. A few blades of grass seeming to be humming "Nearer, My God to Thee" barbershop-quartet style. The protester clicked off the satellite dish. "Now you see the chaos you have wrought. To these poor plants, you are their God, and today God has not been merciful." Melvin coughed. "It's gonna grow back." The protester frowned. "Yes, but --" "It's gonna. Grow. Back." "Is it worth causing such fear and distress in the very hearts and minds of these poor plants, only to give them hope and tear it away from them the next time you mow?" "Yeah. I mean, it looks pretty nice, don't you think?" "I hope you're happy, Melvin Howell. One day, when the plants decide to take a stand, your house will be the first to be devoured." "I mean, I'm just gonna keep cutting the grass. I don't let it grow to the point of taking over. What do you do?" The protester looked at the ground. "We, uh, we don't really have lawns. We're from the Blackwood Village Apartments." "All right, then. If you get a house, you'll feel the same way. Have a nice day." He put his headphones back on and continued to mow, humming merrily. The protester hung his head in defeat and gestured to the gathered volunteers. "Let's try next door." * Later that afternoon, Melvin drove to Wanda's Garden Shop and bought a chrysanthemum for the front porch. He'd never been much of a gardener, but he took better care of it than anything else he'd ever purchased. He was alone, after all. If we was going to be a murderer once a week, might as well give something a good life. * Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, and sign up to volunteer with Citizens for Chlorophyll, check out /r/GigaWrites!
	[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.	Gary had to stop to rest. Lawn mowers are fundamentally sadistic devices, Gary thought, requiring you to first wrench your back five or six times for the privilege of getting the damn thing to start doing its job before making you perform sustained labour for an hour. It was the devil's contraption, though he imagined going back to the sickle wouldn't be any easier on him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a small but unruly crowd of protestors standing behind him. He reluctantly stopped the engine. "What'ya want?" "I want you to stop brutalizing these tender creatures!" "The what?" Gary asked, holding his hand to the ear, legitimately unable to hear him. "These tender creatures!" said the youth, who was probably named Justin. "The grass!" He gestured to the ground around them. Gary's heart skipped a beat, though this wasn't terribly unusual in the normal operation of his heart. Then it skipped another and he knew he was in trouble. "The cats?" Gary mumbled. "There ain't any cats around here." "That's a pathetic lie. I know what you've been doing to the grass. I've seen it! We've all seen it!" The whole time, Justin pointed angrily at Gary's basement. How could he know? Was it the smell? He'd dumped so many bags of kitty litter down there. But how long ago was that? Four years? Nine? He hadn't been so bad to them. He fed them now and then. He wasn't a bad person. He wondered how many there were now? Gary started crying. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm sorry. There was just so many of them. I couldn't handle it. I just needed them to go away." Justin was surprised by the breakdown but quickly moved to care for the distraught elderly man. He wrapped an arm around Gary who collapsed into his shirt, crying. "It's okay,” Justin said. “If you're brought up to not see them as living things it's hard to see the pain you're causing. But when you accept it, you'll be free. Let's go inside so you can lie down." Gary started marching toward the house, weaving back and forth as Justin kept him upright. The other youths followed along inside. They gawked at the piles of garbage, covered in dust. Some took out their phones, snapping pictures and whispering about Instagram. Justin sat Gary down on the one clean chair in the house. The old man gasped for air. “Breathe,” Justin said. “Just breath. In and out. Steady.” It wasn't working. Gary flushed red, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, his hand holding his chest. Justin snapped his fingers in Gary’s eyes. “Stay with me! What should I do?” Gary could only get out a whisper. Justin placed his ear close. “Your pills? You need your pills? Where are they?” The room was completely silent now. “In the cupboard,” Gary whispered. “Which cupboard? Where?” Gary reached a mottled finger toward the door. “The basement.” Justin leaped up and sprinted to the door. He pulled it open and peered into the gloom. The smell was enough to make his eyes water. He placed a foot on the top stair, feeling it's strength. There was a landing six steps in. He couldn’t see anything past the bend. He turned when Gary screamed. The old man clutched his chest, arching his back against the chair, face contorted. With a sudden look of resolve, Justin swept the nook of his elbow over his nose and plunged in. His footfalls banged down the wooden steps and then transitioned to a wet slosh as he reached the floor. “I can't see anything down here!” Justin shouted up. “Where’s the light switch!” Another youth - named Lief probably, but that didn't matter now - walked forward and groped the walls around the door jam. “I found it!” he yelled, flipping the switch, flooding the basement with light. The scream would have shaken the floorboards 80 years ago when the house was built, but now the damp, sagging structure sucked in the vibrations. Instead, the sound came billowing out of the staircase like a throat. Lief didn't hesitate, he sprinted down the steps. “Adam! What’s-” Their screams harmonized well. The three others surged forward, running through the door but slowing before the landing. Gary jumped up and followed them. The three youths froze as the screams became wetter. Arrayed in a tight group on the stairs, the three presented an obstacle for what came around the corner. It clawed at them, trying to swim up against the current of falling youths. The pile grew slicker as the thing struggled in their midst, blood boiling out everywhere, soaking the hanging strands of clothes and skin. It still had an eye though. It locked onto the old man at the top of the stairs. Gary didn’t like that so he turned off the lights and closed the door. He took his chair and shoved it under the door handle. He pulled his hearing aid out because he didn’t like the noises. When the door stopped shaking in its hinges, he leaned way back and rested his head against it, placing his hands in the small of his back and pushing hard. It felt good. He wanted to rest but the front grass was only half cut. He couldn't leave it like that. What would the neighbours think? At least he didn't have to feed the cats.	As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip, But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip. He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door, He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore. But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old, The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold. He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past, His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last. But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard, Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard. "Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more, And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four. "You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd, But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud. He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line, He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign. And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds, So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds. They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust, So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust. They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!", And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss. But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground, There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around. He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve, The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve. The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round, Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	It was the craziest thing. We were talking about what boobs feel like with the episode of SpongeBob where Plankton switches lives with Mr. Krabs on in the background last Friday evening when we heard a Dysen commercial come on asking for product testers. But it wasn't for a new special vacuum cleaner with twice the suction power... no, this was asking for people to come test their new teleporters. Apparently they had stumbled upon a discovery that would put Ford and Boeing and a thousand other companies out of business forever - the key to teleportation. It had something to do with velocity and vacuums or some shit. Anyway, my buddy Jim's like shit that would be cool, I think I'm gonna call that number and see about being put up as a product tester. So he calls and they're like alright man come on down to our warehouse at 8pm next Thursday and we will give you either a hundred bucks or a hundred ten dollars coupon for our online store to walk through this little portal. Apparently when he does that it'll shoot him over to Houston and then he walks back through and bam, he's teleported to Texas and back. He follows through with it, which was the biggest mistake of his life. When he's done I call his cell phone and ask if he wants to grab a burrito and he says hell yeah. We meet at the Bitchin Burrito which literally has the most bitchin burritos you've ever put near your mouth and we're going through the line and I start noticing some weird shit. First of all, Jim orders the regular tortilla, and in all my days I know Jim's a chipotle tortilla guy. I don't think much of it though because I know he's been saying he wanted to expand his horizon so whatever. When he ordered sour cream I was like what the fuck dude you said last week you'd rather eat a plastic bag than the tiniest bit of sour cream, so I'm starting to get concerned. We sit down and start eating and then that's when I find out. Jim asks me how I'm liking A Feast for Crows even though Jim loaned me his Clash of Kings audiobook 6 days before. So I'm like "Dammit Jim first the sour cream and now this, what the fuck has happened to you?" And he's like "Dude my name is Carl." Apparently the teleporter never teleported Jim back, but it did teleport over a different blind guy with a blind friend who sounds exactly like me. Everything got set right by Dysen and they got Jim and Carl back home, but Bitchin Burrito got shut down two days later because some rancid sour cream gave someone mad cow disease. And that is the story of how Dysen fucked up teleporting Jim back home, causing him to miss his last chance to get the best burrito ever wrapped.	Tom yelled at Bill. "Hey Bill, it's me." The man responded from Bill's mouth and glared with Bill's eyes. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo." Tom concluded that this was not Bill. The end.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	"So... How was work today?" I was relieved to see my flatmate Matthias for our regular coffee. He works in a lab facility investigating transportation, and today he was testing out their apparently functioning prototype. It was kept a governmental secret, strictly need-to-know. But he was nervous and excited and I'm his best friend, so I guess it was a need-to-tell situation. "It was fine," he said, coolly. "Did you not get to teleport?" I asked, assuming his unusually unemotional demeanour was due to some disappointment with the project. He looked up from the menu at me. Right at me. Not a sign of his characteristic smirk, and instead a dark, deep stare that made me feel like I was slowly being surrounded by a boa constrictor, trapped in place and slowly being strangled. I started to frown, confused, and his facial expression changed momentarily as if he was quickly testing its muscles. He smiled a lop-sided, uncomfortable smile, as if uncertain how to do it. "I teleported. I got to Australia, and I teleported back. They didn't even let me out of the lab. I just heard a different accent, they ran some tests, and they sent me back." "Oh, okay. What was it like in between places?" He was acting so different. He's always so open with me, so talkative. Why am I having to ask? "Just dark. For all I know they just knocked me out and put on different accents." His sense of humour, at least. But as he said it, he didn't smile at all, like he didn't know he was supposed to. *** Over the next week, I became more and more concerned about him. He stopped washing his clothes or bathing, stopped speaking and suddenly became very interested in technology. He bought a new iPhone just to open it up and spend hours examining it. He didn't eat, and began to faint and I think hallucinate. He would swat at the air and make horrible faces of fear and anger. It was so serious I decided to contact his boss, who must be wondering why he wasn't at work any more. I looked through his cupboards and finally found a number beside "Flental Laboratories" in a notebook. Calling just rang off so I googled the address, which, surprisingly, I found, and I visited the next day. There was something there. I mean, I didn't meet his boss. I found him, maybe. I walked into the building. The door opened fine and the lights came on when I entered but nobody came to reception even though I waited for at least ten minutes. I decided to take a walk past reception, I needed to find someone to talk to about this. The further I walked, the more uncomfortable I became. I knew this was a big business, Matthias had told me so. Lots of people worked here. But there was no-one. And I could smell chlorine. Why would there be chlorine in a place like this? Soon I found out. I guess they used chlorine for the machine somehow, to make it work. But also, it has a strong smell, so something must have poured it over all those bodies. I'm guessing Matthias's boss was somewhere among them. They were all open somehow. Skulls carefully broken through to the brain, organs or bones carefully displayed, and then each body discarded here in a pile. Did Matthias do this? I needed to find the computer and I did. The log was sitting open, a new alert still flashing: "Incoming mass 16.04" and a bunch of details, numbers, height and other things. I looked at the previous logs. Matthias had been transported - his name and all his details were there. But below that it said: "RECEIVER: Failed to receive mass 13.45". This lab then shared several frantic messages with the receiving lab in Australia, and sent many to Mattias but he did not reply. Unlike him. Where did he go if he didn't go to Australia? I looked at the information the computer had for Matthias' transponder. Before the transport all tests said it was working fine, that it would work perfectly anywhere on Earth, but every reading afterwards said "unavailable". What happened to him? Where did he go? When I could find no more information at that horrible place, I went home. He was still acting odd, not eating, silent. I watched him all evening. He moved differently, like he was slinking along, a snake. So far removed from his boisterous, confident self of only just over a week ago. He looked at me with those suspicious eyes often, and eventually I threw off the ropes of anxiety that had bound me since that day and I grabbed him and shook hard. His eyes were dull. I shouted at him to tell me what happened, that I knew about the dead people and that he never went to Australia. His head hung low and I worried I had made him unconscious, but eerily he started to laugh, and he lifted his head to look at me again. "I did it," his voice so different, cracking, breaking as if he'd been screaming for hours, "I killed them. I killed him. I split him open and crawled inside." "What?" I was so astounded to hear my friend sound so broken, so nonchalant and just evil. "I'm in control," the voice said, "and he won't come back." I'm sure my eyes bulged as my friend Matthias's teeth bore into my neck. How can someone who hasn't eaten have that much strength?	Tom yelled at Bill. "Hey Bill, it's me." The man responded from Bill's mouth and glared with Bill's eyes. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo." Tom concluded that this was not Bill. The end.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Today was the day he was getting transferred. Jack was extremely excited. They liked to call it "transfer" instead of teleportation. It was total read of his body on a molecular level, which was sent from one MTU (Molecular Transfer Unit) to another. Jack had explained it to me a couple of times. "The most fascinating thing about this is that we humans are so complex, that the amount of data sent exceeds what is possible to store! So they made it a continuous operation! And the quantum computer is so fast, it can write almost instantaneously! You transfer, and then it's gone." He stared at me while opening his hands "Poof!". I always liked that about him. His enthusiasm for details. "The beauty lies in the details" was his motto. Never the big things. When me and Mark had a baby, he didn't jump and shout for us. But the day he first saw our little Heath, he just stared for ages. "He's got your smile..". I was there for transfer. He was allowed 3 personal friends, but I was the only one he asked. We were 15 people in the room. 2 of them had cameras to document the experiment. Jack stripped naked while going into the MTU. "I'm going to be full of plastic if I wear some kind of condom suit. That would've been catastrophic!" had he laughed when I asked him. Then it started. The MTU started vibrating immensely from the sheer force of energy flowing through. The room shook with it, and suddenly small ripples opened in the air. Small ripples of light. We all ran for our lives towards the door. "WHAT IS GOING ON?" screamed one of the scientists. "Click". The weirdest sound I have ever heard. "Click." Like a drop falling down in a puddle, but the drop was more solid. Like solid liquid. "Click." and everything stopped! The shaking, the ripples, the lights and electricity. It all disappeared. "Click." Then it all came back. I looked straight at the MTU where Jack had been a second ago, but he was gone. I felt chaos rising to the top of my head. Suddenly the room erupted in applause. Jack was standing at the other MTU, clearly exhausted. He He dropped to the floor before the support staff could reach him, carrying him away to the Med. apartment. Jack had warned me it was going to get rough. "The MTU needs an insane amount of power to be able to send all that information so quickly. It gets transferred on a different level than ours. It's the only way, and to access that level, we need A LOT of energy. Like a hidden backdoor, so to speak." It took 10 days before I could see him. They did all kinds of tests, to ensure his safety, but he was finally cleared, both mentally and physically. "Beyond comprehension" they said. He was in stellar shape. We took a walk down road connecting the main building to the Med. apartment. We talked about life. Food. Watching the world from a mountain, and details. We sat down on a bench. He looked at me. Inspected me. Then he diverted his gaze to the ground and started whispering "I.. I couldn't breathe.. In there. That place. I just kept walking, looking for some kind of exit. I walked for what felt like years. And then I saw you. It was you, but it wasn't you. Your hair didn't curl the same way, your freckles were different. And I never saw you smile. And it killed me. Over and over again." His face was stern. Eyes wicked. His attitude was changed. "You see, when I saw me dying, over and over again, I did something. Something unforgivable. I killed myself. Or him. Or me. And I walked his walk. My walk. Always watching you. Still not smiling!" His mouth turned into a twisted grin "Let's put a smile on that face!"	Tom yelled at Bill. "Hey Bill, it's me." The man responded from Bill's mouth and glared with Bill's eyes. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo." Tom concluded that this was not Bill. The end.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Bit late to the party. First post here too! I changed the perspective. I stepped out of the transporter and stared down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them a few times. Everything seemed in it's rightful place. Two arms, two legs. One, two, one two. Everything exactly how it should be. Everything how it should be. Except for one niggling thought in that space in your mind that's only ever occupied by such thoughts... "You did it! You made it through! So! What was it like? How does it feel to be teleported across the world, dude?" A bright smiling figure came bounding up to me, white lab coat dressed, and red face flushed, wearing the most joyous expression I had seen on anyone. "C'mon Stu, why the blank face? Being assembled then reassembled again fuzz up your brain? Nah of course not. Bet you're just too thrilled!" He guffawed at his own joke. I nodded and let out a kind of half laugh. Yeah. What was I thinking? We'd done tests on mice, cats and even a horse once. All in the privacy of the lab of course. All displayed no outward signs of anything wrong. They continued their animal ways without a modicum of change. But that was to the outside eye of course. To us, the observers who knew supposedly so much of teleportation but nothing of the inner workings of the mind. Inside, what was really going on? Who was this guy in front of me? I mean logically I knew. Like ghosts, fragments of memory reappeared if I closed my eyes. Strange phantoms of memories that we had shared together. Well at least I think we had. We, together, had been working on teleportation but aside from that, it was difficult to draw on anything without dotting white lights and a throbbing pain entering my head. No name, no sentimentality entered my mind from seeing him. Just... The facts, I suppose, if I could even be expected to believe them. Over the next few days and weeks I tried to explain to him, my family, my friends how I felt. I soon grew tired of being the rebuffs, the laughs and the lack of belief in their eyes as I told them of our secret project, telling me it was just stress that would soon wear off, and eventually I left my home. I moved and tried to start afresh elsewhere. I mean how could I really relearn the names and lives of everyone I had ever known when they wouldn't believe a word I had said?	Tom yelled at Bill. "Hey Bill, it's me." The man responded from Bill's mouth and glared with Bill's eyes. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo." Tom concluded that this was not Bill. The end.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	Tom yelled at Bill. "Hey Bill, it's me." The man responded from Bill's mouth and glared with Bill's eyes. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo." Tom concluded that this was not Bill. The end.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	My parents told me Winston was coming back today. For the past few months he'd been at grandma's house. I don't know why he was there, they said Winston wanted to be on grandma's farm but I know Winston. He doesn't like the outdoors. He just likes sleeping. "Hey sport," Dad tousled my hair, "We've got a big surprise for you!" Then my mom opened the front door and Winston bounded through. He licked my dad, he licked me, he even licked the couch. I grabbed him and I started petting him. Winston had this green collar on his neck though, with a name tag attached to it. I gave Winston a blue collar a long time ago so I checked it. The tag said Luke. "Dad I don't think this is Winston," and I looked at him. I wanted my dog. This wasn't my dog. Mom looked at dad too, "You said he wouldn't notice," and dad smiled, probably because he was stuck between the crossfire of his kid and wife. He said, "It's okay sport. You won't even notice Winston's gone." I ran outside. I'll go to grandma's farm and I'll find Winston myself.	It was an exciting time. One of the biggest advances in human history, and Jeremy of all people was the first to test it. Being massive science fiction fans, we were so excited for the opportunity we never really thought about what might happen to him. They said he would spend about a month away, between all the protocols that had been set up and the actual "traveling" itself. I couldn't wait to see him again, to hear all the stories of everything he had done. Our families threw a massive return party for him. Everyone wanted to see him again and hear his stories, including the mass of reporters that gathered in the driveway. We eventually got the knock on the door we had all been waiting for, Jeremy walked in the door calmer than I had ever seen him. The luster in his eyes that everyone knew Jeremy for, ever since he was a baby, was gone. The party and the interviews went through all the motions. Everyone could tell something was obviously wrong with him, the expexted excitement of the party never came to be and all the reporters' questions were rather bluntly ignored. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my friend again, to find out what had happened to him. After over six months of silence, Jeremy finally opened up to me. He spoke of places and events so grand that they were beyond description. Dinosaurs roaming the earth, watching our earliest ancestors leave their caves for the first time, even humanity's first contact with extraterrestrial life. As he described these things his face truly lit up for the first time since he left. He also told tales of darker times. Tales of a war that would rend the world uninhabitable. Ash clouds that blocked the sun for decades, sending mankind back into the caves from which he watched them emerge not so long ago. I finally realized what had taken the gleam from my friend's eyes. He had seen millenia worth of death and destruction, becoming merely a shell of the friend I once knew. No one ever meaningfully heard from Jeremy again. He became a recluse and took his own life not long after. To this day he is known the world over as a symbol of man's potential as well as man's arrogance. I can only hope his story is remembered, both for the friend he was and the future his sacrifice may be able to prevent.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Today was the day he was getting transferred. Jack was extremely excited. They liked to call it "transfer" instead of teleportation. It was total read of his body on a molecular level, which was sent from one MTU (Molecular Transfer Unit) to another. Jack had explained it to me a couple of times. "The most fascinating thing about this is that we humans are so complex, that the amount of data sent exceeds what is possible to store! So they made it a continuous operation! And the quantum computer is so fast, it can write almost instantaneously! You transfer, and then it's gone." He stared at me while opening his hands "Poof!". I always liked that about him. His enthusiasm for details. "The beauty lies in the details" was his motto. Never the big things. When me and Mark had a baby, he didn't jump and shout for us. But the day he first saw our little Heath, he just stared for ages. "He's got your smile..". I was there for transfer. He was allowed 3 personal friends, but I was the only one he asked. We were 15 people in the room. 2 of them had cameras to document the experiment. Jack stripped naked while going into the MTU. "I'm going to be full of plastic if I wear some kind of condom suit. That would've been catastrophic!" had he laughed when I asked him. Then it started. The MTU started vibrating immensely from the sheer force of energy flowing through. The room shook with it, and suddenly small ripples opened in the air. Small ripples of light. We all ran for our lives towards the door. "WHAT IS GOING ON?" screamed one of the scientists. "Click". The weirdest sound I have ever heard. "Click." Like a drop falling down in a puddle, but the drop was more solid. Like solid liquid. "Click." and everything stopped! The shaking, the ripples, the lights and electricity. It all disappeared. "Click." Then it all came back. I looked straight at the MTU where Jack had been a second ago, but he was gone. I felt chaos rising to the top of my head. Suddenly the room erupted in applause. Jack was standing at the other MTU, clearly exhausted. He He dropped to the floor before the support staff could reach him, carrying him away to the Med. apartment. Jack had warned me it was going to get rough. "The MTU needs an insane amount of power to be able to send all that information so quickly. It gets transferred on a different level than ours. It's the only way, and to access that level, we need A LOT of energy. Like a hidden backdoor, so to speak." It took 10 days before I could see him. They did all kinds of tests, to ensure his safety, but he was finally cleared, both mentally and physically. "Beyond comprehension" they said. He was in stellar shape. We took a walk down road connecting the main building to the Med. apartment. We talked about life. Food. Watching the world from a mountain, and details. We sat down on a bench. He looked at me. Inspected me. Then he diverted his gaze to the ground and started whispering "I.. I couldn't breathe.. In there. That place. I just kept walking, looking for some kind of exit. I walked for what felt like years. And then I saw you. It was you, but it wasn't you. Your hair didn't curl the same way, your freckles were different. And I never saw you smile. And it killed me. Over and over again." His face was stern. Eyes wicked. His attitude was changed. "You see, when I saw me dying, over and over again, I did something. Something unforgivable. I killed myself. Or him. Or me. And I walked his walk. My walk. Always watching you. Still not smiling!" His mouth turned into a twisted grin "Let's put a smile on that face!"	It was an exciting time. One of the biggest advances in human history, and Jeremy of all people was the first to test it. Being massive science fiction fans, we were so excited for the opportunity we never really thought about what might happen to him. They said he would spend about a month away, between all the protocols that had been set up and the actual "traveling" itself. I couldn't wait to see him again, to hear all the stories of everything he had done. Our families threw a massive return party for him. Everyone wanted to see him again and hear his stories, including the mass of reporters that gathered in the driveway. We eventually got the knock on the door we had all been waiting for, Jeremy walked in the door calmer than I had ever seen him. The luster in his eyes that everyone knew Jeremy for, ever since he was a baby, was gone. The party and the interviews went through all the motions. Everyone could tell something was obviously wrong with him, the expexted excitement of the party never came to be and all the reporters' questions were rather bluntly ignored. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my friend again, to find out what had happened to him. After over six months of silence, Jeremy finally opened up to me. He spoke of places and events so grand that they were beyond description. Dinosaurs roaming the earth, watching our earliest ancestors leave their caves for the first time, even humanity's first contact with extraterrestrial life. As he described these things his face truly lit up for the first time since he left. He also told tales of darker times. Tales of a war that would rend the world uninhabitable. Ash clouds that blocked the sun for decades, sending mankind back into the caves from which he watched them emerge not so long ago. I finally realized what had taken the gleam from my friend's eyes. He had seen millenia worth of death and destruction, becoming merely a shell of the friend I once knew. No one ever meaningfully heard from Jeremy again. He became a recluse and took his own life not long after. To this day he is known the world over as a symbol of man's potential as well as man's arrogance. I can only hope his story is remembered, both for the friend he was and the future his sacrifice may be able to prevent.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Bit late to the party. First post here too! I changed the perspective. I stepped out of the transporter and stared down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them a few times. Everything seemed in it's rightful place. Two arms, two legs. One, two, one two. Everything exactly how it should be. Everything how it should be. Except for one niggling thought in that space in your mind that's only ever occupied by such thoughts... "You did it! You made it through! So! What was it like? How does it feel to be teleported across the world, dude?" A bright smiling figure came bounding up to me, white lab coat dressed, and red face flushed, wearing the most joyous expression I had seen on anyone. "C'mon Stu, why the blank face? Being assembled then reassembled again fuzz up your brain? Nah of course not. Bet you're just too thrilled!" He guffawed at his own joke. I nodded and let out a kind of half laugh. Yeah. What was I thinking? We'd done tests on mice, cats and even a horse once. All in the privacy of the lab of course. All displayed no outward signs of anything wrong. They continued their animal ways without a modicum of change. But that was to the outside eye of course. To us, the observers who knew supposedly so much of teleportation but nothing of the inner workings of the mind. Inside, what was really going on? Who was this guy in front of me? I mean logically I knew. Like ghosts, fragments of memory reappeared if I closed my eyes. Strange phantoms of memories that we had shared together. Well at least I think we had. We, together, had been working on teleportation but aside from that, it was difficult to draw on anything without dotting white lights and a throbbing pain entering my head. No name, no sentimentality entered my mind from seeing him. Just... The facts, I suppose, if I could even be expected to believe them. Over the next few days and weeks I tried to explain to him, my family, my friends how I felt. I soon grew tired of being the rebuffs, the laughs and the lack of belief in their eyes as I told them of our secret project, telling me it was just stress that would soon wear off, and eventually I left my home. I moved and tried to start afresh elsewhere. I mean how could I really relearn the names and lives of everyone I had ever known when they wouldn't believe a word I had said?	It was an exciting time. One of the biggest advances in human history, and Jeremy of all people was the first to test it. Being massive science fiction fans, we were so excited for the opportunity we never really thought about what might happen to him. They said he would spend about a month away, between all the protocols that had been set up and the actual "traveling" itself. I couldn't wait to see him again, to hear all the stories of everything he had done. Our families threw a massive return party for him. Everyone wanted to see him again and hear his stories, including the mass of reporters that gathered in the driveway. We eventually got the knock on the door we had all been waiting for, Jeremy walked in the door calmer than I had ever seen him. The luster in his eyes that everyone knew Jeremy for, ever since he was a baby, was gone. The party and the interviews went through all the motions. Everyone could tell something was obviously wrong with him, the expexted excitement of the party never came to be and all the reporters' questions were rather bluntly ignored. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my friend again, to find out what had happened to him. After over six months of silence, Jeremy finally opened up to me. He spoke of places and events so grand that they were beyond description. Dinosaurs roaming the earth, watching our earliest ancestors leave their caves for the first time, even humanity's first contact with extraterrestrial life. As he described these things his face truly lit up for the first time since he left. He also told tales of darker times. Tales of a war that would rend the world uninhabitable. Ash clouds that blocked the sun for decades, sending mankind back into the caves from which he watched them emerge not so long ago. I finally realized what had taken the gleam from my friend's eyes. He had seen millenia worth of death and destruction, becoming merely a shell of the friend I once knew. No one ever meaningfully heard from Jeremy again. He became a recluse and took his own life not long after. To this day he is known the world over as a symbol of man's potential as well as man's arrogance. I can only hope his story is remembered, both for the friend he was and the future his sacrifice may be able to prevent.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	It was an exciting time. One of the biggest advances in human history, and Jeremy of all people was the first to test it. Being massive science fiction fans, we were so excited for the opportunity we never really thought about what might happen to him. They said he would spend about a month away, between all the protocols that had been set up and the actual "traveling" itself. I couldn't wait to see him again, to hear all the stories of everything he had done. Our families threw a massive return party for him. Everyone wanted to see him again and hear his stories, including the mass of reporters that gathered in the driveway. We eventually got the knock on the door we had all been waiting for, Jeremy walked in the door calmer than I had ever seen him. The luster in his eyes that everyone knew Jeremy for, ever since he was a baby, was gone. The party and the interviews went through all the motions. Everyone could tell something was obviously wrong with him, the expexted excitement of the party never came to be and all the reporters' questions were rather bluntly ignored. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my friend again, to find out what had happened to him. After over six months of silence, Jeremy finally opened up to me. He spoke of places and events so grand that they were beyond description. Dinosaurs roaming the earth, watching our earliest ancestors leave their caves for the first time, even humanity's first contact with extraterrestrial life. As he described these things his face truly lit up for the first time since he left. He also told tales of darker times. Tales of a war that would rend the world uninhabitable. Ash clouds that blocked the sun for decades, sending mankind back into the caves from which he watched them emerge not so long ago. I finally realized what had taken the gleam from my friend's eyes. He had seen millenia worth of death and destruction, becoming merely a shell of the friend I once knew. No one ever meaningfully heard from Jeremy again. He became a recluse and took his own life not long after. To this day he is known the world over as a symbol of man's potential as well as man's arrogance. I can only hope his story is remembered, both for the friend he was and the future his sacrifice may be able to prevent.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	"3...2...1" "Go!" When team Mailman flipped the proverbial switch, the tension and fear I felt was so great I thought I had blacked out when we lost power. After a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, someone in the dark finally spoke out. "Hey...what happened?" "Well you fucking tell me Steve! It was your fucking job to make sure we didn't blow a fuse or some shit!" "Communications are down." "Of course communications are down dipshit! We got no power!" "Everybody calm down," I said. I was probably saying that more for my sake than anyone else's. "What do you think happened?" "I don't know," replied Don. "We have ran this trial a hundred times and never lost power." "But we do the one time we send a fucking person?!" "That's the weird thing John," said Don, "Did you see that letter? It didn't look like the rest." "What do mean?" asked John. "Well, that...." DUNG. BOOOGH I nearly had a heart attack. It was just the emergency power coming on. A few lights. Nothing more. "Oh shit..." "What?" "Look. He made it..." We all then looked through the glass to the Mailbox, and there he was, as naked as the day he was brought into this world. He had to take the trip naked though. Safety precaution. One light, barely illuminating a naked man standing on a the receiving pad we called the Mailbox. Click "Terry? Terry? Can you here me?" "We got no power, remember? That means intercom is not going to work either." "Somethings wrong," muttered Don. "Why is he just standing there like that?" I went to bang on the window. "Hey! Hey Terry!" I knew he couldn't hear me. "Shock, maybe? He is the first person to be sent." Then, in a blinding flash, all the lights came back on. "Mailbox! Mailbox! Come in!" "Mailbox here." "What happened team Mailbox? We lost communication." "Yes, we lost power here on our end, but..." "Ah I see. Well bad news here I am afraid, Terry's unconscious laying on the sending pad and we got medical taking a look at him now." "But..." I stammered, "Terry's right here..."	It was an exciting time. One of the biggest advances in human history, and Jeremy of all people was the first to test it. Being massive science fiction fans, we were so excited for the opportunity we never really thought about what might happen to him. They said he would spend about a month away, between all the protocols that had been set up and the actual "traveling" itself. I couldn't wait to see him again, to hear all the stories of everything he had done. Our families threw a massive return party for him. Everyone wanted to see him again and hear his stories, including the mass of reporters that gathered in the driveway. We eventually got the knock on the door we had all been waiting for, Jeremy walked in the door calmer than I had ever seen him. The luster in his eyes that everyone knew Jeremy for, ever since he was a baby, was gone. The party and the interviews went through all the motions. Everyone could tell something was obviously wrong with him, the expexted excitement of the party never came to be and all the reporters' questions were rather bluntly ignored. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my friend again, to find out what had happened to him. After over six months of silence, Jeremy finally opened up to me. He spoke of places and events so grand that they were beyond description. Dinosaurs roaming the earth, watching our earliest ancestors leave their caves for the first time, even humanity's first contact with extraterrestrial life. As he described these things his face truly lit up for the first time since he left. He also told tales of darker times. Tales of a war that would rend the world uninhabitable. Ash clouds that blocked the sun for decades, sending mankind back into the caves from which he watched them emerge not so long ago. I finally realized what had taken the gleam from my friend's eyes. He had seen millenia worth of death and destruction, becoming merely a shell of the friend I once knew. No one ever meaningfully heard from Jeremy again. He became a recluse and took his own life not long after. To this day he is known the world over as a symbol of man's potential as well as man's arrogance. I can only hope his story is remembered, both for the friend he was and the future his sacrifice may be able to prevent.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Today was the day he was getting transferred. Jack was extremely excited. They liked to call it "transfer" instead of teleportation. It was total read of his body on a molecular level, which was sent from one MTU (Molecular Transfer Unit) to another. Jack had explained it to me a couple of times. "The most fascinating thing about this is that we humans are so complex, that the amount of data sent exceeds what is possible to store! So they made it a continuous operation! And the quantum computer is so fast, it can write almost instantaneously! You transfer, and then it's gone." He stared at me while opening his hands "Poof!". I always liked that about him. His enthusiasm for details. "The beauty lies in the details" was his motto. Never the big things. When me and Mark had a baby, he didn't jump and shout for us. But the day he first saw our little Heath, he just stared for ages. "He's got your smile..". I was there for transfer. He was allowed 3 personal friends, but I was the only one he asked. We were 15 people in the room. 2 of them had cameras to document the experiment. Jack stripped naked while going into the MTU. "I'm going to be full of plastic if I wear some kind of condom suit. That would've been catastrophic!" had he laughed when I asked him. Then it started. The MTU started vibrating immensely from the sheer force of energy flowing through. The room shook with it, and suddenly small ripples opened in the air. Small ripples of light. We all ran for our lives towards the door. "WHAT IS GOING ON?" screamed one of the scientists. "Click". The weirdest sound I have ever heard. "Click." Like a drop falling down in a puddle, but the drop was more solid. Like solid liquid. "Click." and everything stopped! The shaking, the ripples, the lights and electricity. It all disappeared. "Click." Then it all came back. I looked straight at the MTU where Jack had been a second ago, but he was gone. I felt chaos rising to the top of my head. Suddenly the room erupted in applause. Jack was standing at the other MTU, clearly exhausted. He He dropped to the floor before the support staff could reach him, carrying him away to the Med. apartment. Jack had warned me it was going to get rough. "The MTU needs an insane amount of power to be able to send all that information so quickly. It gets transferred on a different level than ours. It's the only way, and to access that level, we need A LOT of energy. Like a hidden backdoor, so to speak." It took 10 days before I could see him. They did all kinds of tests, to ensure his safety, but he was finally cleared, both mentally and physically. "Beyond comprehension" they said. He was in stellar shape. We took a walk down road connecting the main building to the Med. apartment. We talked about life. Food. Watching the world from a mountain, and details. We sat down on a bench. He looked at me. Inspected me. Then he diverted his gaze to the ground and started whispering "I.. I couldn't breathe.. In there. That place. I just kept walking, looking for some kind of exit. I walked for what felt like years. And then I saw you. It was you, but it wasn't you. Your hair didn't curl the same way, your freckles were different. And I never saw you smile. And it killed me. Over and over again." His face was stern. Eyes wicked. His attitude was changed. "You see, when I saw me dying, over and over again, I did something. Something unforgivable. I killed myself. Or him. Or me. And I walked his walk. My walk. Always watching you. Still not smiling!" His mouth turned into a twisted grin "Let's put a smile on that face!"	It was the craziest thing. We were talking about what boobs feel like with the episode of SpongeBob where Plankton switches lives with Mr. Krabs on in the background last Friday evening when we heard a Dysen commercial come on asking for product testers. But it wasn't for a new special vacuum cleaner with twice the suction power... no, this was asking for people to come test their new teleporters. Apparently they had stumbled upon a discovery that would put Ford and Boeing and a thousand other companies out of business forever - the key to teleportation. It had something to do with velocity and vacuums or some shit. Anyway, my buddy Jim's like shit that would be cool, I think I'm gonna call that number and see about being put up as a product tester. So he calls and they're like alright man come on down to our warehouse at 8pm next Thursday and we will give you either a hundred bucks or a hundred ten dollars coupon for our online store to walk through this little portal. Apparently when he does that it'll shoot him over to Houston and then he walks back through and bam, he's teleported to Texas and back. He follows through with it, which was the biggest mistake of his life. When he's done I call his cell phone and ask if he wants to grab a burrito and he says hell yeah. We meet at the Bitchin Burrito which literally has the most bitchin burritos you've ever put near your mouth and we're going through the line and I start noticing some weird shit. First of all, Jim orders the regular tortilla, and in all my days I know Jim's a chipotle tortilla guy. I don't think much of it though because I know he's been saying he wanted to expand his horizon so whatever. When he ordered sour cream I was like what the fuck dude you said last week you'd rather eat a plastic bag than the tiniest bit of sour cream, so I'm starting to get concerned. We sit down and start eating and then that's when I find out. Jim asks me how I'm liking A Feast for Crows even though Jim loaned me his Clash of Kings audiobook 6 days before. So I'm like "Dammit Jim first the sour cream and now this, what the fuck has happened to you?" And he's like "Dude my name is Carl." Apparently the teleporter never teleported Jim back, but it did teleport over a different blind guy with a blind friend who sounds exactly like me. Everything got set right by Dysen and they got Jim and Carl back home, but Bitchin Burrito got shut down two days later because some rancid sour cream gave someone mad cow disease. And that is the story of how Dysen fucked up teleporting Jim back home, causing him to miss his last chance to get the best burrito ever wrapped.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Bit late to the party. First post here too! I changed the perspective. I stepped out of the transporter and stared down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them a few times. Everything seemed in it's rightful place. Two arms, two legs. One, two, one two. Everything exactly how it should be. Everything how it should be. Except for one niggling thought in that space in your mind that's only ever occupied by such thoughts... "You did it! You made it through! So! What was it like? How does it feel to be teleported across the world, dude?" A bright smiling figure came bounding up to me, white lab coat dressed, and red face flushed, wearing the most joyous expression I had seen on anyone. "C'mon Stu, why the blank face? Being assembled then reassembled again fuzz up your brain? Nah of course not. Bet you're just too thrilled!" He guffawed at his own joke. I nodded and let out a kind of half laugh. Yeah. What was I thinking? We'd done tests on mice, cats and even a horse once. All in the privacy of the lab of course. All displayed no outward signs of anything wrong. They continued their animal ways without a modicum of change. But that was to the outside eye of course. To us, the observers who knew supposedly so much of teleportation but nothing of the inner workings of the mind. Inside, what was really going on? Who was this guy in front of me? I mean logically I knew. Like ghosts, fragments of memory reappeared if I closed my eyes. Strange phantoms of memories that we had shared together. Well at least I think we had. We, together, had been working on teleportation but aside from that, it was difficult to draw on anything without dotting white lights and a throbbing pain entering my head. No name, no sentimentality entered my mind from seeing him. Just... The facts, I suppose, if I could even be expected to believe them. Over the next few days and weeks I tried to explain to him, my family, my friends how I felt. I soon grew tired of being the rebuffs, the laughs and the lack of belief in their eyes as I told them of our secret project, telling me it was just stress that would soon wear off, and eventually I left my home. I moved and tried to start afresh elsewhere. I mean how could I really relearn the names and lives of everyone I had ever known when they wouldn't believe a word I had said?	It was the craziest thing. We were talking about what boobs feel like with the episode of SpongeBob where Plankton switches lives with Mr. Krabs on in the background last Friday evening when we heard a Dysen commercial come on asking for product testers. But it wasn't for a new special vacuum cleaner with twice the suction power... no, this was asking for people to come test their new teleporters. Apparently they had stumbled upon a discovery that would put Ford and Boeing and a thousand other companies out of business forever - the key to teleportation. It had something to do with velocity and vacuums or some shit. Anyway, my buddy Jim's like shit that would be cool, I think I'm gonna call that number and see about being put up as a product tester. So he calls and they're like alright man come on down to our warehouse at 8pm next Thursday and we will give you either a hundred bucks or a hundred ten dollars coupon for our online store to walk through this little portal. Apparently when he does that it'll shoot him over to Houston and then he walks back through and bam, he's teleported to Texas and back. He follows through with it, which was the biggest mistake of his life. When he's done I call his cell phone and ask if he wants to grab a burrito and he says hell yeah. We meet at the Bitchin Burrito which literally has the most bitchin burritos you've ever put near your mouth and we're going through the line and I start noticing some weird shit. First of all, Jim orders the regular tortilla, and in all my days I know Jim's a chipotle tortilla guy. I don't think much of it though because I know he's been saying he wanted to expand his horizon so whatever. When he ordered sour cream I was like what the fuck dude you said last week you'd rather eat a plastic bag than the tiniest bit of sour cream, so I'm starting to get concerned. We sit down and start eating and then that's when I find out. Jim asks me how I'm liking A Feast for Crows even though Jim loaned me his Clash of Kings audiobook 6 days before. So I'm like "Dammit Jim first the sour cream and now this, what the fuck has happened to you?" And he's like "Dude my name is Carl." Apparently the teleporter never teleported Jim back, but it did teleport over a different blind guy with a blind friend who sounds exactly like me. Everything got set right by Dysen and they got Jim and Carl back home, but Bitchin Burrito got shut down two days later because some rancid sour cream gave someone mad cow disease. And that is the story of how Dysen fucked up teleporting Jim back home, causing him to miss his last chance to get the best burrito ever wrapped.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	It was the craziest thing. We were talking about what boobs feel like with the episode of SpongeBob where Plankton switches lives with Mr. Krabs on in the background last Friday evening when we heard a Dysen commercial come on asking for product testers. But it wasn't for a new special vacuum cleaner with twice the suction power... no, this was asking for people to come test their new teleporters. Apparently they had stumbled upon a discovery that would put Ford and Boeing and a thousand other companies out of business forever - the key to teleportation. It had something to do with velocity and vacuums or some shit. Anyway, my buddy Jim's like shit that would be cool, I think I'm gonna call that number and see about being put up as a product tester. So he calls and they're like alright man come on down to our warehouse at 8pm next Thursday and we will give you either a hundred bucks or a hundred ten dollars coupon for our online store to walk through this little portal. Apparently when he does that it'll shoot him over to Houston and then he walks back through and bam, he's teleported to Texas and back. He follows through with it, which was the biggest mistake of his life. When he's done I call his cell phone and ask if he wants to grab a burrito and he says hell yeah. We meet at the Bitchin Burrito which literally has the most bitchin burritos you've ever put near your mouth and we're going through the line and I start noticing some weird shit. First of all, Jim orders the regular tortilla, and in all my days I know Jim's a chipotle tortilla guy. I don't think much of it though because I know he's been saying he wanted to expand his horizon so whatever. When he ordered sour cream I was like what the fuck dude you said last week you'd rather eat a plastic bag than the tiniest bit of sour cream, so I'm starting to get concerned. We sit down and start eating and then that's when I find out. Jim asks me how I'm liking A Feast for Crows even though Jim loaned me his Clash of Kings audiobook 6 days before. So I'm like "Dammit Jim first the sour cream and now this, what the fuck has happened to you?" And he's like "Dude my name is Carl." Apparently the teleporter never teleported Jim back, but it did teleport over a different blind guy with a blind friend who sounds exactly like me. Everything got set right by Dysen and they got Jim and Carl back home, but Bitchin Burrito got shut down two days later because some rancid sour cream gave someone mad cow disease. And that is the story of how Dysen fucked up teleporting Jim back home, causing him to miss his last chance to get the best burrito ever wrapped.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	My parents told me Winston was coming back today. For the past few months he'd been at grandma's house. I don't know why he was there, they said Winston wanted to be on grandma's farm but I know Winston. He doesn't like the outdoors. He just likes sleeping. "Hey sport," Dad tousled my hair, "We've got a big surprise for you!" Then my mom opened the front door and Winston bounded through. He licked my dad, he licked me, he even licked the couch. I grabbed him and I started petting him. Winston had this green collar on his neck though, with a name tag attached to it. I gave Winston a blue collar a long time ago so I checked it. The tag said Luke. "Dad I don't think this is Winston," and I looked at him. I wanted my dog. This wasn't my dog. Mom looked at dad too, "You said he wouldn't notice," and dad smiled, probably because he was stuck between the crossfire of his kid and wife. He said, "It's okay sport. You won't even notice Winston's gone." I ran outside. I'll go to grandma's farm and I'll find Winston myself.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	Today was the day he was getting transferred. Jack was extremely excited. They liked to call it "transfer" instead of teleportation. It was total read of his body on a molecular level, which was sent from one MTU (Molecular Transfer Unit) to another. Jack had explained it to me a couple of times. "The most fascinating thing about this is that we humans are so complex, that the amount of data sent exceeds what is possible to store! So they made it a continuous operation! And the quantum computer is so fast, it can write almost instantaneously! You transfer, and then it's gone." He stared at me while opening his hands "Poof!". I always liked that about him. His enthusiasm for details. "The beauty lies in the details" was his motto. Never the big things. When me and Mark had a baby, he didn't jump and shout for us. But the day he first saw our little Heath, he just stared for ages. "He's got your smile..". I was there for transfer. He was allowed 3 personal friends, but I was the only one he asked. We were 15 people in the room. 2 of them had cameras to document the experiment. Jack stripped naked while going into the MTU. "I'm going to be full of plastic if I wear some kind of condom suit. That would've been catastrophic!" had he laughed when I asked him. Then it started. The MTU started vibrating immensely from the sheer force of energy flowing through. The room shook with it, and suddenly small ripples opened in the air. Small ripples of light. We all ran for our lives towards the door. "WHAT IS GOING ON?" screamed one of the scientists. "Click". The weirdest sound I have ever heard. "Click." Like a drop falling down in a puddle, but the drop was more solid. Like solid liquid. "Click." and everything stopped! The shaking, the ripples, the lights and electricity. It all disappeared. "Click." Then it all came back. I looked straight at the MTU where Jack had been a second ago, but he was gone. I felt chaos rising to the top of my head. Suddenly the room erupted in applause. Jack was standing at the other MTU, clearly exhausted. He He dropped to the floor before the support staff could reach him, carrying him away to the Med. apartment. Jack had warned me it was going to get rough. "The MTU needs an insane amount of power to be able to send all that information so quickly. It gets transferred on a different level than ours. It's the only way, and to access that level, we need A LOT of energy. Like a hidden backdoor, so to speak." It took 10 days before I could see him. They did all kinds of tests, to ensure his safety, but he was finally cleared, both mentally and physically. "Beyond comprehension" they said. He was in stellar shape. We took a walk down road connecting the main building to the Med. apartment. We talked about life. Food. Watching the world from a mountain, and details. We sat down on a bench. He looked at me. Inspected me. Then he diverted his gaze to the ground and started whispering "I.. I couldn't breathe.. In there. That place. I just kept walking, looking for some kind of exit. I walked for what felt like years. And then I saw you. It was you, but it wasn't you. Your hair didn't curl the same way, your freckles were different. And I never saw you smile. And it killed me. Over and over again." His face was stern. Eyes wicked. His attitude was changed. "You see, when I saw me dying, over and over again, I did something. Something unforgivable. I killed myself. Or him. Or me. And I walked his walk. My walk. Always watching you. Still not smiling!" His mouth turned into a twisted grin "Let's put a smile on that face!"
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	I popped up quickly when I heard the polite knock on my office door. My research assistant, Doug poked his head in. "Sir, Dr. Marcus just called. You can see Patrick now." I thought about what we accomplished on my way through the facility toward the medical ward. Patrick and I had invented teleportation travel. This was a lifelong dream of ours. We had been best friends in the same small town, both kind of intelligent outcasts and developed a love of science from all the nerdy movies we used to watch. We used to talk about the plausibility of every sci-fi trope out there. Time travel, faster-than-light speed, but we had always been enthralled by teleportation. We pushed ourselves together through our school science courses, urged each other on to enroll in the toughest college courses, determined to be better than the other. It was a symbiotic, friendly rivalry between us. But the common dream was the same: Teleportation. Eventually, our combined successes allowed us the position and funds necessary to put together this facility and through hard work, we had managed to get it done. We started with inanimate objects, of course. And, the entry and exit points were contained within a sterile room. A large room, but still, just a single location inside of our secure research lab. I had turned the corner toward medical when Dr. Marcus stopped me. "Do you have a moment, Jim?" "Sure, doctor. What's up?" "It's about Patrick." I frowned. "Is he better?" "In a manner of speaking. Now, you can visit him, but we're still not sure what the total psychological damage is. We've had to keep him sedated, but you should be able to talk to him." "I feel awful about the whole situation." The doctor sympathetically smiled. "I wouldn't blame yourself." I shook my head, "I mean, he comes back, but he doesn't look the same. He's the same guy sure, but different hairstyle and in street-clothes. Even his physique was different. And the way he just freaked out on the staff. I had to call security on my best friend." "You did what you had to do at the time, Jim. But the good thing is that Patrick is back and he's alive. It's important that he be with his friend." The doctor patted me on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office." As he started to walk away he paused. "Oh, Jim. I was curious. You both love this kind of stuff, but why him and not you for the maiden voyage." I laughed. "We flipped a coin." I turned toward the closed door to the room Patrick was in and thought to myself. I had so many questions. For myself and the rest of the research staff, Patrick's trip seemed instantaneous. But Patrick was clearly different when he returned. He could have been somewhere or "some-when" for who knows how long? Had we discovered time-travel by accident? I opened the door to Patrick's room. It was pretty much like any generic hospital room, so I wasn't surprised when he asked, "What hospital is this?" "Hey, Patrick, welcome back." "Back? I've never been here. What hospital is this?" "It's the facility, Patrick. Our facility." "I don't own a facility. Where's my wife?" "Home, probably. She's aware of the situation." I smiled. "I'll invite her to see you soon. I just wanted to be the first visitor." "First visitor? I thought you were another doctor. Look, I'm clearly fine. I want to leave. What's going on? Why is my wife at home? Is she okay?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Patrick became agitated and started to raise his voice. "'Yeah, I guess.'? Are you kidding me!? Is my wife okay!? I was driving the car!" I got confused. "What?" "How bad was the accident? Is my son okay?" "Patrick... You don't have children." "The fuck do you know? Who the fuck are you?" "Patrick, please, calm down and just tell me the last things you remember." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay, whatever. Karen, my wife, and I had been fighting about something stupid. I didn't want to have to drive over to her mother's place on my day off. But, she wanted to see her grandson. So, we got into my car and I was driving on the turnpike. Now I'm here." I leaned forward and put my hands under my chin. "Patrick, are you sure that's what you remember?" "Yes. Now who are you?" "Listen. Dr. Marcus says you may have suffered some psychological trauma so I'll humor you. My name is Jim Stevens. And I'm your best friend." "That's not fucking funny." "It wasn't meant to be. Why?" "Your name is Jim-fucking-Stevens?" "Yes." "And who am I?" "Patrick Gordon." "Of course, you read it off my file. But you being Jim Stevens is bullshit." "Why would you say that, Patrick?" "Because I knew a Jim Stevens and, yes, he was my best friend. But he died when we were kids, okay? It's a pretty sick fucking joke." I shuddered. "What happened?" "One day, at school, some kid just snapped. He went psycho and shot a bunch of kids. The 'weird' ones. We were just a bunch of science nerds. I got hit too, but Jim didn't make it." "I don't believe you." "Yeah?" Patrick lifted his hospital gown, exposing his abdomen. Two bullet-sized scars were on his lower torso. "Jim took the third one. He... leapt in front of me. Saved my life." I was in stunned silence. Patrick asked, "Is my family okay?"	Bit late to the party. First post here too! I changed the perspective. I stepped out of the transporter and stared down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them a few times. Everything seemed in it's rightful place. Two arms, two legs. One, two, one two. Everything exactly how it should be. Everything how it should be. Except for one niggling thought in that space in your mind that's only ever occupied by such thoughts... "You did it! You made it through! So! What was it like? How does it feel to be teleported across the world, dude?" A bright smiling figure came bounding up to me, white lab coat dressed, and red face flushed, wearing the most joyous expression I had seen on anyone. "C'mon Stu, why the blank face? Being assembled then reassembled again fuzz up your brain? Nah of course not. Bet you're just too thrilled!" He guffawed at his own joke. I nodded and let out a kind of half laugh. Yeah. What was I thinking? We'd done tests on mice, cats and even a horse once. All in the privacy of the lab of course. All displayed no outward signs of anything wrong. They continued their animal ways without a modicum of change. But that was to the outside eye of course. To us, the observers who knew supposedly so much of teleportation but nothing of the inner workings of the mind. Inside, what was really going on? Who was this guy in front of me? I mean logically I knew. Like ghosts, fragments of memory reappeared if I closed my eyes. Strange phantoms of memories that we had shared together. Well at least I think we had. We, together, had been working on teleportation but aside from that, it was difficult to draw on anything without dotting white lights and a throbbing pain entering my head. No name, no sentimentality entered my mind from seeing him. Just... The facts, I suppose, if I could even be expected to believe them. Over the next few days and weeks I tried to explain to him, my family, my friends how I felt. I soon grew tired of being the rebuffs, the laughs and the lack of belief in their eyes as I told them of our secret project, telling me it was just stress that would soon wear off, and eventually I left my home. I moved and tried to start afresh elsewhere. I mean how could I really relearn the names and lives of everyone I had ever known when they wouldn't believe a word I had said?
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	"3...2...1" "Go!" When team Mailman flipped the proverbial switch, the tension and fear I felt was so great I thought I had blacked out when we lost power. After a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, someone in the dark finally spoke out. "Hey...what happened?" "Well you fucking tell me Steve! It was your fucking job to make sure we didn't blow a fuse or some shit!" "Communications are down." "Of course communications are down dipshit! We got no power!" "Everybody calm down," I said. I was probably saying that more for my sake than anyone else's. "What do you think happened?" "I don't know," replied Don. "We have ran this trial a hundred times and never lost power." "But we do the one time we send a fucking person?!" "That's the weird thing John," said Don, "Did you see that letter? It didn't look like the rest." "What do mean?" asked John. "Well, that...." DUNG. BOOOGH I nearly had a heart attack. It was just the emergency power coming on. A few lights. Nothing more. "Oh shit..." "What?" "Look. He made it..." We all then looked through the glass to the Mailbox, and there he was, as naked as the day he was brought into this world. He had to take the trip naked though. Safety precaution. One light, barely illuminating a naked man standing on a the receiving pad we called the Mailbox. Click "Terry? Terry? Can you here me?" "We got no power, remember? That means intercom is not going to work either." "Somethings wrong," muttered Don. "Why is he just standing there like that?" I went to bang on the window. "Hey! Hey Terry!" I knew he couldn't hear me. "Shock, maybe? He is the first person to be sent." Then, in a blinding flash, all the lights came back on. "Mailbox! Mailbox! Come in!" "Mailbox here." "What happened team Mailbox? We lost communication." "Yes, we lost power here on our end, but..." "Ah I see. Well bad news here I am afraid, Terry's unconscious laying on the sending pad and we got medical taking a look at him now." "But..." I stammered, "Terry's right here..."	One day, me and my friend were walking home from school. We walked past a man's house, and we knew that he was a "crazy" person, but at least not on drugs. He comes running out to us, and asks my friend if he wants to try his new teleportation machine. He agrees, and asks "Where will it take me?" The man replies "Just down the street." He powers it on and a mysterious green gas starts to appear. The man tells me to back away as his friend is getting teleported. Almost instantaneously, the machine shuts off and my friend is gone. We walk down the street and we find him. He says "Woah, that was awesome!", and we continue on our merry way down to our houses. Right after dinner, he texts me with "Can't wait to be the new popular kid at school!" "Wasn't that teleportation machine so awesome?", I replied "Sure..." I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen at school the next day. In first period, nothing much happened except him telling people he went in a working teleportation machine, but people didn't really care, and thought that he was lying. Second period was sort of the same, except really he couldn't say anything because we had a really strict teacher that would get really upset if you are disrespectful. In third period, when we had a group project, that was all he was talking about. Nobody believed him. He then said "Well, my friend over here witnessed it and can tell you that it did in fact work!" I decided, what's the worst that could happen? After all, I did see him go in that machine and it worked... I said "Yep, I saw it happen.", then I realized I made a huge mistake. The mistake wasn't going to hit me now, but soon. News in my school spread like a wildfire. When recess rolls along, everyone in our grade was speaking about it. Me and my friend got a barrage of questions and most of them were "What did it look like?" and "How long did it take?" The questions for me were slowly starting to die down because I was only the witness. My friend was the new popular kid in school. He was a bit immature, so to "retain his popularity", he decided that he had to bully people because, really, that's what popular kids in my school did. This is when it hit me - I shouldn't have said that I saw it happen. He starts to make fun of me, and all of my other friends to keep his "roasting" popularity. This is when I realized he is not your friend. I realized that I kinda didn't follow the prompt (sorry!) but I hope it's interesting nonetheless.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	The light blinded my eyes, forcing me look away for a second. I could see Jake's silhouette striding down the receiving teleporter node, he was walking towards me. "Hey Jake, you feeling fine?" I asked, his eyes were glowing red, probably just never noticed before though. "I HUNGER, FEED ME THE SOULS OF THE INNOCENT" he bellowed in a suddenly deep voice, man, teleporting must have been more straining than I thought. "Wow, you are such a kidder Jake, anyway, we have to go to my octuplet niece's baptism, so just turn off the teleporter and we can be on our way. He turned around to face the teleporter, extended his arm, and clenched his fist, the teleporter nodes immediately compressed into tiny silver cubes, that must be the surprise feature he kept alluding to. "MORTAL, LET US GO AND PARTAKE ON THIS 'BAPTISM' YOU MENTIONED" he bellowed again, man, he has to get his ears checked. "Sure thing Jake, just follow me" man, this is going to be the best baptism ever!	One day, me and my friend were walking home from school. We walked past a man's house, and we knew that he was a "crazy" person, but at least not on drugs. He comes running out to us, and asks my friend if he wants to try his new teleportation machine. He agrees, and asks "Where will it take me?" The man replies "Just down the street." He powers it on and a mysterious green gas starts to appear. The man tells me to back away as his friend is getting teleported. Almost instantaneously, the machine shuts off and my friend is gone. We walk down the street and we find him. He says "Woah, that was awesome!", and we continue on our merry way down to our houses. Right after dinner, he texts me with "Can't wait to be the new popular kid at school!" "Wasn't that teleportation machine so awesome?", I replied "Sure..." I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen at school the next day. In first period, nothing much happened except him telling people he went in a working teleportation machine, but people didn't really care, and thought that he was lying. Second period was sort of the same, except really he couldn't say anything because we had a really strict teacher that would get really upset if you are disrespectful. In third period, when we had a group project, that was all he was talking about. Nobody believed him. He then said "Well, my friend over here witnessed it and can tell you that it did in fact work!" I decided, what's the worst that could happen? After all, I did see him go in that machine and it worked... I said "Yep, I saw it happen.", then I realized I made a huge mistake. The mistake wasn't going to hit me now, but soon. News in my school spread like a wildfire. When recess rolls along, everyone in our grade was speaking about it. Me and my friend got a barrage of questions and most of them were "What did it look like?" and "How long did it take?" The questions for me were slowly starting to die down because I was only the witness. My friend was the new popular kid in school. He was a bit immature, so to "retain his popularity", he decided that he had to bully people because, really, that's what popular kids in my school did. This is when it hit me - I shouldn't have said that I saw it happen. He starts to make fun of me, and all of my other friends to keep his "roasting" popularity. This is when I realized he is not your friend. I realized that I kinda didn't follow the prompt (sorry!) but I hope it's interesting nonetheless.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	Maury and I instantly bonded in college, our love for science and physics sparked a loving friendship. We both had high hopes for our careers, our senior thesis revolved around the idea of teleportation and how it might be theoretically possible. Half-way through our research Maury found out that his mother was deathly-ill, this took a great hit on him as his father had abandoned his family when he was a kid. I always looked up to him, he was so strong and ambitious; he fought my demons for me, he told me I was smart enough and that one day our dreams would come true. When we both failed our first physics final I sank into depression, I realized I was not as smart as I thought I was. He joked about us being dumbasses and flunking out of college but he showed so much optimism and he knew that we would be okay and we would get better. We did, we had the highest marks but I could not credit it all to myself, Maury pushed me to be better. However, with all his might he couldn't take the news of his mother being sick and he broke down. I knew what he was going through, I had lost my father at a very young age too and I was finally able to be the strong one for the both of us. His mother passed away after graduation and we mourned together. Over the next years we got out Master's degrees and our Doctorate degrees, and I could see the drive in him again. Our research and our institution allowed us to successfully create the first teleportation device. Maury suggested I be the first to use it, he joked "I don't want to go in, I'll probably die." I retold the story about our first failed exam in college and about his mother, I confessed that he gave me the courage to fight my sense of worthlessness and that he deserved this more than I. "You're a good friend Aaron. Thank you for being there with me this whole time. If I die, I'm coming back to haunt your ass." Maury strapped on the device to his head and his body, he appeared calm and focused. Unfortunately, teleportation was still too complex for computers so the computation processes for teleportation are done through cognition. Wherever the mind wants to go is where the body will be taken. In an instant he was gone, but the trackers found him again, just outside of his hometown. We panicked at the 10 minute mark as he had made no contact, the vital scanners were picking up increased heart rate and mental activity. Everyone ran around the room, shouting and figuring out what could have gone wrong. I froze, my friend, he was gone. People panicked for another 10 minutes before they finally gave up. As we contacted the authorities outside his location he was back again. We all just stared at him as he stood there. He looked up to me, his eyes red and watery. He walked closer to me and embraced me just as hard as he had when his mother passed away. He whispered something to me, something that changed our lives forever, "thank you, brother."	One day, me and my friend were walking home from school. We walked past a man's house, and we knew that he was a "crazy" person, but at least not on drugs. He comes running out to us, and asks my friend if he wants to try his new teleportation machine. He agrees, and asks "Where will it take me?" The man replies "Just down the street." He powers it on and a mysterious green gas starts to appear. The man tells me to back away as his friend is getting teleported. Almost instantaneously, the machine shuts off and my friend is gone. We walk down the street and we find him. He says "Woah, that was awesome!", and we continue on our merry way down to our houses. Right after dinner, he texts me with "Can't wait to be the new popular kid at school!" "Wasn't that teleportation machine so awesome?", I replied "Sure..." I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen at school the next day. In first period, nothing much happened except him telling people he went in a working teleportation machine, but people didn't really care, and thought that he was lying. Second period was sort of the same, except really he couldn't say anything because we had a really strict teacher that would get really upset if you are disrespectful. In third period, when we had a group project, that was all he was talking about. Nobody believed him. He then said "Well, my friend over here witnessed it and can tell you that it did in fact work!" I decided, what's the worst that could happen? After all, I did see him go in that machine and it worked... I said "Yep, I saw it happen.", then I realized I made a huge mistake. The mistake wasn't going to hit me now, but soon. News in my school spread like a wildfire. When recess rolls along, everyone in our grade was speaking about it. Me and my friend got a barrage of questions and most of them were "What did it look like?" and "How long did it take?" The questions for me were slowly starting to die down because I was only the witness. My friend was the new popular kid in school. He was a bit immature, so to "retain his popularity", he decided that he had to bully people because, really, that's what popular kids in my school did. This is when it hit me - I shouldn't have said that I saw it happen. He starts to make fun of me, and all of my other friends to keep his "roasting" popularity. This is when I realized he is not your friend. I realized that I kinda didn't follow the prompt (sorry!) but I hope it's interesting nonetheless.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	The press was everywhere that morning. Outside our hotel door. Crammed in the elevator like sheep bleating questions. Chasing us like foxes as we navigated through the hotel lobby. All this attention made me very uncomfortable. "Mr. Rice, Mr. Rice!" A reporter shouted from the mob that moved with us as we walked, "thoughts on today? Are you nervous? What if something goes wrong?" Glen raised his eyebrows and gave a small wave as if to say "good question, asshole." We stepped briskly out to the curb to the black town car awaiting us. A thick man in a dark suit opened the rear door and we climbed in. "Wow." Glen muttered. "Yeah...wow." I replied, sitting down, "today is really going to be somethin' else." I always knew Glen would be the one chosen to be on the cutting edge of science. Even in high school together, he was always the one doing something no one had done before. Nineteen years later and I still thought he was a rockstar. Brilliant, handsome, charismatic. The way he took everything in stride made Denzel Washington look like Steve Harvey. As we pulled up to the facility, I felt a horrible knot in my stomach. "Now??" I thought; frantically trying to assess the sudden pressure in my abdomen. "Do I really have to go number two--RIGHT BEFORE--Glen gets in that thing??" I held my breath, sweat forming at my brow. "Maybe it will just...resolve itself," I thought. As I clenched tightly to avoid anything dastardly escaping, Glen grabbed the handle and pushed open his door. "It's time," he said. "And don't worry if you miss the first part, just be there when I come out on the other side," he replied wryly, glancing down at my stomach. "It'll be a short one," I threw back sarcastically. But it wasn't. As soon as we got in the building, Glen and his entourage went back to the testing area and I hurried off to find the men's room. "Of all the days" I thought sighing to myself, "why did it have to be today." I was worried for my friend. Teleportation is a scary and confusing process. I had spent dinner with Glen last night as he explained all the steps and reactions and physics behind the transport. And I spent dinner wolfing down my mushroom and swiss. Acceleration. Splitting. Re-organization. Melted cheese and Angus beef. Maybe I could have paid more attention. Thirty-eight minutes later I emerge from the throne victorious and go off in search of Glen. I spent five minutes struggling through reporters, flashing my credentials at anyone who looked my way shouting, "I'm Ricky...Ric- GLEN'S FRIEND! Yeah!" After one last security inspection, I was permitted into the viewing area. It looked more like an operating theater. Separated by a large window was a small room complete with an examination table covered in white linen. The room was completely white with a door on the far side. Five minutes went by. Ten minutes went by. Suddenly, the lights flicker. Moments later, I hear applause down the hall. A success. I hear people moving outside the viewing room, excited shouts, questions flying. And then I see the door swing open to the viewing room. An orderly dressed in white escorts Glen into the room and beckons him to sit. "Glen!" I shout, stepping closer to the glass barrier, "how did it go?!" I wait cautiously, perhaps he can't hear me through the glass. "Glen?" I say again. "How did it go, man?" He raises his head slowly from the table, looks me dead in the eye and mouths the words, "Help me." Ice runs through my veins. "Help you?" I say back. He doesn't respond. Instead he stands and lumbers towards me, taking long uneven strides, unlike his normal walk. "Help me," He says again. His voice is gruff, his eyes are off. I start to panic. "Glen! Whatever it is buddy I can help you, just please tell me what happened." My hands and face are pressed against the glass, begging him to come closer, to let me in, to tell me what happened. My breaths are short and gasping--something is wrong, this is NOT my friend. He is almost to the glass now. He drools as he places on hand against the glass and looks at me, with a vacant, uncaring gaze. "Help me" he lolls one last time. It looks like he can't breathe, he's panting harder now. "What?!" I scream, "tell me what you need!" He watches the tears roll down my face and presses his face against mine, only a few millimeters of plexiglass separating me from not-Glen. He opens his mouth and whispers..."I need about tree-fiddy."	One day, me and my friend were walking home from school. We walked past a man's house, and we knew that he was a "crazy" person, but at least not on drugs. He comes running out to us, and asks my friend if he wants to try his new teleportation machine. He agrees, and asks "Where will it take me?" The man replies "Just down the street." He powers it on and a mysterious green gas starts to appear. The man tells me to back away as his friend is getting teleported. Almost instantaneously, the machine shuts off and my friend is gone. We walk down the street and we find him. He says "Woah, that was awesome!", and we continue on our merry way down to our houses. Right after dinner, he texts me with "Can't wait to be the new popular kid at school!" "Wasn't that teleportation machine so awesome?", I replied "Sure..." I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen at school the next day. In first period, nothing much happened except him telling people he went in a working teleportation machine, but people didn't really care, and thought that he was lying. Second period was sort of the same, except really he couldn't say anything because we had a really strict teacher that would get really upset if you are disrespectful. In third period, when we had a group project, that was all he was talking about. Nobody believed him. He then said "Well, my friend over here witnessed it and can tell you that it did in fact work!" I decided, what's the worst that could happen? After all, I did see him go in that machine and it worked... I said "Yep, I saw it happen.", then I realized I made a huge mistake. The mistake wasn't going to hit me now, but soon. News in my school spread like a wildfire. When recess rolls along, everyone in our grade was speaking about it. Me and my friend got a barrage of questions and most of them were "What did it look like?" and "How long did it take?" The questions for me were slowly starting to die down because I was only the witness. My friend was the new popular kid in school. He was a bit immature, so to "retain his popularity", he decided that he had to bully people because, really, that's what popular kids in my school did. This is when it hit me - I shouldn't have said that I saw it happen. He starts to make fun of me, and all of my other friends to keep his "roasting" popularity. This is when I realized he is not your friend. I realized that I kinda didn't follow the prompt (sorry!) but I hope it's interesting nonetheless.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	"This is Ray with the Tokyo team, we are ready to receive you." The Japanese team of scientist continued to run their last minute checks, they knew everything was in place but it is the human condition to worry. It had taken Ray 12 hours to fly here from California, a feat which was revolutionary only a short while ago. Now, his friend Donovan would make the same trip in less than a second. Holding up a bag of IN-N-OUT burgers, his friend spoke with a broad smile. "Two burgers animal style with one hold the pickle. Honestly though, I think it is a travesty to ruin a great burger by taking out the pickles." Donovan, shaking his head with mock pity, moved off the large screen and directed the camera at the teleporter. "You can try to convert me once you are here. Beginning the countdown." Ray tried to sound confident but he could not hide his nervousness. Donovan also seemed to be his relaxed self but Ray knew otherwise. Running tests on animals only gave so much assurance that it would actually work on a human. The countdown finished, a bright flash happened simultaneously on the live feed from america along with the receiving end in Tokyo. Standing before them, burgers in hand, was his friend Donovan. The team of scientist erupted in cheering, once again, humanity had done the impossible. Donovan embraced his friend and handed him the promised burger. Ray, barely able to chew due to his laughter, suddenly frowned as he tasted pickles. At first, he assumed this was one of Donovan's attempts to convert him but paused as he saw the man happily eating the pickle-free burger. "I find it hard to believe that after all these years you are suddenly agreeing with me." Ray spoke while eyeing his friend. "Agree about what?" Donovan asked as he continued to eat. "You've always refused to eat a burger without pickles..." "Oh....Well, I suppose there is a first for everything. Besides we have more important issues to deal with." Donovan quickly changed the subject and began to answer the scientist's questions about his experience. He said there was no pain and despite feeling a little dizzy, he was otherwise fine. "Well then, guess we can go ahead and cancel the flight back. No need to travel like neanderthals eh?" Ray joked has he butted his friend with his elbow. "No!" Donovan screamed with terrified eyes. The entire room startled, turn to look at him. Realizing this, Donovan took a moment to regain his composure then spoke in his usual care-free manner. "I mean, we should wait to see if there are any long-term effects before I go in again. Safety first and all that, right?" Ray nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right, Amanda will be disappointed when she hears you won't be home tonight." Donovan gave him a blank stare, then glancing down at his ring replied in a smooth voice. "Oh well, I could always use a night away from the wife." He gave Ray a wink then turned away. "Amanda is your daughter." Ray could not hide the worry in his voice as he approached him. "Don, did you really forget that your wife has been dead for years?" Donovan paused and met Ray's eyes. He could see the fear, for a moment no one moved. Then, Donovan ran. "Seal the facility now!" Ray screamed chasing after him. Donovan did not get far before they grabbed him. The lab had a number of containment protocols for the specimen they experimented on. However, it was not until after month that Ray saw his friend again and this time, it was from the other side of a cell. "To be honest, I do not even know where to begin." The head scientist spoke in a tired and frustrated tone. "His fingerprints are entirely different and he has no memory of the life he led before. These are certainly things to be worried about but they were within our parameters considering what we were putting him through. What really scares is....well, to be honest I am not even supposed to tell you" "Please, I need to know." Ray spoke in a soft voice as he stared down at the man he called his friend. The scientist sighed but continued to speak. "His blood is black and thick as tar. This was enough to terrify us but it was only the tip of the iceberg." The scientist motioned towards the room below. "His prison is actually vacuum. That thing, does not even need to breathe oxygen. In fact, we took out all the air in secret and he didn't even notice. There's more but this is all you need to know, what you are looking at is not human. I am sorry, but Donovan Rogers did not survive the experiment."	One day, me and my friend were walking home from school. We walked past a man's house, and we knew that he was a "crazy" person, but at least not on drugs. He comes running out to us, and asks my friend if he wants to try his new teleportation machine. He agrees, and asks "Where will it take me?" The man replies "Just down the street." He powers it on and a mysterious green gas starts to appear. The man tells me to back away as his friend is getting teleported. Almost instantaneously, the machine shuts off and my friend is gone. We walk down the street and we find him. He says "Woah, that was awesome!", and we continue on our merry way down to our houses. Right after dinner, he texts me with "Can't wait to be the new popular kid at school!" "Wasn't that teleportation machine so awesome?", I replied "Sure..." I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen at school the next day. In first period, nothing much happened except him telling people he went in a working teleportation machine, but people didn't really care, and thought that he was lying. Second period was sort of the same, except really he couldn't say anything because we had a really strict teacher that would get really upset if you are disrespectful. In third period, when we had a group project, that was all he was talking about. Nobody believed him. He then said "Well, my friend over here witnessed it and can tell you that it did in fact work!" I decided, what's the worst that could happen? After all, I did see him go in that machine and it worked... I said "Yep, I saw it happen.", then I realized I made a huge mistake. The mistake wasn't going to hit me now, but soon. News in my school spread like a wildfire. When recess rolls along, everyone in our grade was speaking about it. Me and my friend got a barrage of questions and most of them were "What did it look like?" and "How long did it take?" The questions for me were slowly starting to die down because I was only the witness. My friend was the new popular kid in school. He was a bit immature, so to "retain his popularity", he decided that he had to bully people because, really, that's what popular kids in my school did. This is when it hit me - I shouldn't have said that I saw it happen. He starts to make fun of me, and all of my other friends to keep his "roasting" popularity. This is when I realized he is not your friend. I realized that I kinda didn't follow the prompt (sorry!) but I hope it's interesting nonetheless.
	[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend	"This is Ray with the Tokyo team, we are ready to receive you." The Japanese team of scientist continued to run their last minute checks, they knew everything was in place but it is the human condition to worry. It had taken Ray 12 hours to fly here from California, a feat which was revolutionary only a short while ago. Now, his friend Donovan would make the same trip in less than a second. Holding up a bag of IN-N-OUT burgers, his friend spoke with a broad smile. "Two burgers animal style with one hold the pickle. Honestly though, I think it is a travesty to ruin a great burger by taking out the pickles." Donovan, shaking his head with mock pity, moved off the large screen and directed the camera at the teleporter. "You can try to convert me once you are here. Beginning the countdown." Ray tried to sound confident but he could not hide his nervousness. Donovan also seemed to be his relaxed self but Ray knew otherwise. Running tests on animals only gave so much assurance that it would actually work on a human. The countdown finished, a bright flash happened simultaneously on the live feed from america along with the receiving end in Tokyo. Standing before them, burgers in hand, was his friend Donovan. The team of scientist erupted in cheering, once again, humanity had done the impossible. Donovan embraced his friend and handed him the promised burger. Ray, barely able to chew due to his laughter, suddenly frowned as he tasted pickles. At first, he assumed this was one of Donovan's attempts to convert him but paused as he saw the man happily eating the pickle-free burger. "I find it hard to believe that after all these years you are suddenly agreeing with me." Ray spoke while eyeing his friend. "Agree about what?" Donovan asked as he continued to eat. "You've always refused to eat a burger without pickles..." "Oh....Well, I suppose there is a first for everything. Besides we have more important issues to deal with." Donovan quickly changed the subject and began to answer the scientist's questions about his experience. He said there was no pain and despite feeling a little dizzy, he was otherwise fine. "Well then, guess we can go ahead and cancel the flight back. No need to travel like neanderthals eh?" Ray joked has he butted his friend with his elbow. "No!" Donovan screamed with terrified eyes. The entire room startled, turn to look at him. Realizing this, Donovan took a moment to regain his composure then spoke in his usual care-free manner. "I mean, we should wait to see if there are any long-term effects before I go in again. Safety first and all that, right?" Ray nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right, Amanda will be disappointed when she hears you won't be home tonight." Donovan gave him a blank stare, then glancing down at his ring replied in a smooth voice. "Oh well, I could always use a night away from the wife." He gave Ray a wink then turned away. "Amanda is your daughter." Ray could not hide the worry in his voice as he approached him. "Don, did you really forget that your wife has been dead for years?" Donovan paused and met Ray's eyes. He could see the fear, for a moment no one moved. Then, Donovan ran. "Seal the facility now!" Ray screamed chasing after him. Donovan did not get far before they grabbed him. The lab had a number of containment protocols for the specimen they experimented on. However, it was not until after month that Ray saw his friend again and this time, it was from the other side of a cell. "To be honest, I do not even know where to begin." The head scientist spoke in a tired and frustrated tone. "His fingerprints are entirely different and he has no memory of the life he led before. These are certainly things to be worried about but they were within our parameters considering what we were putting him through. What really scares is....well, to be honest I am not even supposed to tell you" "Please, I need to know." Ray spoke in a soft voice as he stared down at the man he called his friend. The scientist sighed but continued to speak. "His blood is black and thick as tar. This was enough to terrify us but it was only the tip of the iceberg." The scientist motioned towards the room below. "His prison is actually vacuum. That thing, does not even need to breathe oxygen. In fact, we took out all the air in secret and he didn't even notice. There's more but this is all you need to know, what you are looking at is not human. I am sorry, but Donovan Rogers did not survive the experiment."	Maury and I instantly bonded in college, our love for science and physics sparked a loving friendship. We both had high hopes for our careers, our senior thesis revolved around the idea of teleportation and how it might be theoretically possible. Half-way through our research Maury found out that his mother was deathly-ill, this took a great hit on him as his father had abandoned his family when he was a kid. I always looked up to him, he was so strong and ambitious; he fought my demons for me, he told me I was smart enough and that one day our dreams would come true. When we both failed our first physics final I sank into depression, I realized I was not as smart as I thought I was. He joked about us being dumbasses and flunking out of college but he showed so much optimism and he knew that we would be okay and we would get better. We did, we had the highest marks but I could not credit it all to myself, Maury pushed me to be better. However, with all his might he couldn't take the news of his mother being sick and he broke down. I knew what he was going through, I had lost my father at a very young age too and I was finally able to be the strong one for the both of us. His mother passed away after graduation and we mourned together. Over the next years we got out Master's degrees and our Doctorate degrees, and I could see the drive in him again. Our research and our institution allowed us to successfully create the first teleportation device. Maury suggested I be the first to use it, he joked "I don't want to go in, I'll probably die." I retold the story about our first failed exam in college and about his mother, I confessed that he gave me the courage to fight my sense of worthlessness and that he deserved this more than I. "You're a good friend Aaron. Thank you for being there with me this whole time. If I die, I'm coming back to haunt your ass." Maury strapped on the device to his head and his body, he appeared calm and focused. Unfortunately, teleportation was still too complex for computers so the computation processes for teleportation are done through cognition. Wherever the mind wants to go is where the body will be taken. In an instant he was gone, but the trackers found him again, just outside of his hometown. We panicked at the 10 minute mark as he had made no contact, the vital scanners were picking up increased heart rate and mental activity. Everyone ran around the room, shouting and figuring out what could have gone wrong. I froze, my friend, he was gone. People panicked for another 10 minutes before they finally gave up. As we contacted the authorities outside his location he was back again. We all just stared at him as he stood there. He looked up to me, his eyes red and watery. He walked closer to me and embraced me just as hard as he had when his mother passed away. He whispered something to me, something that changed our lives forever, "thank you, brother."

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