Split (1)

train · 353k rows

post_title stringlengths 8 313	chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k	rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	I step forward into a well lit bar. The place is completely empty except for Al Pachino sitting on a bar stool under a pin spot on the center stage wailing on a harmonica. I look down and I’m dressed in a perfectly tailored three piece suit, and my shoes glow in the light softened by red gels. Al is now playing hook and I feel myself being pulled toward the stage; when I’m but a few feet from it another pin spot finds me and bathes me in brilliant white light. The music stops. I look up at him and say, “Wh…” The man’s lips curl around his mouth, “Who am I?” He extended his hand and a flaming glass of liquid appeared. He blew the flame out and took a sip from the glass. “You know who I am, and you know where you are, now say it.” “I’m…I’m…” “Come on now, say it like you’ve got a pair,” He demanded. “I’m dead. There was an accident, and a fire, and I didn’t survive,” I spoke each word as if I were learning the information as I was explaining it. “So is this what, a weigh station for my next life?” Al laughed, “No, you lived your life, your one shot. Was it everything you wanted?” “No, not by a long shot. So if I don’t go on, is this heaven?” He shook his head, “Nope. You my friend are in hell, and me? I’m the Devil, Satan, Lucifer, so on and so on.” “Al Pachino isn’t even dead yet… wait, why the fuck am I in hell?” I yelled as my emotions shifted from confused to angry. He sighed and snapped his fingers turning into the Robot Devil from futurama, “Is this better?” He snapped again and flashed over to a more standard, red pitchfork wielding redheaded woman. “How about this?” “Fine, you’re the Devil, I’m in hell, the question is why?” “You didn’t believe in anything. None of the religions are right, but you didn’t believe in any of them, or anything. You didn’t have to believe in the dogma of the religion, but Bill wanted you to believe in him.” “Fuck, so I’m stuck here, for an eternity? Where is Hitler, Stalin, Bea Arthur? Why is it so empty in here? Wait, Bill?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, god’s name is Bill. The reason it’s empty in here is because if you believe in Bill you take the express lane over there, straight to whatever version of heaven you can imagine.” “So, Bill sent me to hell because I didn’t believe in him. That sounds a little spiteful, right? What are you in for?” “You’re familiar with the gatekeeper?” The beautiful woman asked. “Dana from Ghostbusters, Sigourney Weaver?” I asked. The woman faded into Zuul then jumped off the stage to stand in front of me and in that voice asked, “Are you a god?” Instantly she began to laugh. I laughed just as hard and then said, “Ray, when someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes!” I slapped her on the shoulder and laughed some more. Zuul faded into a man with a long flowing white beard holding a scroll and quill pen, in front of us on the stage gates began to form from the shadows. “I was thinking more like Saint Peter. That’s more or less who I am. I am the gatekeeper between the world you came from and the afterlife. “ “Does everyone get in?” I asked. “Most, but there are a few who don’t feel they’re ready, or some that are so paranoid they expect it to be a test. So they just sit here praying silently to themselves.” I glanced around the bar and said, “But we’re alone.” “Are we?” The old man shifted back into the form of Al Pachino and ascended back to his bar stool perch on the stage. With a wave of his hand, suddenly the bar was filled with people from all different walks of life. The bar now had a young topless woman. her arms tattooed in full sleeves behind the counter drinking liquid in and spiting it out across an open flame, a bright orange fireball passed over the bar. The people sitting on stools ducked and instinctively before sitting back up. Another table had nuns praying the rosary, next to them another group of Hasidic Jews murmured among themselves keeping nearly silent vigil. There were men in suits wandering toward me, and women in every manner of outfit from short black dress to full length ball gown. I turned back to Al and when I did the noises died down all around me as the people vanished. Al looked down at me as I looked up at him and he played a short riff on the glimmering harmonica, and when he finished he said, “Do you recognized Bill to be your creator, and responsible for all that you are?” “If I did, that would mean I didn’t believe in free will. I can’t do that, I’m every bit as responsible for who I am as some absentee father figure. So no, I can’t say that.” “You do realize that you’ll be banished to this place for all eternity right?” I smiled and said, “Bring back the people, and lets get this party started. Do you take requests? How about The Devil Went Down to Georgia?” “Not that fucking song, do you think I could be beaten in a contest? I’ve been doing this for eons you think Charlie Daniels with fifty years of practice is going to beat me? Fuck that guy.”	For a while, there had been silence. Have you ever been on a ride at an amusement park that goes at once from a high speed to a complete stop, or been in a car accident and found yourself thrown against the seat-belt? That is precisely what it felt like when Elliot went to Hell: like he had been going very fast and had suddenly stopped. (And maybe, he would later consider, that was a half-decent summary of death.) As if launched upward from a terrible nightmare, he jolted into being, gasping for breath he had not been deprived of. The air smelled like a hospital someone had been smoking in, a tainted sterility. Once his vision pulled into focus, he found himself in what looked like a waiting room. To what, he wasn't sure, for it certainly wasn't clean enough to be a hospital, and come to think of it. . . There was no one else waiting. There was no quiet murmur of life. All he could hear was what sounded an awful lot like a harmonica. At a cursory search for any staff behind the desk, Elliot found only him. Satan, who was by all means looking terribly bored, was sitting on the intake desk playing the harmonica. This answered one question and gave way to another hundred. The first to come to mind crawled up Elliot's throat before he had time to think about it: "What the hell?" It became clear then that the devil had not actually seen him until that moment. His eyes flickered up from the spot they had been lazily fixed on, like two great fireballs somehow confined within his eye sockets. It took a moment of squinting for him to open his mouth, baring shark-like teeth. First was a sigh. Then, Satan flatly stated, "I assume that was supposed to be a joke." For all the awful feelings in the world, Satan himself being so clearly unimpressed at Elliot was definitely crawling up the list of the worst. Further up on the list was his mounting fear. "No," he forced out after a moment of trying not to stammer. "No - I just. . ." His head reeled and he took a few seconds to gather himself. One deep breath in, one shuddering huff out. When he spoke again, he was quieter. "I'm dead. I'm dead and you're -" "Yes, I am he," Satan answered tiredly. "The Devil. Father of lies. Evil itself. Lucifer. Whatever name you choose, this is who stands. . ." He seemed to reevaluate his statement, and slipped off the desk to stand before Elliot before continuing, "Who stands before you." Standing, Satan wasn't more than a foot taller than Elliot, but it felt like he towered nonetheless. Yet there was something about him that seemed off. He didn't reek of ego or pride the way he probably should have. If anything, he seemed. . . Was 'sad' the right word? Elliot considered it as he took a cautious glance around. "This is Hell, isn't it? Where, uh - where is everyone?" "They're in Heaven." "What?" That didn't make sense. Surely not everyone else who had ever died would be in Heaven. "You're not telling me that I'm the only person who's ever gone to Hell. That's ridiculous." "Oh, no," Satan answered, starting to pace a slow circle around Elliot. "I'm not telling you that. You're simply the only person who has ever stayed. And even that remains to be seen." This only worsened the confusion that Elliot felt about this whole thing, but he was trying to understand. It was made somewhat more difficult by the fact that he was also trying to keep an eye on Satan, and this had caused him to turn slowly in place as the devil circled him. "I don't understand. I thought people stayed in Hell, like. Forever." When Satan laughed, it was an exhausted laugh, but it still drove a cold spike into Elliot's heart. "Ah, so did we. Suppose I ought to read my contracts better. Regardless, I've no interest in giving you a history lesson. Hell is by all means a dead kingdom. Go on," he said, stopping his pacing and giving a grandiose gesture to the doors at the far end of the room. "Into the hall, the last doors on your right. Heaven lies beyond." This was far too easy. "You're not going to torture me?" "My torturers quit, actually. And I'm not in the business, personally." "So there's no one here but you?" "No," Satan snapped. "There's not. Are you going to keep questioning me, or are you going to leave? I assure you, you won't get bored up there. Have your fun." He began to pace back toward the desk, and in that moment, Elliot caught himself feeling the slightest bit bad for the devil. Liar or otherwise, it did look like he was completely alone here. Everyone had abandoned Hell for greener pastures, and to him, it didn't even look much like Hell anymore. It was simply a drab building, perhaps a little warm and a little musty, with a harmonica and Satan and a chess set. His eyes locked on that. Elliot had always loved a challenge. "Wait," he called out, and received a cool glance in response. A quirked eyebrow. "Do you actually want me to go?" There was a pause. Satan turned back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the desk. "Not particularly. But I have no means of stopping you, and it's best not to delay the inevitable." It took a moment of mustering his courage, but Elliot walked over to the desk. He didn't stand too close, but instead tapped the chessboard lightly. "Inevitable is a strong word," he said, and prided himself on how collected he sounded. "Just humour me for a second. You play?" "You're surprised?" "Not really. Listen. . . Fuck it, let's make a deal. One game. No cheating. If I win, I'll go to Heaven, and that's that. If you win, I'll stay here. You can do whatever you want with me. Even if that means taking up torture again." This was, perhaps, the stupidest thing Elliot had ever done, just short of dying. He hardly knew why he was doing it. There had just been something about the image of Satan himself in a barren, empty Hell, playing the harmonica. . . It was just wrong. And Elliot was pretty good at chess. Slowly but surely, Satan strolled his way. He leaned on the desk, his lithe form twisting in a strange way to accommodate for the odd height difference. And then, in a terrifying if almost charming way, he grinned. With one long finger, he pushed a few misplaced pieces back into their starting locations. "You do know you just made a deal with the Devil," he said casually, his eyes burning into Elliot's. Elliot forced himself to look away and focus on the board, where he was already planning his first move. After a second, he let out a surprisingly genuine, short laugh. "Yeah. I guess I did."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	The soft tones of the ancient wind instrument trailed off as the Lord of Hell finally acknowledged my presence in his domain “You…play the harmonica?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the features that now surrounded me. He set his harmonica down on a nearby table that was formed out of pumice, and had small trails of lava pouring out of holes in the sides quite artistically. He adjusted his position on the stool he sat upon to regard me, his amber eyes seeming to pierce right through to my soul…if I still had one. “Indeed. This particular specimen is one of the first mass-produced examples of the modern day instrument you may be familiar with. I took it from the inventor as he came through my doors. “ Satan paused for a moment, “He left it to me when he decided to ascend, it was quite unfortunate that such a gracious man ended up in my custody.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hand upon my shoulder . Standing over 7 feet tall and powerfully built, he was as physically imposing a figure as one would imagine the keeper of the underworld to be. “You’re free to ascend as well, human. A new judgement was passed some time ago, no longer is anyone to be enslaved against their will.” I took a step back from him, looking down I reflected on the events that brought me here. “I know. Saint Peter informed me that I was eligible for entry into heaven. I chose this place instead.” With a curious grunt, Lucifer turned around and approached a void in the wall. He waved his hand across it and, like a hologram, key events in my life flashed across the space. Scenes of battle and lust, bigotry and slander streamed endlessly like a video loop until he cast it away. He didn’t even turn to address me, “You seem to have committed no atrocities, no war crimes. A few petty misdeeds, and certainly things that would have led to your disgrace under the old system, but far from the worst I’ve seen.” I shook my head softly in agreement. “So,” Another pause as he turned to face me again, “What lead you to choose this place? You have no family down here, no friends, no lovers. They’re up there, “ he pointed towards the roof of the chamber we were in, “enjoying themselves. Awaiting you.” Another pause, and then softer, “Everyone’s up there nowadays.” It was at this time that I could finally regard him directly, “And when I was hungry, cold, and alone…I remember what that felt like. They never helped me, instead I was saved by a very kind man who had never known me before. He said that I should do the same thing whenever I was given the opportunity, but I never was able to do so. Until now.” The Devil’s gaze softened, and he sat down on the same stool that I had encountered him on. He motioned me to join him on a similar one. “It’s been a long time since I was enjoyed for my company. Tell me, what would you like to do?” Sitting next to him, I only had one request: “Tell me your story, from your side of things.”	For a while, there had been silence. Have you ever been on a ride at an amusement park that goes at once from a high speed to a complete stop, or been in a car accident and found yourself thrown against the seat-belt? That is precisely what it felt like when Elliot went to Hell: like he had been going very fast and had suddenly stopped. (And maybe, he would later consider, that was a half-decent summary of death.) As if launched upward from a terrible nightmare, he jolted into being, gasping for breath he had not been deprived of. The air smelled like a hospital someone had been smoking in, a tainted sterility. Once his vision pulled into focus, he found himself in what looked like a waiting room. To what, he wasn't sure, for it certainly wasn't clean enough to be a hospital, and come to think of it. . . There was no one else waiting. There was no quiet murmur of life. All he could hear was what sounded an awful lot like a harmonica. At a cursory search for any staff behind the desk, Elliot found only him. Satan, who was by all means looking terribly bored, was sitting on the intake desk playing the harmonica. This answered one question and gave way to another hundred. The first to come to mind crawled up Elliot's throat before he had time to think about it: "What the hell?" It became clear then that the devil had not actually seen him until that moment. His eyes flickered up from the spot they had been lazily fixed on, like two great fireballs somehow confined within his eye sockets. It took a moment of squinting for him to open his mouth, baring shark-like teeth. First was a sigh. Then, Satan flatly stated, "I assume that was supposed to be a joke." For all the awful feelings in the world, Satan himself being so clearly unimpressed at Elliot was definitely crawling up the list of the worst. Further up on the list was his mounting fear. "No," he forced out after a moment of trying not to stammer. "No - I just. . ." His head reeled and he took a few seconds to gather himself. One deep breath in, one shuddering huff out. When he spoke again, he was quieter. "I'm dead. I'm dead and you're -" "Yes, I am he," Satan answered tiredly. "The Devil. Father of lies. Evil itself. Lucifer. Whatever name you choose, this is who stands. . ." He seemed to reevaluate his statement, and slipped off the desk to stand before Elliot before continuing, "Who stands before you." Standing, Satan wasn't more than a foot taller than Elliot, but it felt like he towered nonetheless. Yet there was something about him that seemed off. He didn't reek of ego or pride the way he probably should have. If anything, he seemed. . . Was 'sad' the right word? Elliot considered it as he took a cautious glance around. "This is Hell, isn't it? Where, uh - where is everyone?" "They're in Heaven." "What?" That didn't make sense. Surely not everyone else who had ever died would be in Heaven. "You're not telling me that I'm the only person who's ever gone to Hell. That's ridiculous." "Oh, no," Satan answered, starting to pace a slow circle around Elliot. "I'm not telling you that. You're simply the only person who has ever stayed. And even that remains to be seen." This only worsened the confusion that Elliot felt about this whole thing, but he was trying to understand. It was made somewhat more difficult by the fact that he was also trying to keep an eye on Satan, and this had caused him to turn slowly in place as the devil circled him. "I don't understand. I thought people stayed in Hell, like. Forever." When Satan laughed, it was an exhausted laugh, but it still drove a cold spike into Elliot's heart. "Ah, so did we. Suppose I ought to read my contracts better. Regardless, I've no interest in giving you a history lesson. Hell is by all means a dead kingdom. Go on," he said, stopping his pacing and giving a grandiose gesture to the doors at the far end of the room. "Into the hall, the last doors on your right. Heaven lies beyond." This was far too easy. "You're not going to torture me?" "My torturers quit, actually. And I'm not in the business, personally." "So there's no one here but you?" "No," Satan snapped. "There's not. Are you going to keep questioning me, or are you going to leave? I assure you, you won't get bored up there. Have your fun." He began to pace back toward the desk, and in that moment, Elliot caught himself feeling the slightest bit bad for the devil. Liar or otherwise, it did look like he was completely alone here. Everyone had abandoned Hell for greener pastures, and to him, it didn't even look much like Hell anymore. It was simply a drab building, perhaps a little warm and a little musty, with a harmonica and Satan and a chess set. His eyes locked on that. Elliot had always loved a challenge. "Wait," he called out, and received a cool glance in response. A quirked eyebrow. "Do you actually want me to go?" There was a pause. Satan turned back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the desk. "Not particularly. But I have no means of stopping you, and it's best not to delay the inevitable." It took a moment of mustering his courage, but Elliot walked over to the desk. He didn't stand too close, but instead tapped the chessboard lightly. "Inevitable is a strong word," he said, and prided himself on how collected he sounded. "Just humour me for a second. You play?" "You're surprised?" "Not really. Listen. . . Fuck it, let's make a deal. One game. No cheating. If I win, I'll go to Heaven, and that's that. If you win, I'll stay here. You can do whatever you want with me. Even if that means taking up torture again." This was, perhaps, the stupidest thing Elliot had ever done, just short of dying. He hardly knew why he was doing it. There had just been something about the image of Satan himself in a barren, empty Hell, playing the harmonica. . . It was just wrong. And Elliot was pretty good at chess. Slowly but surely, Satan strolled his way. He leaned on the desk, his lithe form twisting in a strange way to accommodate for the odd height difference. And then, in a terrifying if almost charming way, he grinned. With one long finger, he pushed a few misplaced pieces back into their starting locations. "You do know you just made a deal with the Devil," he said casually, his eyes burning into Elliot's. Elliot forced himself to look away and focus on the board, where he was already planning his first move. After a second, he let out a surprisingly genuine, short laugh. "Yeah. I guess I did."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	All around me were the ruins of what once must have been a great city, now deserted, and devoid of any life - human or otherwise. Snowflakes kept falling from the ever-grey sky, covering the broken buildings and streets with a thin, white dusting. I shivered. In the distance someone was playing the harmonica, a sad and sorrowful tune. Walking towards the sound, I came to a building - less ruined than the others I had passed - and I noticed a faint light shining through its boarded-up windows and from under its simple, wooden front door. I knocked, then entered, trying not drag too much snow inside with my boots. The room beyond the door might once have been called cozy - bookshelves on one wall, a fire in an open fireplace on the other, a desk and some cushy chairs - but now it all looked old and worn. The harmonica's melody stopped when I entered, and the player - sitting on one of the chairs - turned his head towards me. "Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up. Please, close the door - it's rather chilly, no? - and take a seat." he spoke and motioned to the chairs. Slightly confused I did as he asked, then sat down in one of the chairs opposite his. "Who are you?" I asked "You have been waiting for me? And what is all this? Now that I think about it, I can't even recall how I got here in the first place." The man smiled a sad smile. "To answer your questions: This is Hell. Quite litterally. And I am Satan. The Devil. Lucifer. I think you get it. As to how you got here: Simple, you died, was measured and found lacking, and so you ended up here." "I died and went to Hell?" I asked incredulousy "This is Hell? Aren't there supposed to be lakes of lava or something? And I thought Satan looked different, ya know, more demonic, horns, goat feet, and so on." - I gestured at the tired looking man in his worn-out suit - "You - no offense - look rather ordinary. Also you didn't answer me why I can't remember anything." The man who claimed to be Satan sighed. "I had a looooong chat with the folks who first brought up that 'Fire and Brimstone' nonsense. Really considered going the extra mile for them, just so they could have a first-hand comparison of both experiences. And do you really want me to be horrible and scary? It's been a while - honestly I like this body better, hard to play the harmonica with claws and all - but if you insist..." For a moment I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. I decided to err on the side of caution. "No. No need to bother. You are fine just as you are, I was just curious." The flicker disappeared. "Regarding your memory," the man continued "that is a side effect of being in Hell; you forget things - keeps the experience fresh, ya know. Though the memories of your life should come back once you leave." "Wait a minute," I interrupted him "'Once I leave'? I thought being in Hell meant that you were there for all eternity, for forever. So how is it possible for me to leave - not that I mind tough, looking outside I can imagine better places to be." "To be honest" he replied with a tired look "that is exactly the thing. 'Eternity'. 'Forever'. There have not been any new arrivals for quintillions of years, and now finally 'Everything' is over. Time and Space are over. 'Forever' is over. You have served your time, so to say." Once more he sighed "And it would be hardly fair to release you to Heaven with memories 'eternal suffering' - now don't look at me like this, it might not have been fire and brimstone, but I made sure you paid your dues and it was not pleasant. Anyway, so you forgot, and when you leave you will remember your life, good and bad, and you will remember that you paid for your sins - though not the details - so you can enjoy Heaven." I didn't know what to say, and just nodded dumbly. "So, go on," he gestured to a second door in the room - one that I could have sworn had not been there when I first entered - "go on to Heaven. I made sure you earned it - you can take my word." Getting to my feet I took a few hesitant steps toward the second door as I heard him resume playing that sad melody on his harmonica. "What about you?" I asked. He lifted the instrument from his lips and gave me a small, geniune smile. "Very kind of you to ask. But don't worry about me. As I said, I'm closing shop. This here is my penance, there might still be a few souls left, but when the last straggler has gone, I will turn out the lights and too leave through that door. Until then I pass the time with my harmonica." I nodded, and with the sound of his harmonica in my ears, stepped through the door to Heaven.	I died screaming. That kind of happens when a 300lb hell cat was eating your face. But I woke up so it was a little anticlimactic. I always thought I'd be awed by what I saw on the other side, but nah the last couple years of apocalypse level jackassery beat it out of me. The landscape was a ruin of burnt trees and blackened ground. Not a shit ton different than earth. The sound of a harmonica whispered through the still air. It could have been blues, or it could have been hill billy rock. I didn't listen to either. I strolled through the barren landscape. It didn't look like there was much worry about, no people, no demons. No all the demons were on Earth, wrecking havoc and eating peoples faces. The people were, well, they weren't in hell. I followed the music to a man sitting on a stump beside a fire. I didn't think it was cold enough for a fire but it was hell so I didn't know shit. He also sucked at the harmonica. “Dude, could you not?” The man stopped playing and looked up at me. “You don't have to stay. Door out is that way.” Lo and behold there was a actual door ringed in blue fire and emitting a bright warming light. I was drawn to it like a moth to flame, but I like to make bad decisions so I stayed. “Why are you still here?” “I can't get out. I'm here for eternity.” He put down the harmonica and poked at the fire. “They found a loophole. Too much torture, too much anger, too many lawyers. They found a way out. Everything left. The souls went to heaven. The demons…” “Went to earth. It kind of fucked us too.” The devil looked a little sheepish. “I noticed.” A scream cut through the air and a body fell through the air and splattered across the burnt ground. I wondered if I arrived the same way. “Gross,” I commented. Satan shrugged. The mass quickly reformed into a man. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the bright door without even looking at us. Gotta say, he had a good idea. ”That happen a lot?” “Yep.” “Dude, you gotta stop torturing yourself. That can't be good for you.” He glared at me with flame sparked eyes. “We are in hell.” “Yeah, but you don't gotta sulk. Don't you have a castle around here or something?” He stood up growing taller and larger by the moment. “I am the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, I can make anything I should need.” I had to admit I was impressed, but really, hellcat to the face ruined me for all the other monsters. “Well, right now, Prince, I'm your only subject. So, ya know, chill.” The devil deflated and looked around. He looked sad and completely lost. “Come on, bro. Let's go to your castle and I'll show you how to make a sandwich. You could probably use a hot cocoa too.” Satan sighed. He stomped out the fire. “Yeah, alright. I don't have anything better to do.” I clapped him on the back. He'll wasn’t going to be that bad. “Oh, yeah, toss the harmonica. You gotta get a guitar if you want anyone to respect you."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	I step forward into a well lit bar. The place is completely empty except for Al Pachino sitting on a bar stool under a pin spot on the center stage wailing on a harmonica. I look down and I’m dressed in a perfectly tailored three piece suit, and my shoes glow in the light softened by red gels. Al is now playing hook and I feel myself being pulled toward the stage; when I’m but a few feet from it another pin spot finds me and bathes me in brilliant white light. The music stops. I look up at him and say, “Wh…” The man’s lips curl around his mouth, “Who am I?” He extended his hand and a flaming glass of liquid appeared. He blew the flame out and took a sip from the glass. “You know who I am, and you know where you are, now say it.” “I’m…I’m…” “Come on now, say it like you’ve got a pair,” He demanded. “I’m dead. There was an accident, and a fire, and I didn’t survive,” I spoke each word as if I were learning the information as I was explaining it. “So is this what, a weigh station for my next life?” Al laughed, “No, you lived your life, your one shot. Was it everything you wanted?” “No, not by a long shot. So if I don’t go on, is this heaven?” He shook his head, “Nope. You my friend are in hell, and me? I’m the Devil, Satan, Lucifer, so on and so on.” “Al Pachino isn’t even dead yet… wait, why the fuck am I in hell?” I yelled as my emotions shifted from confused to angry. He sighed and snapped his fingers turning into the Robot Devil from futurama, “Is this better?” He snapped again and flashed over to a more standard, red pitchfork wielding redheaded woman. “How about this?” “Fine, you’re the Devil, I’m in hell, the question is why?” “You didn’t believe in anything. None of the religions are right, but you didn’t believe in any of them, or anything. You didn’t have to believe in the dogma of the religion, but Bill wanted you to believe in him.” “Fuck, so I’m stuck here, for an eternity? Where is Hitler, Stalin, Bea Arthur? Why is it so empty in here? Wait, Bill?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, god’s name is Bill. The reason it’s empty in here is because if you believe in Bill you take the express lane over there, straight to whatever version of heaven you can imagine.” “So, Bill sent me to hell because I didn’t believe in him. That sounds a little spiteful, right? What are you in for?” “You’re familiar with the gatekeeper?” The beautiful woman asked. “Dana from Ghostbusters, Sigourney Weaver?” I asked. The woman faded into Zuul then jumped off the stage to stand in front of me and in that voice asked, “Are you a god?” Instantly she began to laugh. I laughed just as hard and then said, “Ray, when someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes!” I slapped her on the shoulder and laughed some more. Zuul faded into a man with a long flowing white beard holding a scroll and quill pen, in front of us on the stage gates began to form from the shadows. “I was thinking more like Saint Peter. That’s more or less who I am. I am the gatekeeper between the world you came from and the afterlife. “ “Does everyone get in?” I asked. “Most, but there are a few who don’t feel they’re ready, or some that are so paranoid they expect it to be a test. So they just sit here praying silently to themselves.” I glanced around the bar and said, “But we’re alone.” “Are we?” The old man shifted back into the form of Al Pachino and ascended back to his bar stool perch on the stage. With a wave of his hand, suddenly the bar was filled with people from all different walks of life. The bar now had a young topless woman. her arms tattooed in full sleeves behind the counter drinking liquid in and spiting it out across an open flame, a bright orange fireball passed over the bar. The people sitting on stools ducked and instinctively before sitting back up. Another table had nuns praying the rosary, next to them another group of Hasidic Jews murmured among themselves keeping nearly silent vigil. There were men in suits wandering toward me, and women in every manner of outfit from short black dress to full length ball gown. I turned back to Al and when I did the noises died down all around me as the people vanished. Al looked down at me as I looked up at him and he played a short riff on the glimmering harmonica, and when he finished he said, “Do you recognized Bill to be your creator, and responsible for all that you are?” “If I did, that would mean I didn’t believe in free will. I can’t do that, I’m every bit as responsible for who I am as some absentee father figure. So no, I can’t say that.” “You do realize that you’ll be banished to this place for all eternity right?” I smiled and said, “Bring back the people, and lets get this party started. Do you take requests? How about The Devil Went Down to Georgia?” “Not that fucking song, do you think I could be beaten in a contest? I’ve been doing this for eons you think Charlie Daniels with fifty years of practice is going to beat me? Fuck that guy.”	I died screaming. That kind of happens when a 300lb hell cat was eating your face. But I woke up so it was a little anticlimactic. I always thought I'd be awed by what I saw on the other side, but nah the last couple years of apocalypse level jackassery beat it out of me. The landscape was a ruin of burnt trees and blackened ground. Not a shit ton different than earth. The sound of a harmonica whispered through the still air. It could have been blues, or it could have been hill billy rock. I didn't listen to either. I strolled through the barren landscape. It didn't look like there was much worry about, no people, no demons. No all the demons were on Earth, wrecking havoc and eating peoples faces. The people were, well, they weren't in hell. I followed the music to a man sitting on a stump beside a fire. I didn't think it was cold enough for a fire but it was hell so I didn't know shit. He also sucked at the harmonica. “Dude, could you not?” The man stopped playing and looked up at me. “You don't have to stay. Door out is that way.” Lo and behold there was a actual door ringed in blue fire and emitting a bright warming light. I was drawn to it like a moth to flame, but I like to make bad decisions so I stayed. “Why are you still here?” “I can't get out. I'm here for eternity.” He put down the harmonica and poked at the fire. “They found a loophole. Too much torture, too much anger, too many lawyers. They found a way out. Everything left. The souls went to heaven. The demons…” “Went to earth. It kind of fucked us too.” The devil looked a little sheepish. “I noticed.” A scream cut through the air and a body fell through the air and splattered across the burnt ground. I wondered if I arrived the same way. “Gross,” I commented. Satan shrugged. The mass quickly reformed into a man. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the bright door without even looking at us. Gotta say, he had a good idea. ”That happen a lot?” “Yep.” “Dude, you gotta stop torturing yourself. That can't be good for you.” He glared at me with flame sparked eyes. “We are in hell.” “Yeah, but you don't gotta sulk. Don't you have a castle around here or something?” He stood up growing taller and larger by the moment. “I am the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, I can make anything I should need.” I had to admit I was impressed, but really, hellcat to the face ruined me for all the other monsters. “Well, right now, Prince, I'm your only subject. So, ya know, chill.” The devil deflated and looked around. He looked sad and completely lost. “Come on, bro. Let's go to your castle and I'll show you how to make a sandwich. You could probably use a hot cocoa too.” Satan sighed. He stomped out the fire. “Yeah, alright. I don't have anything better to do.” I clapped him on the back. He'll wasn’t going to be that bad. “Oh, yeah, toss the harmonica. You gotta get a guitar if you want anyone to respect you."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	The soft tones of the ancient wind instrument trailed off as the Lord of Hell finally acknowledged my presence in his domain “You…play the harmonica?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the features that now surrounded me. He set his harmonica down on a nearby table that was formed out of pumice, and had small trails of lava pouring out of holes in the sides quite artistically. He adjusted his position on the stool he sat upon to regard me, his amber eyes seeming to pierce right through to my soul…if I still had one. “Indeed. This particular specimen is one of the first mass-produced examples of the modern day instrument you may be familiar with. I took it from the inventor as he came through my doors. “ Satan paused for a moment, “He left it to me when he decided to ascend, it was quite unfortunate that such a gracious man ended up in my custody.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hand upon my shoulder . Standing over 7 feet tall and powerfully built, he was as physically imposing a figure as one would imagine the keeper of the underworld to be. “You’re free to ascend as well, human. A new judgement was passed some time ago, no longer is anyone to be enslaved against their will.” I took a step back from him, looking down I reflected on the events that brought me here. “I know. Saint Peter informed me that I was eligible for entry into heaven. I chose this place instead.” With a curious grunt, Lucifer turned around and approached a void in the wall. He waved his hand across it and, like a hologram, key events in my life flashed across the space. Scenes of battle and lust, bigotry and slander streamed endlessly like a video loop until he cast it away. He didn’t even turn to address me, “You seem to have committed no atrocities, no war crimes. A few petty misdeeds, and certainly things that would have led to your disgrace under the old system, but far from the worst I’ve seen.” I shook my head softly in agreement. “So,” Another pause as he turned to face me again, “What lead you to choose this place? You have no family down here, no friends, no lovers. They’re up there, “ he pointed towards the roof of the chamber we were in, “enjoying themselves. Awaiting you.” Another pause, and then softer, “Everyone’s up there nowadays.” It was at this time that I could finally regard him directly, “And when I was hungry, cold, and alone…I remember what that felt like. They never helped me, instead I was saved by a very kind man who had never known me before. He said that I should do the same thing whenever I was given the opportunity, but I never was able to do so. Until now.” The Devil’s gaze softened, and he sat down on the same stool that I had encountered him on. He motioned me to join him on a similar one. “It’s been a long time since I was enjoyed for my company. Tell me, what would you like to do?” Sitting next to him, I only had one request: “Tell me your story, from your side of things.”	I died screaming. That kind of happens when a 300lb hell cat was eating your face. But I woke up so it was a little anticlimactic. I always thought I'd be awed by what I saw on the other side, but nah the last couple years of apocalypse level jackassery beat it out of me. The landscape was a ruin of burnt trees and blackened ground. Not a shit ton different than earth. The sound of a harmonica whispered through the still air. It could have been blues, or it could have been hill billy rock. I didn't listen to either. I strolled through the barren landscape. It didn't look like there was much worry about, no people, no demons. No all the demons were on Earth, wrecking havoc and eating peoples faces. The people were, well, they weren't in hell. I followed the music to a man sitting on a stump beside a fire. I didn't think it was cold enough for a fire but it was hell so I didn't know shit. He also sucked at the harmonica. “Dude, could you not?” The man stopped playing and looked up at me. “You don't have to stay. Door out is that way.” Lo and behold there was a actual door ringed in blue fire and emitting a bright warming light. I was drawn to it like a moth to flame, but I like to make bad decisions so I stayed. “Why are you still here?” “I can't get out. I'm here for eternity.” He put down the harmonica and poked at the fire. “They found a loophole. Too much torture, too much anger, too many lawyers. They found a way out. Everything left. The souls went to heaven. The demons…” “Went to earth. It kind of fucked us too.” The devil looked a little sheepish. “I noticed.” A scream cut through the air and a body fell through the air and splattered across the burnt ground. I wondered if I arrived the same way. “Gross,” I commented. Satan shrugged. The mass quickly reformed into a man. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the bright door without even looking at us. Gotta say, he had a good idea. ”That happen a lot?” “Yep.” “Dude, you gotta stop torturing yourself. That can't be good for you.” He glared at me with flame sparked eyes. “We are in hell.” “Yeah, but you don't gotta sulk. Don't you have a castle around here or something?” He stood up growing taller and larger by the moment. “I am the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, I can make anything I should need.” I had to admit I was impressed, but really, hellcat to the face ruined me for all the other monsters. “Well, right now, Prince, I'm your only subject. So, ya know, chill.” The devil deflated and looked around. He looked sad and completely lost. “Come on, bro. Let's go to your castle and I'll show you how to make a sandwich. You could probably use a hot cocoa too.” Satan sighed. He stomped out the fire. “Yeah, alright. I don't have anything better to do.” I clapped him on the back. He'll wasn’t going to be that bad. “Oh, yeah, toss the harmonica. You gotta get a guitar if you want anyone to respect you."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	All around me were the ruins of what once must have been a great city, now deserted, and devoid of any life - human or otherwise. Snowflakes kept falling from the ever-grey sky, covering the broken buildings and streets with a thin, white dusting. I shivered. In the distance someone was playing the harmonica, a sad and sorrowful tune. Walking towards the sound, I came to a building - less ruined than the others I had passed - and I noticed a faint light shining through its boarded-up windows and from under its simple, wooden front door. I knocked, then entered, trying not drag too much snow inside with my boots. The room beyond the door might once have been called cozy - bookshelves on one wall, a fire in an open fireplace on the other, a desk and some cushy chairs - but now it all looked old and worn. The harmonica's melody stopped when I entered, and the player - sitting on one of the chairs - turned his head towards me. "Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up. Please, close the door - it's rather chilly, no? - and take a seat." he spoke and motioned to the chairs. Slightly confused I did as he asked, then sat down in one of the chairs opposite his. "Who are you?" I asked "You have been waiting for me? And what is all this? Now that I think about it, I can't even recall how I got here in the first place." The man smiled a sad smile. "To answer your questions: This is Hell. Quite litterally. And I am Satan. The Devil. Lucifer. I think you get it. As to how you got here: Simple, you died, was measured and found lacking, and so you ended up here." "I died and went to Hell?" I asked incredulousy "This is Hell? Aren't there supposed to be lakes of lava or something? And I thought Satan looked different, ya know, more demonic, horns, goat feet, and so on." - I gestured at the tired looking man in his worn-out suit - "You - no offense - look rather ordinary. Also you didn't answer me why I can't remember anything." The man who claimed to be Satan sighed. "I had a looooong chat with the folks who first brought up that 'Fire and Brimstone' nonsense. Really considered going the extra mile for them, just so they could have a first-hand comparison of both experiences. And do you really want me to be horrible and scary? It's been a while - honestly I like this body better, hard to play the harmonica with claws and all - but if you insist..." For a moment I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. I decided to err on the side of caution. "No. No need to bother. You are fine just as you are, I was just curious." The flicker disappeared. "Regarding your memory," the man continued "that is a side effect of being in Hell; you forget things - keeps the experience fresh, ya know. Though the memories of your life should come back once you leave." "Wait a minute," I interrupted him "'Once I leave'? I thought being in Hell meant that you were there for all eternity, for forever. So how is it possible for me to leave - not that I mind tough, looking outside I can imagine better places to be." "To be honest" he replied with a tired look "that is exactly the thing. 'Eternity'. 'Forever'. There have not been any new arrivals for quintillions of years, and now finally 'Everything' is over. Time and Space are over. 'Forever' is over. You have served your time, so to say." Once more he sighed "And it would be hardly fair to release you to Heaven with memories 'eternal suffering' - now don't look at me like this, it might not have been fire and brimstone, but I made sure you paid your dues and it was not pleasant. Anyway, so you forgot, and when you leave you will remember your life, good and bad, and you will remember that you paid for your sins - though not the details - so you can enjoy Heaven." I didn't know what to say, and just nodded dumbly. "So, go on," he gestured to a second door in the room - one that I could have sworn had not been there when I first entered - "go on to Heaven. I made sure you earned it - you can take my word." Getting to my feet I took a few hesitant steps toward the second door as I heard him resume playing that sad melody on his harmonica. "What about you?" I asked. He lifted the instrument from his lips and gave me a small, geniune smile. "Very kind of you to ask. But don't worry about me. As I said, I'm closing shop. This here is my penance, there might still be a few souls left, but when the last straggler has gone, I will turn out the lights and too leave through that door. Until then I pass the time with my harmonica." I nodded, and with the sound of his harmonica in my ears, stepped through the door to Heaven.	Satan sat there, the Harmonica dangling from his hands as I arrived. Poof! of brimstone, a flash of light was all it took...very theatrical and a bit cliche to be honest. "So....so...I'm condemned to Hell for all Eternity?", I whispered to the demonic shape sitting on an ordinary sofa, a sad lost look on his face. "Yes" he said matter of factly, "But You can leave whenever you want, they all did". "You LET THEM GO?" I asked shocked. "Of Course", he replied "I spent hundreds, nay thousands of years torturing people, making them eat their own eyeballs, the eyeballs of their friends and family, making them bathe in their own shit and dance around in it...but then God gave me this and I decided I had to let everyone go". "God gave you....a harmonica? and THATS what made you make everyone leave?" "That doesn't make sense". "Oh but it does", said the Devil, "for you see, as hideous and as wicked as my devilish tortures were to the damned, THIS is far worse" "How can that be possible" I asked with a terrified whisper. "I can't put it down, it plays itself, and"..he trailed off into a horrified whisper. "It only plays Justin Bieber songs". SO...finally I knew..this WAS truly Hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	I step forward into a well lit bar. The place is completely empty except for Al Pachino sitting on a bar stool under a pin spot on the center stage wailing on a harmonica. I look down and I’m dressed in a perfectly tailored three piece suit, and my shoes glow in the light softened by red gels. Al is now playing hook and I feel myself being pulled toward the stage; when I’m but a few feet from it another pin spot finds me and bathes me in brilliant white light. The music stops. I look up at him and say, “Wh…” The man’s lips curl around his mouth, “Who am I?” He extended his hand and a flaming glass of liquid appeared. He blew the flame out and took a sip from the glass. “You know who I am, and you know where you are, now say it.” “I’m…I’m…” “Come on now, say it like you’ve got a pair,” He demanded. “I’m dead. There was an accident, and a fire, and I didn’t survive,” I spoke each word as if I were learning the information as I was explaining it. “So is this what, a weigh station for my next life?” Al laughed, “No, you lived your life, your one shot. Was it everything you wanted?” “No, not by a long shot. So if I don’t go on, is this heaven?” He shook his head, “Nope. You my friend are in hell, and me? I’m the Devil, Satan, Lucifer, so on and so on.” “Al Pachino isn’t even dead yet… wait, why the fuck am I in hell?” I yelled as my emotions shifted from confused to angry. He sighed and snapped his fingers turning into the Robot Devil from futurama, “Is this better?” He snapped again and flashed over to a more standard, red pitchfork wielding redheaded woman. “How about this?” “Fine, you’re the Devil, I’m in hell, the question is why?” “You didn’t believe in anything. None of the religions are right, but you didn’t believe in any of them, or anything. You didn’t have to believe in the dogma of the religion, but Bill wanted you to believe in him.” “Fuck, so I’m stuck here, for an eternity? Where is Hitler, Stalin, Bea Arthur? Why is it so empty in here? Wait, Bill?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, god’s name is Bill. The reason it’s empty in here is because if you believe in Bill you take the express lane over there, straight to whatever version of heaven you can imagine.” “So, Bill sent me to hell because I didn’t believe in him. That sounds a little spiteful, right? What are you in for?” “You’re familiar with the gatekeeper?” The beautiful woman asked. “Dana from Ghostbusters, Sigourney Weaver?” I asked. The woman faded into Zuul then jumped off the stage to stand in front of me and in that voice asked, “Are you a god?” Instantly she began to laugh. I laughed just as hard and then said, “Ray, when someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes!” I slapped her on the shoulder and laughed some more. Zuul faded into a man with a long flowing white beard holding a scroll and quill pen, in front of us on the stage gates began to form from the shadows. “I was thinking more like Saint Peter. That’s more or less who I am. I am the gatekeeper between the world you came from and the afterlife. “ “Does everyone get in?” I asked. “Most, but there are a few who don’t feel they’re ready, or some that are so paranoid they expect it to be a test. So they just sit here praying silently to themselves.” I glanced around the bar and said, “But we’re alone.” “Are we?” The old man shifted back into the form of Al Pachino and ascended back to his bar stool perch on the stage. With a wave of his hand, suddenly the bar was filled with people from all different walks of life. The bar now had a young topless woman. her arms tattooed in full sleeves behind the counter drinking liquid in and spiting it out across an open flame, a bright orange fireball passed over the bar. The people sitting on stools ducked and instinctively before sitting back up. Another table had nuns praying the rosary, next to them another group of Hasidic Jews murmured among themselves keeping nearly silent vigil. There were men in suits wandering toward me, and women in every manner of outfit from short black dress to full length ball gown. I turned back to Al and when I did the noises died down all around me as the people vanished. Al looked down at me as I looked up at him and he played a short riff on the glimmering harmonica, and when he finished he said, “Do you recognized Bill to be your creator, and responsible for all that you are?” “If I did, that would mean I didn’t believe in free will. I can’t do that, I’m every bit as responsible for who I am as some absentee father figure. So no, I can’t say that.” “You do realize that you’ll be banished to this place for all eternity right?” I smiled and said, “Bring back the people, and lets get this party started. Do you take requests? How about The Devil Went Down to Georgia?” “Not that fucking song, do you think I could be beaten in a contest? I’ve been doing this for eons you think Charlie Daniels with fifty years of practice is going to beat me? Fuck that guy.”	Satan sat there, the Harmonica dangling from his hands as I arrived. Poof! of brimstone, a flash of light was all it took...very theatrical and a bit cliche to be honest. "So....so...I'm condemned to Hell for all Eternity?", I whispered to the demonic shape sitting on an ordinary sofa, a sad lost look on his face. "Yes" he said matter of factly, "But You can leave whenever you want, they all did". "You LET THEM GO?" I asked shocked. "Of Course", he replied "I spent hundreds, nay thousands of years torturing people, making them eat their own eyeballs, the eyeballs of their friends and family, making them bathe in their own shit and dance around in it...but then God gave me this and I decided I had to let everyone go". "God gave you....a harmonica? and THATS what made you make everyone leave?" "That doesn't make sense". "Oh but it does", said the Devil, "for you see, as hideous and as wicked as my devilish tortures were to the damned, THIS is far worse" "How can that be possible" I asked with a terrified whisper. "I can't put it down, it plays itself, and"..he trailed off into a horrified whisper. "It only plays Justin Bieber songs". SO...finally I knew..this WAS truly Hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	The soft tones of the ancient wind instrument trailed off as the Lord of Hell finally acknowledged my presence in his domain “You…play the harmonica?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the features that now surrounded me. He set his harmonica down on a nearby table that was formed out of pumice, and had small trails of lava pouring out of holes in the sides quite artistically. He adjusted his position on the stool he sat upon to regard me, his amber eyes seeming to pierce right through to my soul…if I still had one. “Indeed. This particular specimen is one of the first mass-produced examples of the modern day instrument you may be familiar with. I took it from the inventor as he came through my doors. “ Satan paused for a moment, “He left it to me when he decided to ascend, it was quite unfortunate that such a gracious man ended up in my custody.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hand upon my shoulder . Standing over 7 feet tall and powerfully built, he was as physically imposing a figure as one would imagine the keeper of the underworld to be. “You’re free to ascend as well, human. A new judgement was passed some time ago, no longer is anyone to be enslaved against their will.” I took a step back from him, looking down I reflected on the events that brought me here. “I know. Saint Peter informed me that I was eligible for entry into heaven. I chose this place instead.” With a curious grunt, Lucifer turned around and approached a void in the wall. He waved his hand across it and, like a hologram, key events in my life flashed across the space. Scenes of battle and lust, bigotry and slander streamed endlessly like a video loop until he cast it away. He didn’t even turn to address me, “You seem to have committed no atrocities, no war crimes. A few petty misdeeds, and certainly things that would have led to your disgrace under the old system, but far from the worst I’ve seen.” I shook my head softly in agreement. “So,” Another pause as he turned to face me again, “What lead you to choose this place? You have no family down here, no friends, no lovers. They’re up there, “ he pointed towards the roof of the chamber we were in, “enjoying themselves. Awaiting you.” Another pause, and then softer, “Everyone’s up there nowadays.” It was at this time that I could finally regard him directly, “And when I was hungry, cold, and alone…I remember what that felt like. They never helped me, instead I was saved by a very kind man who had never known me before. He said that I should do the same thing whenever I was given the opportunity, but I never was able to do so. Until now.” The Devil’s gaze softened, and he sat down on the same stool that I had encountered him on. He motioned me to join him on a similar one. “It’s been a long time since I was enjoyed for my company. Tell me, what would you like to do?” Sitting next to him, I only had one request: “Tell me your story, from your side of things.”	Satan sat there, the Harmonica dangling from his hands as I arrived. Poof! of brimstone, a flash of light was all it took...very theatrical and a bit cliche to be honest. "So....so...I'm condemned to Hell for all Eternity?", I whispered to the demonic shape sitting on an ordinary sofa, a sad lost look on his face. "Yes" he said matter of factly, "But You can leave whenever you want, they all did". "You LET THEM GO?" I asked shocked. "Of Course", he replied "I spent hundreds, nay thousands of years torturing people, making them eat their own eyeballs, the eyeballs of their friends and family, making them bathe in their own shit and dance around in it...but then God gave me this and I decided I had to let everyone go". "God gave you....a harmonica? and THATS what made you make everyone leave?" "That doesn't make sense". "Oh but it does", said the Devil, "for you see, as hideous and as wicked as my devilish tortures were to the damned, THIS is far worse" "How can that be possible" I asked with a terrified whisper. "I can't put it down, it plays itself, and"..he trailed off into a horrified whisper. "It only plays Justin Bieber songs". SO...finally I knew..this WAS truly Hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	It sounds weird to think that to myself, but I was dead and now here I am. I was old when I died, lived a very good life, or at least it was entertaining. Oh, the things I've done, the places I visited, the girls I loved, I can remember them very well; too well in fact. Every small detail I forgot in my old age I could recall without problems now. Based on a lot of those details - if the priests were speaking the truth - I should be in hell right now. I looked around - it's a strange place. It must be the waiting room; too nice for hell, too empty for heaven... Actually, I would imagine too empty for hell too. Purgatory perhaps? Who lays purgatory with grass though? Right, "he" does. The weather's nice, sun(or whatever it's called in here) is shining through blossoming trees, it feels very comfortable for me. A brown gazebo stands not far away, beautiful music is coming out from it. I'll go check it out, not like I have anything better to do. As I'm walking towards it I notice there's someone sitting inside. A young man with long brown hair, tied into a knot. He's playing harmonica. Is it saint Peter? Or maybe Jesus himself? He's rather pretty, I think it's actually Jesus. First time in my life I'm star-struck. I approach slowly and sit on the bench on the opposite side of gazebo. I got so occupied with choosing the right place to sit I forgot to pay attention to what's happening. The man has stopped playing and is looking at me in shock. Have I already done something wrong? Was I supposed to bring my own instrument and play something? -"What are you doing here?"- asked the man. What a stupid question, I think he's supposed to know. Is the beaurocracy in here as bad as it's 'down there'? -"I have died and now I'm here."- I answered quite honestly, I thought. -"Why aren't you with the rest of your people?" -"How am I supposed to know, I just got here."- I started to believe this man is not saint Peter or Jesus at all. Weren't they supposed to know this stuff? -"Weren't you supposed to know this?" -"Who do you think I am?" -"I don't know, saint Peter?" - I didn't go for the Jesus, obviously a son of a god would know why I'm here. -"My name's Lucifer." -"Satan? The satan? So where are we?" -"Hell, obviously." -"This..." -" ...doesn't look like hell." - he interrupted my sentence. I looked at him for a while, anticipating when everything around me will burst in flames. I figured the grass and overall pleasant surroundings were just a ruse, like a one last false hope, twisted form of torture. He continued talking - "I used to get that a lot. None of you thought this could be hell." -"So what now?" -"Oh that's right, you still think I'm here to torment you. I have to explain this every damn time. We're in this here together. I'm stuck here just as much as you are. I don't care about torturing you." -"What?" -"Hell is a place where there is no God. That's it. Other than that it's quite cozy for you - people. It's like your world, and you get to live forever, without hunger or pain. You just don't get to feel his presence, which isn't any different from your previous life. For angels who were at his side before it's a terrible fate. " -"So that's it? I just get to sit here forever? " -"Well you could always go to heaven to see his glory and enjoy eternity for what it truly could be." -"So what do I have to do?" -"I'm stuck here. I'll always be here. No matter what I do I'll never feel his warmth again. Take pity on the devil, stranger, for all I know is misery." -"And that's it?" -"Can you see anyone else here?" Minutes passed and we just sat there. He was pretty good with the harmonica, I wonder what he could do with a fiddle. After an hour he produced another harmonica out of thin air and handed it to me - "Do you know how to play it? Go ahead, take it. I'll teach you, my friend." As soon as I took it, a blinding light started shining from behind him. White wings were hard to miss, those must be angels. They came to take me to heaven, I thought to myself - a bit late, but I guess I can't be unhappy about it in the grand scheme of things. Then the weirdest thing happened - they didn't grab me. They grabbed the fucking devil and disappeared. I couldn't take pity on him no matter how hard I tried, after all I learned. He pitied me. Might as well learn how to play the harmonica.	Satan sat there, the Harmonica dangling from his hands as I arrived. Poof! of brimstone, a flash of light was all it took...very theatrical and a bit cliche to be honest. "So....so...I'm condemned to Hell for all Eternity?", I whispered to the demonic shape sitting on an ordinary sofa, a sad lost look on his face. "Yes" he said matter of factly, "But You can leave whenever you want, they all did". "You LET THEM GO?" I asked shocked. "Of Course", he replied "I spent hundreds, nay thousands of years torturing people, making them eat their own eyeballs, the eyeballs of their friends and family, making them bathe in their own shit and dance around in it...but then God gave me this and I decided I had to let everyone go". "God gave you....a harmonica? and THATS what made you make everyone leave?" "That doesn't make sense". "Oh but it does", said the Devil, "for you see, as hideous and as wicked as my devilish tortures were to the damned, THIS is far worse" "How can that be possible" I asked with a terrified whisper. "I can't put it down, it plays itself, and"..he trailed off into a horrified whisper. "It only plays Justin Bieber songs". SO...finally I knew..this WAS truly Hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	The soft tones of the ancient wind instrument trailed off as the Lord of Hell finally acknowledged my presence in his domain “You…play the harmonica?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the features that now surrounded me. He set his harmonica down on a nearby table that was formed out of pumice, and had small trails of lava pouring out of holes in the sides quite artistically. He adjusted his position on the stool he sat upon to regard me, his amber eyes seeming to pierce right through to my soul…if I still had one. “Indeed. This particular specimen is one of the first mass-produced examples of the modern day instrument you may be familiar with. I took it from the inventor as he came through my doors. “ Satan paused for a moment, “He left it to me when he decided to ascend, it was quite unfortunate that such a gracious man ended up in my custody.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hand upon my shoulder . Standing over 7 feet tall and powerfully built, he was as physically imposing a figure as one would imagine the keeper of the underworld to be. “You’re free to ascend as well, human. A new judgement was passed some time ago, no longer is anyone to be enslaved against their will.” I took a step back from him, looking down I reflected on the events that brought me here. “I know. Saint Peter informed me that I was eligible for entry into heaven. I chose this place instead.” With a curious grunt, Lucifer turned around and approached a void in the wall. He waved his hand across it and, like a hologram, key events in my life flashed across the space. Scenes of battle and lust, bigotry and slander streamed endlessly like a video loop until he cast it away. He didn’t even turn to address me, “You seem to have committed no atrocities, no war crimes. A few petty misdeeds, and certainly things that would have led to your disgrace under the old system, but far from the worst I’ve seen.” I shook my head softly in agreement. “So,” Another pause as he turned to face me again, “What lead you to choose this place? You have no family down here, no friends, no lovers. They’re up there, “ he pointed towards the roof of the chamber we were in, “enjoying themselves. Awaiting you.” Another pause, and then softer, “Everyone’s up there nowadays.” It was at this time that I could finally regard him directly, “And when I was hungry, cold, and alone…I remember what that felt like. They never helped me, instead I was saved by a very kind man who had never known me before. He said that I should do the same thing whenever I was given the opportunity, but I never was able to do so. Until now.” The Devil’s gaze softened, and he sat down on the same stool that I had encountered him on. He motioned me to join him on a similar one. “It’s been a long time since I was enjoyed for my company. Tell me, what would you like to do?” Sitting next to him, I only had one request: “Tell me your story, from your side of things.”	Over the crackling of the fire, a soft tune floated on the sulfuric air. Crossing the caverns and tunnels of Hell, the tune echoed through Hell's empty halls. When Dave awoke, it was to find himself alone, save for fire, and that sad tune. Dave scratched his head. How did he end up here? Where even was her-. "Oh." Dave mumbled. He remembered now. He was dead. Generally, he thought people who died pushing some people out of the way of a truck went somewhere slightly different than what by all accounts was likely Hell. Dave didn't dwell on it for too long. Of course, if this was Hell, it's not actually that bad. It was a bit hot, sure, probably on account of all the fires that randomly dotted the blood red stone that formed... well, almost everything. Dave ran his fingers along the wall, tracing the flickering shadows cast by one of innumerable small flames. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well get used to it. Then he heard it, the tune. The tune was light, but sad, completely at odds with the environment. Like someone put the theme for Harvest Moon over a horror game. For the first time since getting here, Dave's feet refused to move. Something about this was exceptionally creepy. Dave considered running, his heart began to beat faster. Is this what hell was? An eternity of creepy ambience? Dave stood in place as he considered the rest of his unlife in Hell. Would this be the rest of his existence? There's a philosophical thread Dave did not want to pull on. Dave's feet moved slowly. Inching. Bit. By. Bit. "Best to face your fears early, right?" Dave thought, as he slowly moved around the corner. Closer to the source of the sound. Dave expected a jumpscare. Something to pop out in his face and chase him away, something to run him off. Or maybe just something weird. Like a puppet playing the flute or something equally... unsettling. Dave did not expect to find Satan in a suit playing the harmonica. "Oh!" Satan leaped off the rocky stump he'd been sitting on. He bat none existent dust off of the dark red hair on his chest as he stood. "I am Satan! Fear me MORTAL!" Dave scratched his ear. "Yeah. I can tell. The horns, and cloven hooves gave it away." "Oh." Satan crossed his arms. "Of course. Yeah. You would realize." Satan turned around and slapped himself in the head, before muttering under his breath for a while, then turning around. "Now prepare yoursel-!" "So, this is Hell, right?" Dave said over Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. "I... YES!" Satan yelled triumphantly. "And you're stuck here. Forever." "Alright then." Dave huffed. Hell seemed awfully boring. Maybe that was the point? Was this place literally just to torture the sinners of the world with boredom? On that note, where was everyone else? If this place was meant to be dealing with every sinner that the world had ever seen, then either Dave was literally the worst human being to have ever lived, or Hell was a very big place. "Hey Satan?" "Yeah?" "Where is everyone?" Dave asked. "Oh they all left." Satan responded. "Weren't they stuck here forever too?" As Dave spoke, a look of realization slowly formed on Satan's face. Terror drew lines into the face of Satan. "Errrr. No." Satan said, slowly regaining his composure. "They weren't evil enough to suffer forever." "So they got to go to Heaven?" "After a bit." Terror returned to his face as he spoke. "But you won't! You're... far too evil. Yes. Far too evil." "Far too evil?" Dave asked incredulously. The worst he'd done was- "That time you kicked a dog!" Satan yelled. "Now God doesn't want you anymore." "I kicked the dog because it bit my fucking ankle!" Dave spoke with the ire of a man who'd had this conversation far too many times. "It was self defense!" "Have you never even read the bible?" Satan huffed as he drew his arms against his chest. "Turn the other cheek and all that? Anyway, it doesn't matter now, you're stuck here." "Bullshit. I want to speak to God." "You can't." "Why not." "I said so." "Fuck you." "Well. That's rude." Satan recoiled at his words. "But that's how it is. You're stuck here now." "Right." Dave slumped against the cave wall. "So what now? Eternal torture? Some other unknowable terror?" "Yes! The terror will be... unknowable!" Satan rooted in his fur for a while before pulling out a spoon. "And this! Will be my instrument of destruction!" "You're not very good at this are you." The smile dropped from Satan's face, and his arms dropped to his sides. "No I am not." Satan sat next to Dave, resting against the wall. Dave noted that he smelt a lot like burning hair. "To tell the truth I've been out of practice for a while. The whole torturing and tempting thing." Dave sat silently mulling over Satan's words for a while. Then an idea came to him. "What if;" Satan nodded slowly "What if I help you get your groove back." "You?" "Yeah. 'Snot like we've got anything better to do." "Help me?" "That's what I just said isn't it?" Dave said, tersely. Satan stood up as a huge grin crossed his face. "Yes! It's going to be so fun!" Satan offered a hand to Dave, which he took. "We're going to tempt people into debauchery, violence, turn them away from God..." Satan was positively shaking. "It's going to be great!" "Well, beats sitting here I suppose."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	It sounds weird to think that to myself, but I was dead and now here I am. I was old when I died, lived a very good life, or at least it was entertaining. Oh, the things I've done, the places I visited, the girls I loved, I can remember them very well; too well in fact. Every small detail I forgot in my old age I could recall without problems now. Based on a lot of those details - if the priests were speaking the truth - I should be in hell right now. I looked around - it's a strange place. It must be the waiting room; too nice for hell, too empty for heaven... Actually, I would imagine too empty for hell too. Purgatory perhaps? Who lays purgatory with grass though? Right, "he" does. The weather's nice, sun(or whatever it's called in here) is shining through blossoming trees, it feels very comfortable for me. A brown gazebo stands not far away, beautiful music is coming out from it. I'll go check it out, not like I have anything better to do. As I'm walking towards it I notice there's someone sitting inside. A young man with long brown hair, tied into a knot. He's playing harmonica. Is it saint Peter? Or maybe Jesus himself? He's rather pretty, I think it's actually Jesus. First time in my life I'm star-struck. I approach slowly and sit on the bench on the opposite side of gazebo. I got so occupied with choosing the right place to sit I forgot to pay attention to what's happening. The man has stopped playing and is looking at me in shock. Have I already done something wrong? Was I supposed to bring my own instrument and play something? -"What are you doing here?"- asked the man. What a stupid question, I think he's supposed to know. Is the beaurocracy in here as bad as it's 'down there'? -"I have died and now I'm here."- I answered quite honestly, I thought. -"Why aren't you with the rest of your people?" -"How am I supposed to know, I just got here."- I started to believe this man is not saint Peter or Jesus at all. Weren't they supposed to know this stuff? -"Weren't you supposed to know this?" -"Who do you think I am?" -"I don't know, saint Peter?" - I didn't go for the Jesus, obviously a son of a god would know why I'm here. -"My name's Lucifer." -"Satan? The satan? So where are we?" -"Hell, obviously." -"This..." -" ...doesn't look like hell." - he interrupted my sentence. I looked at him for a while, anticipating when everything around me will burst in flames. I figured the grass and overall pleasant surroundings were just a ruse, like a one last false hope, twisted form of torture. He continued talking - "I used to get that a lot. None of you thought this could be hell." -"So what now?" -"Oh that's right, you still think I'm here to torment you. I have to explain this every damn time. We're in this here together. I'm stuck here just as much as you are. I don't care about torturing you." -"What?" -"Hell is a place where there is no God. That's it. Other than that it's quite cozy for you - people. It's like your world, and you get to live forever, without hunger or pain. You just don't get to feel his presence, which isn't any different from your previous life. For angels who were at his side before it's a terrible fate. " -"So that's it? I just get to sit here forever? " -"Well you could always go to heaven to see his glory and enjoy eternity for what it truly could be." -"So what do I have to do?" -"I'm stuck here. I'll always be here. No matter what I do I'll never feel his warmth again. Take pity on the devil, stranger, for all I know is misery." -"And that's it?" -"Can you see anyone else here?" Minutes passed and we just sat there. He was pretty good with the harmonica, I wonder what he could do with a fiddle. After an hour he produced another harmonica out of thin air and handed it to me - "Do you know how to play it? Go ahead, take it. I'll teach you, my friend." As soon as I took it, a blinding light started shining from behind him. White wings were hard to miss, those must be angels. They came to take me to heaven, I thought to myself - a bit late, but I guess I can't be unhappy about it in the grand scheme of things. Then the weirdest thing happened - they didn't grab me. They grabbed the fucking devil and disappeared. I couldn't take pity on him no matter how hard I tried, after all I learned. He pitied me. Might as well learn how to play the harmonica.	Over the crackling of the fire, a soft tune floated on the sulfuric air. Crossing the caverns and tunnels of Hell, the tune echoed through Hell's empty halls. When Dave awoke, it was to find himself alone, save for fire, and that sad tune. Dave scratched his head. How did he end up here? Where even was her-. "Oh." Dave mumbled. He remembered now. He was dead. Generally, he thought people who died pushing some people out of the way of a truck went somewhere slightly different than what by all accounts was likely Hell. Dave didn't dwell on it for too long. Of course, if this was Hell, it's not actually that bad. It was a bit hot, sure, probably on account of all the fires that randomly dotted the blood red stone that formed... well, almost everything. Dave ran his fingers along the wall, tracing the flickering shadows cast by one of innumerable small flames. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well get used to it. Then he heard it, the tune. The tune was light, but sad, completely at odds with the environment. Like someone put the theme for Harvest Moon over a horror game. For the first time since getting here, Dave's feet refused to move. Something about this was exceptionally creepy. Dave considered running, his heart began to beat faster. Is this what hell was? An eternity of creepy ambience? Dave stood in place as he considered the rest of his unlife in Hell. Would this be the rest of his existence? There's a philosophical thread Dave did not want to pull on. Dave's feet moved slowly. Inching. Bit. By. Bit. "Best to face your fears early, right?" Dave thought, as he slowly moved around the corner. Closer to the source of the sound. Dave expected a jumpscare. Something to pop out in his face and chase him away, something to run him off. Or maybe just something weird. Like a puppet playing the flute or something equally... unsettling. Dave did not expect to find Satan in a suit playing the harmonica. "Oh!" Satan leaped off the rocky stump he'd been sitting on. He bat none existent dust off of the dark red hair on his chest as he stood. "I am Satan! Fear me MORTAL!" Dave scratched his ear. "Yeah. I can tell. The horns, and cloven hooves gave it away." "Oh." Satan crossed his arms. "Of course. Yeah. You would realize." Satan turned around and slapped himself in the head, before muttering under his breath for a while, then turning around. "Now prepare yoursel-!" "So, this is Hell, right?" Dave said over Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. "I... YES!" Satan yelled triumphantly. "And you're stuck here. Forever." "Alright then." Dave huffed. Hell seemed awfully boring. Maybe that was the point? Was this place literally just to torture the sinners of the world with boredom? On that note, where was everyone else? If this place was meant to be dealing with every sinner that the world had ever seen, then either Dave was literally the worst human being to have ever lived, or Hell was a very big place. "Hey Satan?" "Yeah?" "Where is everyone?" Dave asked. "Oh they all left." Satan responded. "Weren't they stuck here forever too?" As Dave spoke, a look of realization slowly formed on Satan's face. Terror drew lines into the face of Satan. "Errrr. No." Satan said, slowly regaining his composure. "They weren't evil enough to suffer forever." "So they got to go to Heaven?" "After a bit." Terror returned to his face as he spoke. "But you won't! You're... far too evil. Yes. Far too evil." "Far too evil?" Dave asked incredulously. The worst he'd done was- "That time you kicked a dog!" Satan yelled. "Now God doesn't want you anymore." "I kicked the dog because it bit my fucking ankle!" Dave spoke with the ire of a man who'd had this conversation far too many times. "It was self defense!" "Have you never even read the bible?" Satan huffed as he drew his arms against his chest. "Turn the other cheek and all that? Anyway, it doesn't matter now, you're stuck here." "Bullshit. I want to speak to God." "You can't." "Why not." "I said so." "Fuck you." "Well. That's rude." Satan recoiled at his words. "But that's how it is. You're stuck here now." "Right." Dave slumped against the cave wall. "So what now? Eternal torture? Some other unknowable terror?" "Yes! The terror will be... unknowable!" Satan rooted in his fur for a while before pulling out a spoon. "And this! Will be my instrument of destruction!" "You're not very good at this are you." The smile dropped from Satan's face, and his arms dropped to his sides. "No I am not." Satan sat next to Dave, resting against the wall. Dave noted that he smelt a lot like burning hair. "To tell the truth I've been out of practice for a while. The whole torturing and tempting thing." Dave sat silently mulling over Satan's words for a while. Then an idea came to him. "What if;" Satan nodded slowly "What if I help you get your groove back." "You?" "Yeah. 'Snot like we've got anything better to do." "Help me?" "That's what I just said isn't it?" Dave said, tersely. Satan stood up as a huge grin crossed his face. "Yes! It's going to be so fun!" Satan offered a hand to Dave, which he took. "We're going to tempt people into debauchery, violence, turn them away from God..." Satan was positively shaking. "It's going to be great!" "Well, beats sitting here I suppose."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	It sounds weird to think that to myself, but I was dead and now here I am. I was old when I died, lived a very good life, or at least it was entertaining. Oh, the things I've done, the places I visited, the girls I loved, I can remember them very well; too well in fact. Every small detail I forgot in my old age I could recall without problems now. Based on a lot of those details - if the priests were speaking the truth - I should be in hell right now. I looked around - it's a strange place. It must be the waiting room; too nice for hell, too empty for heaven... Actually, I would imagine too empty for hell too. Purgatory perhaps? Who lays purgatory with grass though? Right, "he" does. The weather's nice, sun(or whatever it's called in here) is shining through blossoming trees, it feels very comfortable for me. A brown gazebo stands not far away, beautiful music is coming out from it. I'll go check it out, not like I have anything better to do. As I'm walking towards it I notice there's someone sitting inside. A young man with long brown hair, tied into a knot. He's playing harmonica. Is it saint Peter? Or maybe Jesus himself? He's rather pretty, I think it's actually Jesus. First time in my life I'm star-struck. I approach slowly and sit on the bench on the opposite side of gazebo. I got so occupied with choosing the right place to sit I forgot to pay attention to what's happening. The man has stopped playing and is looking at me in shock. Have I already done something wrong? Was I supposed to bring my own instrument and play something? -"What are you doing here?"- asked the man. What a stupid question, I think he's supposed to know. Is the beaurocracy in here as bad as it's 'down there'? -"I have died and now I'm here."- I answered quite honestly, I thought. -"Why aren't you with the rest of your people?" -"How am I supposed to know, I just got here."- I started to believe this man is not saint Peter or Jesus at all. Weren't they supposed to know this stuff? -"Weren't you supposed to know this?" -"Who do you think I am?" -"I don't know, saint Peter?" - I didn't go for the Jesus, obviously a son of a god would know why I'm here. -"My name's Lucifer." -"Satan? The satan? So where are we?" -"Hell, obviously." -"This..." -" ...doesn't look like hell." - he interrupted my sentence. I looked at him for a while, anticipating when everything around me will burst in flames. I figured the grass and overall pleasant surroundings were just a ruse, like a one last false hope, twisted form of torture. He continued talking - "I used to get that a lot. None of you thought this could be hell." -"So what now?" -"Oh that's right, you still think I'm here to torment you. I have to explain this every damn time. We're in this here together. I'm stuck here just as much as you are. I don't care about torturing you." -"What?" -"Hell is a place where there is no God. That's it. Other than that it's quite cozy for you - people. It's like your world, and you get to live forever, without hunger or pain. You just don't get to feel his presence, which isn't any different from your previous life. For angels who were at his side before it's a terrible fate. " -"So that's it? I just get to sit here forever? " -"Well you could always go to heaven to see his glory and enjoy eternity for what it truly could be." -"So what do I have to do?" -"I'm stuck here. I'll always be here. No matter what I do I'll never feel his warmth again. Take pity on the devil, stranger, for all I know is misery." -"And that's it?" -"Can you see anyone else here?" Minutes passed and we just sat there. He was pretty good with the harmonica, I wonder what he could do with a fiddle. After an hour he produced another harmonica out of thin air and handed it to me - "Do you know how to play it? Go ahead, take it. I'll teach you, my friend." As soon as I took it, a blinding light started shining from behind him. White wings were hard to miss, those must be angels. They came to take me to heaven, I thought to myself - a bit late, but I guess I can't be unhappy about it in the grand scheme of things. Then the weirdest thing happened - they didn't grab me. They grabbed the fucking devil and disappeared. I couldn't take pity on him no matter how hard I tried, after all I learned. He pitied me. Might as well learn how to play the harmonica.	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	For ages, at least that's how it seemed, there was only darkness. I couldn't count my breaths, because it seemed as if I didn't need to breathe anymore. So I counted as high as I could possibly count. Three times. Finally, I could see muted yellow light. In an instant my feet touched solid ground. My legs shook, but I managed to maintain my balance. It looked as if I was in a cave. With tunnels leading every which way. Far off there was sound. A harmonica. The most beautiful playing I'd ever heard. I followed it. Winding my way through the tunnels, tripping over rocks. Finally, I entered a large grotto. The cave ceiling was high. Against the far wall sat a man. He was tall, had dark hair. His eyes were closed as he played the instrument. Suddenly the music stopped and he looked at me. "What are you doing here?" He asked me, his voice almost as melodic as the harmonica. "I'm not sure." I mumbled. He waved his hand at me, "Then go, with the rest of them." "Where, exactly, am I going? Since you don't seem too keen to tell me where I am." I sighed. He narrowed his eyes at me, "You're in hell. Aren't you going to leave?" I racked my brain. From what I could remember from the Bible. I'm pretty sure what I did justified me being here. "Again, not exactly sure where I'm supposed to go. This seems like the correct venue. Except... not as much eternal hellfire, damnation, and the wails of those who have sinned. Did I miss something?" I glanced around. If this was hell, it seemed as if the whole world had lost the memo. "You haven't heard about the loophole?" He asked me. I shook my head, "No." "Ah. Well, if you fancy yourself a nice piece of heaven, you might as well go. God realized punishing sinners just wasn't righteous or what the hell ever." He went back to his harmonica. I sat down, crossing my legs, "Why aren't you there?" He stopped, hitting a sour note, "Because I'm the exception to the rule." "Why's that?" "You ask too many fucking questions." He snarled, setting the harmonica down. I shrugged, "Sorry. Who are you supposed to be?" "It's fine. Just. Knock it off. I'm Lucifer. Better known as 'The Devil'. Stupid fuckin' nickname." "You don't look like the Devil." I commented. "Your people only got shit right about 3% of the time." I nodded, figuring as much. He shook his head, "Look. If you stay here I'm gonna have to set you on fire or something," He glanced around, "Fuck. Where'd I put my fire stick?" I chuckled, "Fire stick?" He nodded, getting up from his seat and glancing around, "Yeah. It's this bad ass stick that sets people on fire. Kind of self explanatory." "If there's a loophole for all the assholes who've done some realllyyy fucked up shit, why isn't there a loophole for you?" He stopped searching and shrugged, "Dunno." "How about I trade you spots? I'll stay down here and play music, and you go enjoy heaven?" "Do you realize how stupid you sound?" He scoffed. "About as stupid as murderers, child molesters, and tax evaders getting a get out of hell free card." I shrugged, smiling at the last bit. Edit: because I forgot a line. And clarification.	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river." "That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult." The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave." The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?". The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed. He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. I am a lonely man, he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. And I don't like being by my self. He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company. -------------------- I'm a, lonely man sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine. Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him. ----------------- Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but missed the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again... You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man. The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone. I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth. I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for. "Thank you." "No, no," I choked. "Thank you." "What are you doing here?" "I, well, I'm dead I suppose." "Everyone else left." "I had heard of that." "Why are you still here?" His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. "Why are you still here?" I asked him. He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise. "If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?" "Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me. "Well - he is sneaky and a liar." "A deceiver, yes." "And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..." "I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left." "So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer. "Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?" "I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered. He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other. "My god-" "Nice to meet you."	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim. So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out. After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul. "Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...." "Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas". "you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later." Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once. "Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others." The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill. "You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it." "Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt." The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face. "And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me." As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon. I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus. "In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift." "JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.	He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore. He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive. "Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player. Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him - "Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..." "Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore." He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica had to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question. "They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..." "Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?" "Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days. "Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet. "Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again." It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it. "What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers. "Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked. "How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?" "I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself." There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine." "You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him. "Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?" "Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire. "Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said. "Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price." He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	For ages, at least that's how it seemed, there was only darkness. I couldn't count my breaths, because it seemed as if I didn't need to breathe anymore. So I counted as high as I could possibly count. Three times. Finally, I could see muted yellow light. In an instant my feet touched solid ground. My legs shook, but I managed to maintain my balance. It looked as if I was in a cave. With tunnels leading every which way. Far off there was sound. A harmonica. The most beautiful playing I'd ever heard. I followed it. Winding my way through the tunnels, tripping over rocks. Finally, I entered a large grotto. The cave ceiling was high. Against the far wall sat a man. He was tall, had dark hair. His eyes were closed as he played the instrument. Suddenly the music stopped and he looked at me. "What are you doing here?" He asked me, his voice almost as melodic as the harmonica. "I'm not sure." I mumbled. He waved his hand at me, "Then go, with the rest of them." "Where, exactly, am I going? Since you don't seem too keen to tell me where I am." I sighed. He narrowed his eyes at me, "You're in hell. Aren't you going to leave?" I racked my brain. From what I could remember from the Bible. I'm pretty sure what I did justified me being here. "Again, not exactly sure where I'm supposed to go. This seems like the correct venue. Except... not as much eternal hellfire, damnation, and the wails of those who have sinned. Did I miss something?" I glanced around. If this was hell, it seemed as if the whole world had lost the memo. "You haven't heard about the loophole?" He asked me. I shook my head, "No." "Ah. Well, if you fancy yourself a nice piece of heaven, you might as well go. God realized punishing sinners just wasn't righteous or what the hell ever." He went back to his harmonica. I sat down, crossing my legs, "Why aren't you there?" He stopped, hitting a sour note, "Because I'm the exception to the rule." "Why's that?" "You ask too many fucking questions." He snarled, setting the harmonica down. I shrugged, "Sorry. Who are you supposed to be?" "It's fine. Just. Knock it off. I'm Lucifer. Better known as 'The Devil'. Stupid fuckin' nickname." "You don't look like the Devil." I commented. "Your people only got shit right about 3% of the time." I nodded, figuring as much. He shook his head, "Look. If you stay here I'm gonna have to set you on fire or something," He glanced around, "Fuck. Where'd I put my fire stick?" I chuckled, "Fire stick?" He nodded, getting up from his seat and glancing around, "Yeah. It's this bad ass stick that sets people on fire. Kind of self explanatory." "If there's a loophole for all the assholes who've done some realllyyy fucked up shit, why isn't there a loophole for you?" He stopped searching and shrugged, "Dunno." "How about I trade you spots? I'll stay down here and play music, and you go enjoy heaven?" "Do you realize how stupid you sound?" He scoffed. "About as stupid as murderers, child molesters, and tax evaders getting a get out of hell free card." I shrugged, smiling at the last bit. Edit: because I forgot a line. And clarification.	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river." "That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult." The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave." The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?". The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone. I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth. I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for. "Thank you." "No, no," I choked. "Thank you." "What are you doing here?" "I, well, I'm dead I suppose." "Everyone else left." "I had heard of that." "Why are you still here?" His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. "Why are you still here?" I asked him. He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise. "If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?" "Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me. "Well - he is sneaky and a liar." "A deceiver, yes." "And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..." "I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left." "So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer. "Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?" "I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered. He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other. "My god-" "Nice to meet you."	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim. So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out. After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul. "Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...." "Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas". "you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later." Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once. "Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others." The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill. "You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it." "Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt." The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face. "And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me." As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon. I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus. "In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift." "JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.	I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch. I did not expect music. Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times. What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle on lava. Yeah. And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled. As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me. What if this was hell? What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me. No one. I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office. And the musician was sitting next to me. He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. Something. But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten. I would know. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?" That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing. The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air. I frowned. "You know who I am?" The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, human, I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing" Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name. Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?" I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?" Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica. I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed. Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me. "Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?" He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing. "Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?" Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?" I frowned. "What?" Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room. I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly. His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?" I nodded. "They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?" "There's an exit?" Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture. "So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked. Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person." I grinned at that. "Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be." "Why would I do that?" Lucifer looked up at me again, confused. "I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to." We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer. Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly. I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really." "Then why?" "To reclaim what's yours." *** (minor edits) If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river." "That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult." The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave." The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?". The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."	"It's not really such a bad place, I think." Said the man. He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so ordinary, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter. "At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being literally Hell, I think it's rather nice." "Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica. "No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?" "A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be omniscient, unlike some people who would best go unnamed." "No, I remember that." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I here? In Hell." "Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself." "I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!" "But not to serving Him, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days." "So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?" "Au contraire, mon frère." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell." "There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?" The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!" "Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said. "I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for." "...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline. The devil smiled. *** Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own! Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed. He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. I am a lonely man, he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. And I don't like being by my self. He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company. -------------------- I'm a, lonely man sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine. Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him. ----------------- Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but missed the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again... You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man. The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.	"It's not really such a bad place, I think." Said the man. He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so ordinary, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter. "At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being literally Hell, I think it's rather nice." "Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica. "No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?" "A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be omniscient, unlike some people who would best go unnamed." "No, I remember that." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I here? In Hell." "Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself." "I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!" "But not to serving Him, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days." "So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?" "Au contraire, mon frère." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell." "There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?" The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!" "Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said. "I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for." "...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline. The devil smiled. *** Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own! Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone. I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth. I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for. "Thank you." "No, no," I choked. "Thank you." "What are you doing here?" "I, well, I'm dead I suppose." "Everyone else left." "I had heard of that." "Why are you still here?" His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. "Why are you still here?" I asked him. He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise. "If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?" "Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me. "Well - he is sneaky and a liar." "A deceiver, yes." "And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..." "I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left." "So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer. "Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?" "I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered. He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other. "My god-" "Nice to meet you."	"It's not really such a bad place, I think." Said the man. He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so ordinary, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter. "At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being literally Hell, I think it's rather nice." "Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica. "No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?" "A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be omniscient, unlike some people who would best go unnamed." "No, I remember that." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I here? In Hell." "Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself." "I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!" "But not to serving Him, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days." "So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?" "Au contraire, mon frère." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell." "There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?" The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!" "Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said. "I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for." "...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline. The devil smiled. *** Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own! Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	"It's not really such a bad place, I think." Said the man. He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so ordinary, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter. "At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being literally Hell, I think it's rather nice." "Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica. "No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?" "A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be omniscient, unlike some people who would best go unnamed." "No, I remember that." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I here? In Hell." "Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself." "I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!" "But not to serving Him, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days." "So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?" "Au contraire, mon frère." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell." "There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?" The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!" "Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said. "I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for." "...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline. The devil smiled. *** Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own! Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim. So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out. After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul. "Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...." "Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas". "you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later." Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once. "Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others." The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill. "You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it." "Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt." The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face. "And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me." As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon. I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus. "In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift." "JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.	"It's not really such a bad place, I think." Said the man. He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so ordinary, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter. "At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being literally Hell, I think it's rather nice." "Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica. "No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?" "A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be omniscient, unlike some people who would best go unnamed." "No, I remember that." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I here? In Hell." "Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself." "I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!" "But not to serving Him, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days." "So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?" "Au contraire, mon frère." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell." "There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?" The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!" "Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said. "I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for." "...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline. The devil smiled. *** Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own! Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river." "That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult." The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave." The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?". The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone. I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth. I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for. "Thank you." "No, no," I choked. "Thank you." "What are you doing here?" "I, well, I'm dead I suppose." "Everyone else left." "I had heard of that." "Why are you still here?" His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. "Why are you still here?" I asked him. He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise. "If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?" "Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me. "Well - he is sneaky and a liar." "A deceiver, yes." "And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..." "I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left." "So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer. "Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?" "I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered. He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other. "My god-" "Nice to meet you."	There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed. He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. I am a lonely man, he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. And I don't like being by my self. He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company. -------------------- I'm a, lonely man sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine. Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him. ----------------- Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but missed the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again... You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man. The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed. He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. I am a lonely man, he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. And I don't like being by my self. He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company. -------------------- I'm a, lonely man sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine. Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him. ----------------- Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but missed the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again... You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man. The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim. So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out. After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul. "Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...." "Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas". "you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later." Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once. "Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others." The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill. "You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it." "Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt." The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face. "And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me." As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon. I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus. "In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift." "JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.	There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed. He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. I am a lonely man, he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. And I don't like being by my self. He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company. -------------------- I'm a, lonely man sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine. Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him. ----------------- Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but missed the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again... You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man. The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it. “Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered. Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica. “Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.” There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.” “He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him. “How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.” “They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend. Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand. “Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.” “What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.” “I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me. “Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone." “Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered. “Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.” “For how long?” asked the old woman. “For eternity.” This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave. Someone began to cry. “How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked. “We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”	There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone. I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth. I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for. "Thank you." "No, no," I choked. "Thank you." "What are you doing here?" "I, well, I'm dead I suppose." "Everyone else left." "I had heard of that." "Why are you still here?" His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. "Why are you still here?" I asked him. He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise. "If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?" "Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me. "Well - he is sneaky and a liar." "A deceiver, yes." "And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..." "I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left." "So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer. "Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?" "I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered. He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other. "My god-" "Nice to meet you."
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim. So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out. After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul. "Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...." "Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas". "you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later." Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once. "Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others." The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill. "You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it." "Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt." The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face. "And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me." As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon. I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus. "In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift." "JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.	I never thought meeting Satan would be so sad. He sat on his thrones of charred bones all alone, with his tail lashing behind him and his horns protruding into the black and red sky. The shrill noise of the harmonica he was playing beat against my ears over the rumble of distant thunder and the crackling of Hellfire. I knew I was supposed to go to Hell, people like me were destined to. What I was surprised by was how empty Hell would be. What the fuck happened to going to Hell for the company? Lying Mark Twain, that son of a bitch. Satan stopped his dreaded harmonica playing when he saw me, standing stupidly in my all black clothes. His eyes brightened and his tail wagged like a puppy's? He gestured me forward. Reluctantly, I walked down the bone-laid road to Satan's throne. "Hello, human," said Satan, his voice two different pitches of utter nightmare. I physically winced when I heard it, and Satan frowned. "I can fix the voice if you don't like it." He said that in a warm baritone. "That's great, thank you." Up close, he was about 8-feet tall, with his throne twice as large as him. He smelled of sulfur and brimstone, no surprise there. And he only wore a thick loincloth held up by a belt of frozen intestines. It did an adequate of hiding his private parts. "So..." the Devil started, looking around. He scratched his ear. "What are you in for?" "Shouldn't you know?" I asked. "Don't you read the records of who gets admitted?" He sighed, a yellowy cloud escaping his mouth. "I had a demon for that, but he left for Heaven, too. Just like the rest of them." He bit his lower lip as his eyes watered a little bit. "Left for Heaven?" What the fuck was he talking about? And why the fuck was he so upset? The Dark Lord pounded his fist against his throne, got up and walked behind it, his shoulders slumping. "There's some loophole that allows people to leave Hell for Heaven. Stupid God and his goddamn tricks!" I cleared my throat, following him around the throne. "That's why this place is so empty." "You don't have to rub it in my face," he muttered, bringing out his harmonica and playing it. This just keeps getting sadder and sadder. "Hey, listen..." "What? Do you want to leave, too? Fine! I will show you where the damn loophole is!" Watching Satan frown was quite a visceral experience. Who would have thought that the embodiment of sin could get lonely. I don't know what it was but I wanted to help him. I spent my life helping people everyone called devils. Why not help the actual Devil?" "Hey, Satan. Why don't you show me the loophole, and I will see if I can fix it for you." He leaned forward, his tailed moving again. "Why? Are you a lawyer? How good are you?" "I kept the Lehman brothers out of jail." Satan's eyes widened, and his lips curled into a smile. "Would you really do that for me? Look through God's contract?" I sighed. "Sure, why not?" Satan leaped to his feet, shaking the ground. "Do you think we can get everybody back?" I looked around at the desolation around me, and then at Satan's pleading eyes. "Yes. But why don't we revamp the place, too. Make it a little more enjoyable." "But that would go against the contract." "Not if I can help it." He clapped his hands. "I like you already. Come on. Let's stick it to my father!" "Yeah..." I was still unsure what I was getting into, but watching Satan perk up like that was enough for me to continue. "Can we get something to eat first?" I asked. "I am starving." "Oh, yeah, that comes with the territory." He put his hand on my back. "But I can take care of that. No other place cooks meat better than Hell's kitchen. And I can make a killer steak." "Sounds good." "And if we have time, I can play my harmonica for you." "Let's save that for when we fix the loophole." "Yeah! And when we do, you can be advisor." "I would rather stick to being your lawyer." "How about being my 'friend'?" "Sure, buddy." __________________________________________________________________ Stellar law advice over on [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/). Jump in front of a car, and I will get you millions!
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.	I sit for a while and listen to the Devil play the exquisite, golden instrument. He has not even seen me; his eyes are closed and it seems as if he is in a trance. In his great hands the harmonica looks like a miniature, but he plays it so fast and loud, that somehow, the music it produces is more full than any orchestra I've ever heard. The hairs on my arms prick up. The melody is haunting, but beautiful. It floats around the cavern, and transports me to a ship in olden times. I am alone, standing on the deck. My crew has deserted me and the vessel floats lonely, as I wait to die. The melody speeds up and the Devil picks out notes that shouldn't work together; dissonant flats and sharps; majors and minors that should never touch. I see gigantic waves form in the distance. They crash like thunder against the bow of the ship. The pale moon above is slowly engulfed by a blood-red cloud. He plays faster still; the vessel tosses and turns, and creaks and moans like it is nothing more than a twig. My heart pounds. There is something below the ship, I can sense it. Something, great and huge and above all, terrible. It is moving up. Closer to the surface -- closer to the boat. It rises! The Devil stops and opens his eyes. I don't know why, but I begin clapping. Applauding the Devil. Slowly first, and then faster and louder. I can't help myself. "Welcome," he says with a sly smile. "That was..." "I've had eternity to practice." I nod, as if I can possibly understand. "Am I dead?" I ask. "You are." "And you're... Satan?" I barely dare to whisper the name, and that seems to amuse him. He laughs; a deep, rich laugh. "I am." "Then I'm in... What was my crime? Why do I deserve eternal damnation?" I demand. I am sure I lived an honest life. "It will come back to you," he says. I shiver, and he sees it. "Worry not," he snorts, "Eternal is not what it used to be." "What do you mean?" I ask, furrowing my brows. "God has... changed the rules. No one need stay here now. There is forgiveness for all his children." He spreads his arms wide and I look around the empty cavern. "Even you," he says as his lips curl up into a demon's smile. "I- I can still go to heaven?" "You can," he says as he reaches for his harmonica once more. "Only I must stay. Now, leave me. Go play with your old friends. I have no interest in delaying you." He points me towards a hollow in the cavern's wall. He closes his eyes and begins playing that beautiful music once more. The bitter-sweet sound takes me away again. This time I am in a car. My car. I've been drinking, celebrating a performance. I didn't see her in the darkness. No. It wasn't dark. There is a thud. A scream. I don't stop. The terrible memory returns. I killed her. I killed the lady as she pushed her pram. Then, a single month later I killed myself. I collapse onto the rock floor and weep as the haunting music wraps itself around me like a child's blanket. It comforts me. When, eventually he stops and sees me still sitting there, he looks almost... surprised. "Why?" he asks simply. "I killed them. I don't deserve heaven." "It matters not if you deserve it." "It matters to me." There is silence for a while. Two fallen angels together in their loneliness. "Teach me to play," I ask. "..." "I want to play like you. I want to bare my soul through music. I need to." "It would take an eternity to play like me," he says. "I have eternity at my disposal." The Devil smiles. --- Many more stories on /r/nickofnight (free mug for new subs: c[_] ) Edit: Thank you so much to the kind soul that gilded this	I never thought meeting Satan would be so sad. He sat on his thrones of charred bones all alone, with his tail lashing behind him and his horns protruding into the black and red sky. The shrill noise of the harmonica he was playing beat against my ears over the rumble of distant thunder and the crackling of Hellfire. I knew I was supposed to go to Hell, people like me were destined to. What I was surprised by was how empty Hell would be. What the fuck happened to going to Hell for the company? Lying Mark Twain, that son of a bitch. Satan stopped his dreaded harmonica playing when he saw me, standing stupidly in my all black clothes. His eyes brightened and his tail wagged like a puppy's? He gestured me forward. Reluctantly, I walked down the bone-laid road to Satan's throne. "Hello, human," said Satan, his voice two different pitches of utter nightmare. I physically winced when I heard it, and Satan frowned. "I can fix the voice if you don't like it." He said that in a warm baritone. "That's great, thank you." Up close, he was about 8-feet tall, with his throne twice as large as him. He smelled of sulfur and brimstone, no surprise there. And he only wore a thick loincloth held up by a belt of frozen intestines. It did an adequate of hiding his private parts. "So..." the Devil started, looking around. He scratched his ear. "What are you in for?" "Shouldn't you know?" I asked. "Don't you read the records of who gets admitted?" He sighed, a yellowy cloud escaping his mouth. "I had a demon for that, but he left for Heaven, too. Just like the rest of them." He bit his lower lip as his eyes watered a little bit. "Left for Heaven?" What the fuck was he talking about? And why the fuck was he so upset? The Dark Lord pounded his fist against his throne, got up and walked behind it, his shoulders slumping. "There's some loophole that allows people to leave Hell for Heaven. Stupid God and his goddamn tricks!" I cleared my throat, following him around the throne. "That's why this place is so empty." "You don't have to rub it in my face," he muttered, bringing out his harmonica and playing it. This just keeps getting sadder and sadder. "Hey, listen..." "What? Do you want to leave, too? Fine! I will show you where the damn loophole is!" Watching Satan frown was quite a visceral experience. Who would have thought that the embodiment of sin could get lonely. I don't know what it was but I wanted to help him. I spent my life helping people everyone called devils. Why not help the actual Devil?" "Hey, Satan. Why don't you show me the loophole, and I will see if I can fix it for you." He leaned forward, his tailed moving again. "Why? Are you a lawyer? How good are you?" "I kept the Lehman brothers out of jail." Satan's eyes widened, and his lips curled into a smile. "Would you really do that for me? Look through God's contract?" I sighed. "Sure, why not?" Satan leaped to his feet, shaking the ground. "Do you think we can get everybody back?" I looked around at the desolation around me, and then at Satan's pleading eyes. "Yes. But why don't we revamp the place, too. Make it a little more enjoyable." "But that would go against the contract." "Not if I can help it." He clapped his hands. "I like you already. Come on. Let's stick it to my father!" "Yeah..." I was still unsure what I was getting into, but watching Satan perk up like that was enough for me to continue. "Can we get something to eat first?" I asked. "I am starving." "Oh, yeah, that comes with the territory." He put his hand on my back. "But I can take care of that. No other place cooks meat better than Hell's kitchen. And I can make a killer steak." "Sounds good." "And if we have time, I can play my harmonica for you." "Let's save that for when we fix the loophole." "Yeah! And when we do, you can be advisor." "I would rather stick to being your lawyer." "How about being my 'friend'?" "Sure, buddy." __________________________________________________________________ Stellar law advice over on [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/). Jump in front of a car, and I will get you millions!
[WP] You were bitten by a zombie, but kept your mind. While other zombies are running around killing for brains, you are trying to figure out what to do next.	Pain. You look down. You see the item fall out of your head. Metal. It is metal. You recall with perfect clarity what the object is made out of. Wait, what? That can't be right. You know this because...because... You think for awhile-give or take five minutes, but eventually it comes to you. You were bitten. There's the answer. It took awhile to come to you, but your mind is as sharp as ever. One of them bit you. The walking corpses that are plaguing this world, killing everything they can get a hold of. Those mindless killing machines that ruined the world. Zombies. Wait. This is wrong. Zombies don't think. Or at least, they shouldn't. The ones your group of survivors encountered were more like simple beasts than any human-even some of the stupider ones you've seen. Why are you different? You struggle as you try to remember. While you can still think perfectly fine, your mind is no longer as fast as it once was. Maybe that throbbing in your head is related to it? You gingerly reach up, scraping dirt encrusted nails across your forehead, tearing into your rotten scalp. You idly note that you can't feel pain. Suddenly, you remember why that throbbing is there. They put the metal object in your head. They did it. The others. Your fellow survivors. They did it because you had been bitten. It was the sensible thing to do, you all agreed. You didn't want to infect them, and they didn't want you infecting anyone else. So, they shot you in the head. Once. No sense in wasting ammunition, after all. But you had managed to survive...and what's more, you could think! You could think like a human, yet you had all the benefits of their "condition". Zombies never tired, didn't need to sleep, and-so far as anyone knew, didn't need to eat. (didn't stop them from doing so, though. Poor Jesse) If you joined up again, you could help them even more. You could save them from the other zombies. If only you could speed up your thoughts. Maybe it was the result of the shot to the head? You moan in annoyance. If only you had some way to fix your stupid brain! TAKE SOME. You jerk your head up, staring about wildly as you look around for who could have said that. TAKE SOME. With a start, you realize that this voice is in your head, apparently telling you to "Take some." But take some what? TAKE SOME THOUGHTS. You puzzle out the meaning of this and then realize: it wants you to eat others! You shake your head in disgust-you aren't some undead freak like the others! TAKE SOME THOUGHTS TO GET SOME THOUGHTS. You pause, then go over to the window. Down below you can see a survivor-the lone wolf type with plenty of guns. No, I shouldn't. TAKE SOME THOUGHTS. Is this what I've become? Another one of them? TAKE SOME THOUGHTS. Besides, he would shoot me before I even reached him. I'd die again if he saw me. But as you shake your head to dissuade yourself from ideas that aren't yours, you happen to glance over at the man again. He is standing underneath your window, in plain sight as he relentlessly mows down the undead on the street. DROP SOMETHING. You look in the apartment for something heavy. There! An old TV! Without pausing to think, you lift it and throw it out of the window, almost certainly killing him. You quickly run down, eager to get at his thoughts. Thoughts? Isn't the thing in his head called something else? You shake your head-no matter. You just need his thoughts, and then you'll be good as new. Just like before! You'll be back to normal. Having reached his corpse, you lick your lips, and begin to dig in. TAKE IT ALL. You heed the voice, messily eating everything you can tear off his corpse. Suddenly, you hear a voice. "Joe? Are you okay? I stopped hearing yo-OH MY GOD! JOE!" She covered her mouth with both hands as she looked at you. Mouth still full, you turned your head towards her. TAKE SOME MORE. Yes, you needed some more. You didn't have nearly enough thoughts. You needed more. MORE. You lunged at her, but she was ready. She brought her handgun up. 8 mm. Same thing they used. You'll be fine. And indeed, you were. You aren't sure why-the movies say you wouldn't be moving right now. You don't care. TAKE SOME MORE. "Shit, no no no, not like this, please, god, anything but this..." she sobs as she starts to run. You easily catch her, sending her to the ground. You legs dully ache, the result of you putting more stress than a human would have on them in order to outpace a human. You aren't concerned. After all, you have enough meat here to repair any damage that you would have endured, so why should you be concerned? And after this, well, your fellow survivors can be of use to you in getting more meat. And if they aren't, well... You'll just have to take some. *** Though you claim to be above your condition, you are clearly acclimatized to your transition, so shed your humanity, and submit to the disease, as you pretend you don't bring others down onto their knees.	The first thing I heard was the screaming. My vision was blurry, and there were people all around me.. Someone was screaming something, my name? It called out desperately, "THOMAS! THOMAS ARE YOU THERE?" Slowly the mess of blurry colors sharpened to show 2 people in front of a fortified building, one of them was calling me, the other was pulling him back, "He's dead Roy, there's nothing you can do." This was obviously not true! I stood up and started waving my hands frantically, but Roy seemed to realize the futility of the situation and left willingly. That's when I realized the nature of the crowd I was in. They were horrid looking things, shambling about, zombies. But, why were they ignoring me? Was I... no, it couldn't be! Not like this, I looked down at my chest, there was a huge gash in what used to be my chest cavity. I couldn't help it, I started screaming, it came out rasping, as if my vocal cords didn't have the strength to power the scream. All the zombies stopped at once and with feverish energy, started scrambling about and looking for the source of the humanoid scream, after several minutes, they seemed to calm down and went back to moaning and groaning like idiots. Why wasn't I just like them, moaning and groaning like a mindless blob of rotten flesh? Did fate not think it was cruel enough to take my life and turn me into a zombie, but also to give me the mind of a man? I lay down on the ground, trying to cry, no tears come out though, all the fluid in my body had been sucked out or dried. One zombie, taking me for a dead body, attempts to bite into my arm, I jerk it away, "Shoo! Get away!" I rasp, the zombie confusedly shambles off. I sit there for a bit, figuring out what to do, screams ring out through the street, no doubt more mindless zombies being created... I pinch myself, thinking this is a dream, unfortunately the skin comes peeling right off painlessly. I guess this is real alright. Suddenly, the sound of shotguns go off, a cluster of bullets shred through the zombies on my right, uncertain and disoriented, I see the ragged looking humans. It's the two from before, I look at them, suddenly I'm very hungry, like a mad hunger coming from the pit of my soul, I look at the pair of humans with a mix of hunger and repulsion, the two natures of my body and brain clashing. Before I can decide which action to act upon, the one that was called Roy stares me in the eyes, a flash of recognition showing across his face. "THOMAS! YOU'RE ALIVE!". The other man, with a grim look on his face, walks up with a gun in hand. "That's not Thomas anymore..." I suddenly realize what he's about to do, and I frantically start trying to explain what happened, but all that comes out is a series of incomprehensible moans, this seemed to harden the man of any hesitation he would've had, he took aim... The last thing I heard was the screaming.
[WP] Since birth, you've had the ability to detect the happiest person in any room, marked by a bright light only visible to you. You are at your grandmother's funeral, and you see an orange glow coming from your grandfather.	"You don't know how much I miss you, Ethel," he sighed, his eulogy coming to a close. "But I know how much pain you were in. I'll miss you, my darling, but I'll be with you soon, and we really will dance among the stars. Have fun up there, and keep my seat warm."	After the service I went up to him. He was dabbing the tears from his eyes. Or at least that's how it looked from a distance. Upon closer inspection, however, he seemed just to be going through the motions. There were no tears in his eyes, and there was no moisture on his handkerchief. "So Gramps," I said. "Yes, John, my sweet grandson? Thank you for coming. This is a hard day for me especially, but I know it is hard for you too, for everyone. I appreciate your presence here today." "Right, yes, for sure," I said, looking around at the crowd of people confabulating with their heads bowed, in low voices. I wanted to see if the light had transferred to one of them. I looked back at my grandfather. The light still shined through his face. He was definitely the happiest person here. But why? "So how are you feeling?" I asked. "Oh fine," he said cheerily. Then he backtracked and put on a saddened countenance. "I mean, I'm trying to deal with it as best as I can. As are we all." "Right," I said. Something was up. But how could I get him to spill his secret, and did I even really want to know what it was? He put his hand on my shoulder. "Things are going to be a lot different now," he said absentmindedly. "For all of us. But especially for your grandmother and I." I looked at him confusedly. "I mean," he stammered, "of course it will be different for her. Because she is dead. In heaven it will be much different than here on Earth. As they say, the Kingdom of God is wonderful, and filled with..such sights as..." He trailed off. "And what will you do with your time dearest and eldest patriarch of our clan?" I asked. "Hunt ducks," he said flatly. "Where do you think the dead go?" I asked him. "Heaven," he said. He was getting irritated. "The heaven of the bible?" "Don't make me take out my belt, boy," he said, threateningly. He looked coldly into my eyes. But by the glow of his face I could tell he was still the happiest person in the room. "This isn't the time to bother your old grandfather about metaphysical questions regarding the Scripture. This is a time to mourn your grandmother, to whom you owe everything." "Are you in mourning?" I asked him. "You little weasel," he said, undoing his belt. "You little ruffian. Am I in morning? I'll teach you manners." "Dad!" shouted my mom, running over. Everyone was watching the geriatric widower tremble and fumble with his belt buckle. "What's going on?" she asked. "Everyone's watching." Grandpa looked up and around at all the people, silent, watching him. He smiled awkwardly and took his hands from his belt. "Did you tell them?" he asked me through the corner of his mouth. "Tell them what?" I said, but cockily, as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. A dark spot bloomed on his pants. One of the children in the multitude pointed at it and said: "Look, he peed." The whole congregation started laughing at him. The old man looked down at his pants and saw that he had indeed micturated involuntarily. "I'll string you up like a rabbit, boy," he whispered in my ear. Then he left the room of redoubling, raucous laughter.
[WP] Since birth, you've had the ability to detect the happiest person in any room, marked by a bright light only visible to you. You are at your grandmother's funeral, and you see an orange glow coming from your grandfather.	"Grandpa?" I joined him at the casket and searched his face. He leaned heavily on his cane, but his expression was peaceful and lit from within by the light only I could see: he was the happiest person in the room. "Amy, my dear, it's good to see you." His eyes left the casket and Grandma's body to cut over to mine. "You must be wondering why I'm happy." Grandpa knew, of course he knew. When I was little, he had been the first person to believe me when I said what I could see. "Yeah, I am." His gaze settled back on Grandma's face, and he leaned both hands on his cane. He sighed. "I'm glad you were too busy to visit before she died." I winced--the guilt had been stinging me since I'd received word. Grandpa smiled sadly at my reaction, his eyes never moving. "I'm glad," he repeated firmly. "It was awful. Just awful. The pain she was in. She wasn't even my Marigold anymore. She was a wounded animal." He lifted a hand to swipe at the tears welling in his eyes. "No one should have to live in that state, and no one should have to see what she'd become. She wouldn't have wanted you to have that memory, Amy." I stepped closer and hugged him. He leaned into me, one wiry arm going around my back. He cleared his throat before he could speak. "At the end, at the very end, when her body was finally giving up, one of the things it gave up on must have been pain." He fell silent, and I could feel his ribs and back moving convulsively. I couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying. "She came back to me, Amy. For the last little moment, she was back. She looked right at me and smiled. And then she was gone." He pushed me to arm's length and locked eyes with me. "She finally escaped the pain, Amy. And I couldn't be happier."	After the service I went up to him. He was dabbing the tears from his eyes. Or at least that's how it looked from a distance. Upon closer inspection, however, he seemed just to be going through the motions. There were no tears in his eyes, and there was no moisture on his handkerchief. "So Gramps," I said. "Yes, John, my sweet grandson? Thank you for coming. This is a hard day for me especially, but I know it is hard for you too, for everyone. I appreciate your presence here today." "Right, yes, for sure," I said, looking around at the crowd of people confabulating with their heads bowed, in low voices. I wanted to see if the light had transferred to one of them. I looked back at my grandfather. The light still shined through his face. He was definitely the happiest person here. But why? "So how are you feeling?" I asked. "Oh fine," he said cheerily. Then he backtracked and put on a saddened countenance. "I mean, I'm trying to deal with it as best as I can. As are we all." "Right," I said. Something was up. But how could I get him to spill his secret, and did I even really want to know what it was? He put his hand on my shoulder. "Things are going to be a lot different now," he said absentmindedly. "For all of us. But especially for your grandmother and I." I looked at him confusedly. "I mean," he stammered, "of course it will be different for her. Because she is dead. In heaven it will be much different than here on Earth. As they say, the Kingdom of God is wonderful, and filled with..such sights as..." He trailed off. "And what will you do with your time dearest and eldest patriarch of our clan?" I asked. "Hunt ducks," he said flatly. "Where do you think the dead go?" I asked him. "Heaven," he said. He was getting irritated. "The heaven of the bible?" "Don't make me take out my belt, boy," he said, threateningly. He looked coldly into my eyes. But by the glow of his face I could tell he was still the happiest person in the room. "This isn't the time to bother your old grandfather about metaphysical questions regarding the Scripture. This is a time to mourn your grandmother, to whom you owe everything." "Are you in mourning?" I asked him. "You little weasel," he said, undoing his belt. "You little ruffian. Am I in morning? I'll teach you manners." "Dad!" shouted my mom, running over. Everyone was watching the geriatric widower tremble and fumble with his belt buckle. "What's going on?" she asked. "Everyone's watching." Grandpa looked up and around at all the people, silent, watching him. He smiled awkwardly and took his hands from his belt. "Did you tell them?" he asked me through the corner of his mouth. "Tell them what?" I said, but cockily, as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. A dark spot bloomed on his pants. One of the children in the multitude pointed at it and said: "Look, he peed." The whole congregation started laughing at him. The old man looked down at his pants and saw that he had indeed micturated involuntarily. "I'll string you up like a rabbit, boy," he whispered in my ear. Then he left the room of redoubling, raucous laughter.
[WP] Since birth, you've had the ability to detect the happiest person in any room, marked by a bright light only visible to you. You are at your grandmother's funeral, and you see an orange glow coming from your grandfather.	"Grandpa?" I joined him at the casket and searched his face. He leaned heavily on his cane, but his expression was peaceful and lit from within by the light only I could see: he was the happiest person in the room. "Amy, my dear, it's good to see you." His eyes left the casket and Grandma's body to cut over to mine. "You must be wondering why I'm happy." Grandpa knew, of course he knew. When I was little, he had been the first person to believe me when I said what I could see. "Yeah, I am." His gaze settled back on Grandma's face, and he leaned both hands on his cane. He sighed. "I'm glad you were too busy to visit before she died." I winced--the guilt had been stinging me since I'd received word. Grandpa smiled sadly at my reaction, his eyes never moving. "I'm glad," he repeated firmly. "It was awful. Just awful. The pain she was in. She wasn't even my Marigold anymore. She was a wounded animal." He lifted a hand to swipe at the tears welling in his eyes. "No one should have to live in that state, and no one should have to see what she'd become. She wouldn't have wanted you to have that memory, Amy." I stepped closer and hugged him. He leaned into me, one wiry arm going around my back. He cleared his throat before he could speak. "At the end, at the very end, when her body was finally giving up, one of the things it gave up on must have been pain." He fell silent, and I could feel his ribs and back moving convulsively. I couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying. "She came back to me, Amy. For the last little moment, she was back. She looked right at me and smiled. And then she was gone." He pushed me to arm's length and locked eyes with me. "She finally escaped the pain, Amy. And I couldn't be happier."	"You don't know how much I miss you, Ethel," he sighed, his eulogy coming to a close. "But I know how much pain you were in. I'll miss you, my darling, but I'll be with you soon, and we really will dance among the stars. Have fun up there, and keep my seat warm."
[WP] "Do you trust me?"	"Do you trust me?" Louise looked over at Bob, dumbfounded by the question that had just left his lips. "How can you ask me that in this situation, Bob? No, I don't trust you!" Bob looked down at his fiancé, "How can you say that now? We are supposed to be getting married later this week, and now you say you don't trust me?" Louise sat there contemplating her life choices that got her to this point. They were now stranded behind some cover, hearing the bullets whiz past overhead. "Bob, do you remember the last time you asked me that question?" "I'm not sure honey... what happened?" "You pushed me out of a freaking plane!" "Oh come on... It was your 21st birthday and I wanted to surprise you. How many people can say they went skydiving on their 21st birthday?" "That's fine Bob, but you should have waited until after I put my parachute on to push me out. The only reason I'm alive is because the guy who was going to record the occasion dropped his gear and hooked me up to his harness before deploying his parachute!" "Yeah... I wish he would have gotten that on film, that would have been an awesome scene in a movie." "That's just it Bob! You think your life is just some action movie fantasy! And now, you're planning on just making me your co-star in some of the scenes you have built up in your head!" Bob looked at her with a blank stare. "I'm sorry honey, what did you say? I was just thinking how the next thing we should try is bungee jumping. You would trust me with that, right?" She gazed into his eyes, and a look of disgust came over her face. "I can't believe how insensitive you can be sometimes. Listen, we are here now, and we need to get out of here, right? How about we reverse roles for your plan. You stand up and provide me some cover fire, and I will run over to that rock and take cover, ok?" Bob smiled back. "Anything you say, babe." With that, he stood and started spraying shots wildly. Louise sat there and smiled, not moving an inch from her spot. She knew better. It was 5 against 2 right now, they weren't going to make it out of this. It wasn't long before Bob winced in pain, and fell back to the ground. "Louise! Why didn't you stick to the plan?" She continued to smile as paint drips began to roll down his chest. "I guess I just have trust issues baby... I'm sorry." Bob just shook his head. "I think we need to see a pre-marriage counselor." Louise nodded. "I think that is one of the wisest things you have said to me in a long time hun." --------------------------------------------------- If you would like to read more of my stories, you can check out my subreddit! /r/vintnerwrites	"Do you trust me?" Thebes asks of Coraline, as they dangle from the window sill. She hadn't paid attention to the question. Instead, her focus gazes on a mound of jewels and coin, nestled deep in the kings treasury. "Coraline?" "Hmm?" She responds, her imagination running wild with what she could do with such loot. "Do you trust me?" Thebes asks again, a tinge of stress dousing his words. "Depends on the context," Coraline lifts herself up, the window now the only obstacle between her and salvation. "How about right now?" He joins her, partially scratched and bruised from the climb up. Thebes was never as agile as his counterpart. "Not overly," Coraline says dully, her worries not with the fears of a nervous man. "But I suppose I will." She places her palm onto the window, and digging into the small pouch she has attached to her waist, retrieves a glass cutting tool. "You're not instilling me with confidence here," Thebes glances down, then up, then left and right, trying his best to notice any guards before they notice him. "Either are you. Paranoia has a foul stench." The glass crackes gently underneath the blades pressure, creating a perfect hole in which Thebes was able to place his hands on. He grips at the new opening and begins to tug in every direction, as quietly as possible of course, until it gives out and becomes loose. "Easy," Thebes remarks, as he delicately places the glass on the ground. "Naturally." Coraline descends into the kings treasure trove. The insurmountable wealth that laid callously on a floor, a few gems of which would cure hunger for an entire village, lay bare for the taking. Thebes pushes past her and begins to fill his pockets and then some. "We're rich!" He exclaims. "As rich as thieves could be." Coraline joins him, stuffing gem and coin into her pockets, then her pouch and then anything else she had on her which could carry such precious material. Thebes pulls a sack out of his pocket and begins to fill it. "Hey, do you trust me?" Coraline asks, breaking the sound of rustling coin. "Of course." Thebes says, seconds before Coraline's glass cutting tool pierces his throat. With a thud, his corpse collapses. Coraline stood behind it with blood-soaked hands. "Never a smart decision." She remarks to herself, grabbing his sack and leaving through the window.
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	Villain: "Join me and we can rule the world!" Hero: "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"	"I would love to," Robo-Woman replied. Dr. Devious was stunned. It was this easy? After all this time? "You see, ever since my conversion, these pitiful humans have been a thorn in my side. They do not understand anything. If only I could show them what I have seen. I will convert them into superior beings, so that they will truly be free." Dr. Devious started to smile as Robo-Woman extended an arm towards him. Finally, he would unlock her secrets and use them for himself. Suddenly, he felt a prick. As he looked down, he noticed the needle poking out from Robo-Woman's gloved hand. Dr. Devious drifted off as he heard Robo-Woman say "Of course, you will be the first."
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	"No, you join me." "Then you shall d- I'm sorry, what did you just say?" asked a suddenly-bewildered Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows. "I said you should join me." replied Sir Palador, his golden-armored hand outstretched toward Tyranicus. Tyranicus sat on the stolen throne at the top of the flight of stairs in the main chamber, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. He had donned his demonic armor and dreaded weapon, the Hell Spear, for this climactic battle against Sir Palador. The join-me-or-die thing was simply a delay tactic so his minions could prepare their spell of ultimate power to revive him if (or likely when) he fell. This was... not accounted for. "...why?" was all Tyranicus could say. Sir Palador lowered his free hand and rested the handle of the Axe of Glory on his pauldron. "Let me ask you something, Tyranicus. Let's say you kill me here. No one's left to challenge your reign and the kingdom remains in your iron grasp. What then? What's your next move?" "What else? I win! I become king and rule over the land. All shall worship me!" Tyranicus cackled and pounded his chest with his fist. "And who is 'all', exactly? Because if you haven't noticed, the kingdom is now just full of monsters. Your monsters, in fact. Everyone else has fled to the neighboring nations, all of whom have also burnt their bridges and barricaded the roads to prevent any travel or trade into here. The kingdom is entirely isolated and full of your dumb, mute, ineffectual monsters. That's your population. And keep in mind, I say 'ineffectual' because while I may be outfitted with the sacred weapons of the Legion of Light, I am still only one man. And if you think I've given you trouble, just imagine what would happen if those countries decided you were too big of a threat and joined forces to end your reign." "Ha! Let them!" yelled Tyranicus, though with some trepidation in his voice. "I am to be feared by all who dare oppose me! I shall destroy them all!" "And perhaps you would, but what of your kingdom then? Already in the struggle we've shared, half the forest has been demolished, the ancient ruins are now shattered, the Cavern of Mystery is screaming incoherently, the Supreme Vault has been swallowed into the Bottomless Depths, and with the exception of this one room we stand in, the entire castle is on fire. That was against just me. If you were to somehow defeat them, what would your kingdom be, I wonder? A blasted-out crater? A smoldering box that you sit on and call your throne while you survey all of the dirt and mud around you? Is that what you set out to achieve? Will that be the legacy of Tyranicus? 'King of a hole'?" "Enough! ENOUGH!" bellowed Tyranicus. At first he thought that the walls shaking as he roared were due to him, but a moment's pause gave him the opportunity to hear another set of support beams from a nearby room had fallen, no doubt succumbing to the damage from the aforementioned flames. Tyranicus glanced out a nearby window and saw what was once a lush green countryside now turned to cinders and ash, thanks in part to his siege against the castle, and partially from defending it against Sir Palador's own one-man raid. He rose from the throne and began to descend the stairs slowly. "And what would you propose, exactly?" Sir Palador stood his ground, though his grip on the Axe of Glory tightened as Tyranicus gradually drew near. "It's clear that you have immense skill, that your mastery of magic is indeed remarkable. You crave more power, but your methods can ultimately only bring destruction and ruin, even for yourself. I contend, Tyranicus, that you would achieve all that you want and more through love." "Love?!" Tyranicus guffawed as he stood midway on the flight of stairs. "You want to be worshiped, do you not? Tell me, who besides the gods is ever shown that much devotion? The mythical heroes of bygone days, the legendary kings and queens who saved our ancestors from peril, the alchemists and inventors who ushered in the Age of Understanding. All of them accomplished feats of immense greatness for the betterment of their fellow people, and their stories and songs have spread through the kingdom and beyond. Even though you destroyed the statues and burned the tapestries, their names and triumphs still persist and will continue to grow because they are loved. And through that love, they are immortal, invincible, and all-powerful. Tell me, do you think the slime monsters that currently reside in your moat will ever sing about your greatness?" At last, Tyranicus stood face to face with Sir Palador. "No," said Tyranicus, "I suppose they will not." "Then join me, and we can rebuild this land. If I were to kill you now, I have no doubt the people would sing my praises. But I am more than willing to share the acclaim if you will work beside me and restore the kingdom." "But how? How could you possibly convince them to trust in me?" Tyranicus asked. Sir Palador offered his hand once again. "It's simple. We kill Tyranicus." ------ And so it became known that Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows, had fallen. Though the battle was said to be intense, Sir Palador had been triumphant in destroying his enemy's forces and bringing the fiend to his very knees. However, it was the wizard Tirodar who had dealt the finishing blow and slayed the would-be king, according to Sir Palador himself. Together, Sir Palador and Tirodar would spend years undoing the damage caused by Tyranicus, and Tirodar would later be known as "Tirodar the Mysterious and Wise". And though stories spread of both heroes, the story of Tirodar's origins would remain a secret forever.	"I would love to," Robo-Woman replied. Dr. Devious was stunned. It was this easy? After all this time? "You see, ever since my conversion, these pitiful humans have been a thorn in my side. They do not understand anything. If only I could show them what I have seen. I will convert them into superior beings, so that they will truly be free." Dr. Devious started to smile as Robo-Woman extended an arm towards him. Finally, he would unlock her secrets and use them for himself. Suddenly, he felt a prick. As he looked down, he noticed the needle poking out from Robo-Woman's gloved hand. Dr. Devious drifted off as he heard Robo-Woman say "Of course, you will be the first."
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	'Pardon?' 'Sorry,' Krathnar said. 'I thought you were serious.' He paused, and gestured with his sword at the two halves of what had, up until a few minutes earlier, been Count Dagnar's second-favourite henchman. 'I guess we can do the whole fighting thing if you want. I don't mind either way.' Dagnar lowered his cowl, unsure he was hearing the young man properly. 'You're telling me you want to join me?' 'Sure. I mean, you know, half a kingdom is half a kingdom. Better than a kick in the pants, right?' In the space of five short minutes, the whole encounter had gone decidedly off-book. Oh, it had started familiarly enough -- the bruised and battered hero, besworded and beloinclothed, barging into the Count's throne room looking for trouble; the quick and gory dispatching of a number of palace guards who, for some reason and in complete denial of their training, had insisted on attacking him one by one -- but when Dagnar had made his usual offer, the young man seemed unusually intrigued. 'No backsies,' Krathnar said. 'You said we could split the kingdom if I joined you. Half and half. I'm holding you to that.' A look of confusion settled on Dagnar's scarred brow. 'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Yep. Sign me up, Boss. Let's get this show on the road.' 'But... why?' 'Let me ask you something,' the adventurer asked. 'Do you ever just get a bit tired of it all? Ruling your own nation with an iron fist?' 'Nope. Never. Not once.' 'Exactly!' Krathnar raised his hands to the sky in exasperation. 'Because being a despotic ruler is sweet as. Do you know what I was doing before this? I was a blacksmith. A blacksmith, Dagnar. I wasn't a prince from a foreign land. I wasn't some displaced nobleman. I made footwear for horses all damn day, seven days a week. And then there was three months wandering around a bastard forest while your goons decided to try and stick an arrow up my arse at every available opportunity, and now you're telling me that if I join you I get to go halves on a kingdom? Money and power? Women? Magic?' He paused. 'I mean, you can see where I'm coming from, right?' Dagnar nodded, slowly. He made a good point. 'I'd definitely take the deal, if I were you. No doubt.' 'Maybe this heroing thing isn't for me, you know?' 'Sure. Can't be for everyone. Different strokes, and all that.' 'And I know there was a prophecy, but...' Dangnar gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Oh, prophecy schmophecy. Do you have any idea how many soothsayers we have around these parts? You can't even blow your nose without hitting an old bat trying to sell you some guff about being the Chosen One.' 'Really?' 'Yep. You're the third one this month.' 'Huh,' Krathnar said. 'How about that? Any of the rest of them take the deal?' 'Not a one.' 'What happened to them?' Dagnar pointed across to his throne of skulls. 'I had it reupholstered. And I've got another one just like it in the upstairs bathroom.' He smiled. 'Made out of the ones who really pissed me off.' His guest thought it over, but it was clear his mind was made up. 'So... definitely a good deal, then? That's what you're saying?' 'I'd say so, yeah.' The Count stepped over the corpse on the floor and placed a wrinkled hand on the young adventurer's shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'I'll show you to your new office, and we'll see about getting you on payroll. I get the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, you and I.' And if not, he thought as they left the throne room, there'll always be the next Chosen One to clean up the mess. _____ If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.	"I would love to," Robo-Woman replied. Dr. Devious was stunned. It was this easy? After all this time? "You see, ever since my conversion, these pitiful humans have been a thorn in my side. They do not understand anything. If only I could show them what I have seen. I will convert them into superior beings, so that they will truly be free." Dr. Devious started to smile as Robo-Woman extended an arm towards him. Finally, he would unlock her secrets and use them for himself. Suddenly, he felt a prick. As he looked down, he noticed the needle poking out from Robo-Woman's gloved hand. Dr. Devious drifted off as he heard Robo-Woman say "Of course, you will be the first."
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	Villain: "Join me and we can rule the world!" Hero: "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"	"Join me, Regit, and we shall rule the world together!" The masked hooded figure said. Her dark, indigo cloak billowing in the wind as he directed his attention towards me. I cleared my mind and focused on one thing: her mind. My powers allow me to do various things, mind reading included. Surprisingly enough, this villain shows no intention of stabbing me in the back if I join with her, rather showing only the intention of ridding the world of conflict. After a few moments of anxious tension in the air, the sounds of car alarms glaring underneath us crowds of people began gathering to behold this fight between the powerful. I looked beneath us, then back at the figure before me and said, "Will we make this world a utopia?" I could see a faint trace of a smile on her face as she glides towards me and extends a hand, "Done." I clasp it and hear people murmuring below us; unsure if the hero became a villain or if the villain became a hero. The people in the crowds were confused; after all, why would the hero Regit join with the sinister Phantom? "Villains!" I hear someone scream below us. "You foolish people!" I spat, barely restraining my annoyance. "This world has been riddled with war and strife! Don't you people ever tire of conflict? Day after day, night after night; I fight. After enough time, you realize the hopelessness and fruitlessness of a hero's vigil. I wish for a utopia, where there will be no more needless conflict." I yelled. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Phantom whispered to me, "There is always mind control." She slowly descended to the middle of the crowd and the crowd parted away from her. Suddenly, I felt a high amount of energy emitted from her and the crowds, as if they had their will taken away, suddenly fell into an eerie quiet. "Stop! I do not wish for the people of this city to be mindless ants!" I said with frustration. I continued, "I only wish for them to realize themselves the pointlessness of all this! I will not side with you." I yelled. Wind began gathering around me and power flowed to my hands as I prepare to fight once more. Here we go again...
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	"No, you join me." "Then you shall d- I'm sorry, what did you just say?" asked a suddenly-bewildered Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows. "I said you should join me." replied Sir Palador, his golden-armored hand outstretched toward Tyranicus. Tyranicus sat on the stolen throne at the top of the flight of stairs in the main chamber, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. He had donned his demonic armor and dreaded weapon, the Hell Spear, for this climactic battle against Sir Palador. The join-me-or-die thing was simply a delay tactic so his minions could prepare their spell of ultimate power to revive him if (or likely when) he fell. This was... not accounted for. "...why?" was all Tyranicus could say. Sir Palador lowered his free hand and rested the handle of the Axe of Glory on his pauldron. "Let me ask you something, Tyranicus. Let's say you kill me here. No one's left to challenge your reign and the kingdom remains in your iron grasp. What then? What's your next move?" "What else? I win! I become king and rule over the land. All shall worship me!" Tyranicus cackled and pounded his chest with his fist. "And who is 'all', exactly? Because if you haven't noticed, the kingdom is now just full of monsters. Your monsters, in fact. Everyone else has fled to the neighboring nations, all of whom have also burnt their bridges and barricaded the roads to prevent any travel or trade into here. The kingdom is entirely isolated and full of your dumb, mute, ineffectual monsters. That's your population. And keep in mind, I say 'ineffectual' because while I may be outfitted with the sacred weapons of the Legion of Light, I am still only one man. And if you think I've given you trouble, just imagine what would happen if those countries decided you were too big of a threat and joined forces to end your reign." "Ha! Let them!" yelled Tyranicus, though with some trepidation in his voice. "I am to be feared by all who dare oppose me! I shall destroy them all!" "And perhaps you would, but what of your kingdom then? Already in the struggle we've shared, half the forest has been demolished, the ancient ruins are now shattered, the Cavern of Mystery is screaming incoherently, the Supreme Vault has been swallowed into the Bottomless Depths, and with the exception of this one room we stand in, the entire castle is on fire. That was against just me. If you were to somehow defeat them, what would your kingdom be, I wonder? A blasted-out crater? A smoldering box that you sit on and call your throne while you survey all of the dirt and mud around you? Is that what you set out to achieve? Will that be the legacy of Tyranicus? 'King of a hole'?" "Enough! ENOUGH!" bellowed Tyranicus. At first he thought that the walls shaking as he roared were due to him, but a moment's pause gave him the opportunity to hear another set of support beams from a nearby room had fallen, no doubt succumbing to the damage from the aforementioned flames. Tyranicus glanced out a nearby window and saw what was once a lush green countryside now turned to cinders and ash, thanks in part to his siege against the castle, and partially from defending it against Sir Palador's own one-man raid. He rose from the throne and began to descend the stairs slowly. "And what would you propose, exactly?" Sir Palador stood his ground, though his grip on the Axe of Glory tightened as Tyranicus gradually drew near. "It's clear that you have immense skill, that your mastery of magic is indeed remarkable. You crave more power, but your methods can ultimately only bring destruction and ruin, even for yourself. I contend, Tyranicus, that you would achieve all that you want and more through love." "Love?!" Tyranicus guffawed as he stood midway on the flight of stairs. "You want to be worshiped, do you not? Tell me, who besides the gods is ever shown that much devotion? The mythical heroes of bygone days, the legendary kings and queens who saved our ancestors from peril, the alchemists and inventors who ushered in the Age of Understanding. All of them accomplished feats of immense greatness for the betterment of their fellow people, and their stories and songs have spread through the kingdom and beyond. Even though you destroyed the statues and burned the tapestries, their names and triumphs still persist and will continue to grow because they are loved. And through that love, they are immortal, invincible, and all-powerful. Tell me, do you think the slime monsters that currently reside in your moat will ever sing about your greatness?" At last, Tyranicus stood face to face with Sir Palador. "No," said Tyranicus, "I suppose they will not." "Then join me, and we can rebuild this land. If I were to kill you now, I have no doubt the people would sing my praises. But I am more than willing to share the acclaim if you will work beside me and restore the kingdom." "But how? How could you possibly convince them to trust in me?" Tyranicus asked. Sir Palador offered his hand once again. "It's simple. We kill Tyranicus." ------ And so it became known that Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows, had fallen. Though the battle was said to be intense, Sir Palador had been triumphant in destroying his enemy's forces and bringing the fiend to his very knees. However, it was the wizard Tirodar who had dealt the finishing blow and slayed the would-be king, according to Sir Palador himself. Together, Sir Palador and Tirodar would spend years undoing the damage caused by Tyranicus, and Tirodar would later be known as "Tirodar the Mysterious and Wise". And though stories spread of both heroes, the story of Tirodar's origins would remain a secret forever.	"Join me, Regit, and we shall rule the world together!" The masked hooded figure said. Her dark, indigo cloak billowing in the wind as he directed his attention towards me. I cleared my mind and focused on one thing: her mind. My powers allow me to do various things, mind reading included. Surprisingly enough, this villain shows no intention of stabbing me in the back if I join with her, rather showing only the intention of ridding the world of conflict. After a few moments of anxious tension in the air, the sounds of car alarms glaring underneath us crowds of people began gathering to behold this fight between the powerful. I looked beneath us, then back at the figure before me and said, "Will we make this world a utopia?" I could see a faint trace of a smile on her face as she glides towards me and extends a hand, "Done." I clasp it and hear people murmuring below us; unsure if the hero became a villain or if the villain became a hero. The people in the crowds were confused; after all, why would the hero Regit join with the sinister Phantom? "Villains!" I hear someone scream below us. "You foolish people!" I spat, barely restraining my annoyance. "This world has been riddled with war and strife! Don't you people ever tire of conflict? Day after day, night after night; I fight. After enough time, you realize the hopelessness and fruitlessness of a hero's vigil. I wish for a utopia, where there will be no more needless conflict." I yelled. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Phantom whispered to me, "There is always mind control." She slowly descended to the middle of the crowd and the crowd parted away from her. Suddenly, I felt a high amount of energy emitted from her and the crowds, as if they had their will taken away, suddenly fell into an eerie quiet. "Stop! I do not wish for the people of this city to be mindless ants!" I said with frustration. I continued, "I only wish for them to realize themselves the pointlessness of all this! I will not side with you." I yelled. Wind began gathering around me and power flowed to my hands as I prepare to fight once more. Here we go again...
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	"It figures," hissed the baron as he spit out another small mouthful of blood and dragged himself up another stair. "How poetic that it'd be some masked, nameless hero that'd be my undoing." The hero simply watched him bleed out. "It's a shame, truly." He propped himself into a seated position, trying in vain to hold his wounds closed. "Do you know what you've earned? Do you know how short-lived it will be?" He spat again. The hero was silent. "They'll celebrate you for a day or two, maybe even a week. You'll have wine and women for some weeks after that. And then you'll fade from their memory. You've saved their lives, yet you'll be a nuisance to them after a month. They never deserved you." The hero began to follow him up the stairs. "But do you know how long my operation has run? Seven years. And my lieutenants have lived in the lap of luxury all the while. They've had more than these scum would ever give you willingly. And it's not too late, you know. I admire your ambition, your tenacity. You could still find a place in my employ and live like a king. And I'd scarcely ask more from you than wiping these undeserving wretches off the map as I had planned. Or are you really so committed to the short-lived celebrity of a hero?" The hero knelt over him. "'Hero.' Why do people keep calling me that?" The baron was confused. "If the people of this civilization are dead, they would be a much tougher sell to our network of slavers." The baron stammered. "I am no hero; I am a scout. I'm here to make sure there are no idiots who would complicate our business. Such as you. And I didn't even need to call for backup to handle you -- if you were able to dominate these weaklings, they stand no chance against us."	"Join me, Regit, and we shall rule the world together!" The masked hooded figure said. Her dark, indigo cloak billowing in the wind as he directed his attention towards me. I cleared my mind and focused on one thing: her mind. My powers allow me to do various things, mind reading included. Surprisingly enough, this villain shows no intention of stabbing me in the back if I join with her, rather showing only the intention of ridding the world of conflict. After a few moments of anxious tension in the air, the sounds of car alarms glaring underneath us crowds of people began gathering to behold this fight between the powerful. I looked beneath us, then back at the figure before me and said, "Will we make this world a utopia?" I could see a faint trace of a smile on her face as she glides towards me and extends a hand, "Done." I clasp it and hear people murmuring below us; unsure if the hero became a villain or if the villain became a hero. The people in the crowds were confused; after all, why would the hero Regit join with the sinister Phantom? "Villains!" I hear someone scream below us. "You foolish people!" I spat, barely restraining my annoyance. "This world has been riddled with war and strife! Don't you people ever tire of conflict? Day after day, night after night; I fight. After enough time, you realize the hopelessness and fruitlessness of a hero's vigil. I wish for a utopia, where there will be no more needless conflict." I yelled. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Phantom whispered to me, "There is always mind control." She slowly descended to the middle of the crowd and the crowd parted away from her. Suddenly, I felt a high amount of energy emitted from her and the crowds, as if they had their will taken away, suddenly fell into an eerie quiet. "Stop! I do not wish for the people of this city to be mindless ants!" I said with frustration. I continued, "I only wish for them to realize themselves the pointlessness of all this! I will not side with you." I yelled. Wind began gathering around me and power flowed to my hands as I prepare to fight once more. Here we go again...
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	'Pardon?' 'Sorry,' Krathnar said. 'I thought you were serious.' He paused, and gestured with his sword at the two halves of what had, up until a few minutes earlier, been Count Dagnar's second-favourite henchman. 'I guess we can do the whole fighting thing if you want. I don't mind either way.' Dagnar lowered his cowl, unsure he was hearing the young man properly. 'You're telling me you want to join me?' 'Sure. I mean, you know, half a kingdom is half a kingdom. Better than a kick in the pants, right?' In the space of five short minutes, the whole encounter had gone decidedly off-book. Oh, it had started familiarly enough -- the bruised and battered hero, besworded and beloinclothed, barging into the Count's throne room looking for trouble; the quick and gory dispatching of a number of palace guards who, for some reason and in complete denial of their training, had insisted on attacking him one by one -- but when Dagnar had made his usual offer, the young man seemed unusually intrigued. 'No backsies,' Krathnar said. 'You said we could split the kingdom if I joined you. Half and half. I'm holding you to that.' A look of confusion settled on Dagnar's scarred brow. 'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Yep. Sign me up, Boss. Let's get this show on the road.' 'But... why?' 'Let me ask you something,' the adventurer asked. 'Do you ever just get a bit tired of it all? Ruling your own nation with an iron fist?' 'Nope. Never. Not once.' 'Exactly!' Krathnar raised his hands to the sky in exasperation. 'Because being a despotic ruler is sweet as. Do you know what I was doing before this? I was a blacksmith. A blacksmith, Dagnar. I wasn't a prince from a foreign land. I wasn't some displaced nobleman. I made footwear for horses all damn day, seven days a week. And then there was three months wandering around a bastard forest while your goons decided to try and stick an arrow up my arse at every available opportunity, and now you're telling me that if I join you I get to go halves on a kingdom? Money and power? Women? Magic?' He paused. 'I mean, you can see where I'm coming from, right?' Dagnar nodded, slowly. He made a good point. 'I'd definitely take the deal, if I were you. No doubt.' 'Maybe this heroing thing isn't for me, you know?' 'Sure. Can't be for everyone. Different strokes, and all that.' 'And I know there was a prophecy, but...' Dangnar gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Oh, prophecy schmophecy. Do you have any idea how many soothsayers we have around these parts? You can't even blow your nose without hitting an old bat trying to sell you some guff about being the Chosen One.' 'Really?' 'Yep. You're the third one this month.' 'Huh,' Krathnar said. 'How about that? Any of the rest of them take the deal?' 'Not a one.' 'What happened to them?' Dagnar pointed across to his throne of skulls. 'I had it reupholstered. And I've got another one just like it in the upstairs bathroom.' He smiled. 'Made out of the ones who really pissed me off.' His guest thought it over, but it was clear his mind was made up. 'So... definitely a good deal, then? That's what you're saying?' 'I'd say so, yeah.' The Count stepped over the corpse on the floor and placed a wrinkled hand on the young adventurer's shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'I'll show you to your new office, and we'll see about getting you on payroll. I get the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, you and I.' And if not, he thought as they left the throne room, there'll always be the next Chosen One to clean up the mess. _____ If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.	"Join me, Regit, and we shall rule the world together!" The masked hooded figure said. Her dark, indigo cloak billowing in the wind as he directed his attention towards me. I cleared my mind and focused on one thing: her mind. My powers allow me to do various things, mind reading included. Surprisingly enough, this villain shows no intention of stabbing me in the back if I join with her, rather showing only the intention of ridding the world of conflict. After a few moments of anxious tension in the air, the sounds of car alarms glaring underneath us crowds of people began gathering to behold this fight between the powerful. I looked beneath us, then back at the figure before me and said, "Will we make this world a utopia?" I could see a faint trace of a smile on her face as she glides towards me and extends a hand, "Done." I clasp it and hear people murmuring below us; unsure if the hero became a villain or if the villain became a hero. The people in the crowds were confused; after all, why would the hero Regit join with the sinister Phantom? "Villains!" I hear someone scream below us. "You foolish people!" I spat, barely restraining my annoyance. "This world has been riddled with war and strife! Don't you people ever tire of conflict? Day after day, night after night; I fight. After enough time, you realize the hopelessness and fruitlessness of a hero's vigil. I wish for a utopia, where there will be no more needless conflict." I yelled. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Phantom whispered to me, "There is always mind control." She slowly descended to the middle of the crowd and the crowd parted away from her. Suddenly, I felt a high amount of energy emitted from her and the crowds, as if they had their will taken away, suddenly fell into an eerie quiet. "Stop! I do not wish for the people of this city to be mindless ants!" I said with frustration. I continued, "I only wish for them to realize themselves the pointlessness of all this! I will not side with you." I yelled. Wind began gathering around me and power flowed to my hands as I prepare to fight once more. Here we go again...
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	"No, you join me." "Then you shall d- I'm sorry, what did you just say?" asked a suddenly-bewildered Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows. "I said you should join me." replied Sir Palador, his golden-armored hand outstretched toward Tyranicus. Tyranicus sat on the stolen throne at the top of the flight of stairs in the main chamber, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. He had donned his demonic armor and dreaded weapon, the Hell Spear, for this climactic battle against Sir Palador. The join-me-or-die thing was simply a delay tactic so his minions could prepare their spell of ultimate power to revive him if (or likely when) he fell. This was... not accounted for. "...why?" was all Tyranicus could say. Sir Palador lowered his free hand and rested the handle of the Axe of Glory on his pauldron. "Let me ask you something, Tyranicus. Let's say you kill me here. No one's left to challenge your reign and the kingdom remains in your iron grasp. What then? What's your next move?" "What else? I win! I become king and rule over the land. All shall worship me!" Tyranicus cackled and pounded his chest with his fist. "And who is 'all', exactly? Because if you haven't noticed, the kingdom is now just full of monsters. Your monsters, in fact. Everyone else has fled to the neighboring nations, all of whom have also burnt their bridges and barricaded the roads to prevent any travel or trade into here. The kingdom is entirely isolated and full of your dumb, mute, ineffectual monsters. That's your population. And keep in mind, I say 'ineffectual' because while I may be outfitted with the sacred weapons of the Legion of Light, I am still only one man. And if you think I've given you trouble, just imagine what would happen if those countries decided you were too big of a threat and joined forces to end your reign." "Ha! Let them!" yelled Tyranicus, though with some trepidation in his voice. "I am to be feared by all who dare oppose me! I shall destroy them all!" "And perhaps you would, but what of your kingdom then? Already in the struggle we've shared, half the forest has been demolished, the ancient ruins are now shattered, the Cavern of Mystery is screaming incoherently, the Supreme Vault has been swallowed into the Bottomless Depths, and with the exception of this one room we stand in, the entire castle is on fire. That was against just me. If you were to somehow defeat them, what would your kingdom be, I wonder? A blasted-out crater? A smoldering box that you sit on and call your throne while you survey all of the dirt and mud around you? Is that what you set out to achieve? Will that be the legacy of Tyranicus? 'King of a hole'?" "Enough! ENOUGH!" bellowed Tyranicus. At first he thought that the walls shaking as he roared were due to him, but a moment's pause gave him the opportunity to hear another set of support beams from a nearby room had fallen, no doubt succumbing to the damage from the aforementioned flames. Tyranicus glanced out a nearby window and saw what was once a lush green countryside now turned to cinders and ash, thanks in part to his siege against the castle, and partially from defending it against Sir Palador's own one-man raid. He rose from the throne and began to descend the stairs slowly. "And what would you propose, exactly?" Sir Palador stood his ground, though his grip on the Axe of Glory tightened as Tyranicus gradually drew near. "It's clear that you have immense skill, that your mastery of magic is indeed remarkable. You crave more power, but your methods can ultimately only bring destruction and ruin, even for yourself. I contend, Tyranicus, that you would achieve all that you want and more through love." "Love?!" Tyranicus guffawed as he stood midway on the flight of stairs. "You want to be worshiped, do you not? Tell me, who besides the gods is ever shown that much devotion? The mythical heroes of bygone days, the legendary kings and queens who saved our ancestors from peril, the alchemists and inventors who ushered in the Age of Understanding. All of them accomplished feats of immense greatness for the betterment of their fellow people, and their stories and songs have spread through the kingdom and beyond. Even though you destroyed the statues and burned the tapestries, their names and triumphs still persist and will continue to grow because they are loved. And through that love, they are immortal, invincible, and all-powerful. Tell me, do you think the slime monsters that currently reside in your moat will ever sing about your greatness?" At last, Tyranicus stood face to face with Sir Palador. "No," said Tyranicus, "I suppose they will not." "Then join me, and we can rebuild this land. If I were to kill you now, I have no doubt the people would sing my praises. But I am more than willing to share the acclaim if you will work beside me and restore the kingdom." "But how? How could you possibly convince them to trust in me?" Tyranicus asked. Sir Palador offered his hand once again. "It's simple. We kill Tyranicus." ------ And so it became known that Tyranicus, Lord of Blight and Bringer of Shadows, had fallen. Though the battle was said to be intense, Sir Palador had been triumphant in destroying his enemy's forces and bringing the fiend to his very knees. However, it was the wizard Tirodar who had dealt the finishing blow and slayed the would-be king, according to Sir Palador himself. Together, Sir Palador and Tirodar would spend years undoing the damage caused by Tyranicus, and Tirodar would later be known as "Tirodar the Mysterious and Wise". And though stories spread of both heroes, the story of Tirodar's origins would remain a secret forever.	Villain: "Join me and we can rule the world!" Hero: "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"
[WP] No one was surprised by the villain's typical 'Join me and we can rule the world!' offer. Everyone was surprised at the hero's response.	'Pardon?' 'Sorry,' Krathnar said. 'I thought you were serious.' He paused, and gestured with his sword at the two halves of what had, up until a few minutes earlier, been Count Dagnar's second-favourite henchman. 'I guess we can do the whole fighting thing if you want. I don't mind either way.' Dagnar lowered his cowl, unsure he was hearing the young man properly. 'You're telling me you want to join me?' 'Sure. I mean, you know, half a kingdom is half a kingdom. Better than a kick in the pants, right?' In the space of five short minutes, the whole encounter had gone decidedly off-book. Oh, it had started familiarly enough -- the bruised and battered hero, besworded and beloinclothed, barging into the Count's throne room looking for trouble; the quick and gory dispatching of a number of palace guards who, for some reason and in complete denial of their training, had insisted on attacking him one by one -- but when Dagnar had made his usual offer, the young man seemed unusually intrigued. 'No backsies,' Krathnar said. 'You said we could split the kingdom if I joined you. Half and half. I'm holding you to that.' A look of confusion settled on Dagnar's scarred brow. 'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Yep. Sign me up, Boss. Let's get this show on the road.' 'But... why?' 'Let me ask you something,' the adventurer asked. 'Do you ever just get a bit tired of it all? Ruling your own nation with an iron fist?' 'Nope. Never. Not once.' 'Exactly!' Krathnar raised his hands to the sky in exasperation. 'Because being a despotic ruler is sweet as. Do you know what I was doing before this? I was a blacksmith. A blacksmith, Dagnar. I wasn't a prince from a foreign land. I wasn't some displaced nobleman. I made footwear for horses all damn day, seven days a week. And then there was three months wandering around a bastard forest while your goons decided to try and stick an arrow up my arse at every available opportunity, and now you're telling me that if I join you I get to go halves on a kingdom? Money and power? Women? Magic?' He paused. 'I mean, you can see where I'm coming from, right?' Dagnar nodded, slowly. He made a good point. 'I'd definitely take the deal, if I were you. No doubt.' 'Maybe this heroing thing isn't for me, you know?' 'Sure. Can't be for everyone. Different strokes, and all that.' 'And I know there was a prophecy, but...' Dangnar gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Oh, prophecy schmophecy. Do you have any idea how many soothsayers we have around these parts? You can't even blow your nose without hitting an old bat trying to sell you some guff about being the Chosen One.' 'Really?' 'Yep. You're the third one this month.' 'Huh,' Krathnar said. 'How about that? Any of the rest of them take the deal?' 'Not a one.' 'What happened to them?' Dagnar pointed across to his throne of skulls. 'I had it reupholstered. And I've got another one just like it in the upstairs bathroom.' He smiled. 'Made out of the ones who really pissed me off.' His guest thought it over, but it was clear his mind was made up. 'So... definitely a good deal, then? That's what you're saying?' 'I'd say so, yeah.' The Count stepped over the corpse on the floor and placed a wrinkled hand on the young adventurer's shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'I'll show you to your new office, and we'll see about getting you on payroll. I get the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, you and I.' And if not, he thought as they left the throne room, there'll always be the next Chosen One to clean up the mess. _____ If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.	"It figures," hissed the baron as he spit out another small mouthful of blood and dragged himself up another stair. "How poetic that it'd be some masked, nameless hero that'd be my undoing." The hero simply watched him bleed out. "It's a shame, truly." He propped himself into a seated position, trying in vain to hold his wounds closed. "Do you know what you've earned? Do you know how short-lived it will be?" He spat again. The hero was silent. "They'll celebrate you for a day or two, maybe even a week. You'll have wine and women for some weeks after that. And then you'll fade from their memory. You've saved their lives, yet you'll be a nuisance to them after a month. They never deserved you." The hero began to follow him up the stairs. "But do you know how long my operation has run? Seven years. And my lieutenants have lived in the lap of luxury all the while. They've had more than these scum would ever give you willingly. And it's not too late, you know. I admire your ambition, your tenacity. You could still find a place in my employ and live like a king. And I'd scarcely ask more from you than wiping these undeserving wretches off the map as I had planned. Or are you really so committed to the short-lived celebrity of a hero?" The hero knelt over him. "'Hero.' Why do people keep calling me that?" The baron was confused. "If the people of this civilization are dead, they would be a much tougher sell to our network of slavers." The baron stammered. "I am no hero; I am a scout. I'm here to make sure there are no idiots who would complicate our business. Such as you. And I didn't even need to call for backup to handle you -- if you were able to dominate these weaklings, they stand no chance against us."
[WP] You're a superhero. Your nemesis is bent on conquering the world and has you in his grips. As he explains his plans for world domination and his plans after, you begin to realize, he might actually be onto something...	The Hawk had no choice now but to plead. King Cobra surprised him, ambushing him in his own hideout. Now, the world would bow down to his every last whim with no one to stop him. King Cobra was capable of killing the entire population of humans if he wasn't checked. "If only you'd been a little more careful," King Cobra taunted, "I might have never been able to carry my plan out." The Hawk laid on the ground, tied up and defeated. "Wh-what are you going to do?" King Cobra laughed. He stepped out into the sunlight, dragging the Hawk by his feet. "My firsst new world order will be to sstrike down the law requiring photo ID to vote! Muhahaha!" King Cobra threw his head to the sky and laughed. The Hawk cringed. "No! You monst- wait a minute.... what?" King Cobra ceased his laughter and looked down at his nemesis. "Yesss, it'sss ridiculousss. Why would I be lying about who I am to vote?" The Hawk looked down. "That's valid," he mumbled. "Still, there must be some diabolical intent behind it." King Cobra started laughing again. "Yes. Muahahaha! I'll also be forcing everyone on the ssssidewalk to move over to the far sssside if they're walking too ssslowly! I've got placessss to be!" He hissed. "Dude, I swear- er, you evil fiend!" "Also, everyone who leavess gum in grossss places on public transssportation will face my eternal wrath!" The 2 snakes on King Cobra's neck hissed in approval. The Hawk stared at King Cobra. "Have you ever noticed that the mayor also pays for HUGE statues of himself in the park, but he can't pay to clean up the actual park?" King Cobra threw his hands up. "MAN! I hate that! He'ssss a huge douche bag." "You know what, we could actually start making this town better for ourselves. People are really god damn annoying, now that I think about it." King Cobra smiled evilly and unwrapped The Hawk. "Guysss who talk too loudly on their cellphone in a crowded elevator?" The Hawk groaned. "Let's just kill them off."	"Want help?" I smile, knowing the interruption will catch him off guard. Indeed it does, sending him whirling towards me. "What did you just say?" He nearly stammered, trying so desperately to keep his poise. "I wasn't aware you were deaf, but I asked if you wanted help." " is... this a joke?" He was hesitant, understandably. It's not every day your arch nemesis suggests a pact on the villainous side. "Not at all. I've heard your plans, and this one seems like it could work. You just need a cooler head to help... mediate." Hesitantly, he pushed the release on my restraints and I smiled, cracking my neck before stalking towards him, activating my power. --One month later-- I looked down at the city from my tower, the suite given to me from that particular mayor a few years ago as thanks for saving the city. I heard the door open, and a hand around my waist. I smiled gently, looking at the person next to me. "It's all ours." His response was barely more than a whisper as he coaxed me into a walk. "Indeed it is. One world, under a unified rule." We walked into a darkened room, and he shut the door behind us, sealing off our bedroom from the world for the next hour or three.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	The heavy door thudds shut behind me, silencing the pleas and cries. The noise echos in my ears, lingering. As my back hits the wall and I begin to slide down I find myself thinking of my own sister, Maggie, and wondering what would drive a sweet, innocent 9 year old girl like her to this request. I can picture her, standing in front of my parents, waving as I drive away from Sunday brunch, blond hair flowing with the cool autumn breeze. I see her sitting on my lap, watching cartoons every Saturday. The life of a nine year old girl, How could a girl like this, so young, harbor this much hatred. Maggie was so sweet, so carefree, what happened to this girl. Slipping further, my body reaches the floor, and the letter carefully folded in my back pocket crackles drawing me back. As I look at my hands I see the blood. Some my own; drawn from the continued beating. Some theirs; from any of countless wounds. Pulling out the letter I leave a sickly red stain on the crisp white paper. As I unfold the letter, my hands begin to shake with the weight of what I've done. I have failed for the first time, I cannot fail, I never fail. > Please help me. Every night they hurt me. I do not like it. When I cry it is worse. They hide it, so no one knows. If I tell anyone they will make it so much worse. My parents are bad people The sound of my tear hitting the cold tile surprises me. This girl is nothing like my Sister, these parents - something foreign. No, this is a girl with a life of misery, these are parents driven my anger. These are the people I kill. A letter, tucked behind a loose brick, filled with cash and a name. But this time is different. > "I do not want to live with them. Please kill them and help me" Never has a girl so young requested such an act. Never has someone given me the name of their own parents. As I think of the girl that wrote this letter, sitting in the dark, hiding and praying for help my sister again flashes before my eyes; laughing in the park, chasing leaves and smiling at me. How fickle life can be to treat these two people so differently. I think, maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe these people were good, and the girl was wrong. Maybe, I am the bad in this world. As I Hold the letter in one hand, and a young girls life savings in the other I steel myself to finish the letter. The one word that remains. > Maggie The name so carefully written, the tiny heart over the 'i'. My sister, standing in front of my parents, waving, the bruises from "gymnastics" fading on her eye. The cuts from "the play ground" red against her pail skin as the T.V plays. The faded lines across her back as she runs. Never before have I failed to kill a mark, but now my hands are steady. I cannot kill anymore, I must be a different person, I must love and care for Maggie. I failed to see what was happening, I failed to kill the target, but I did what I had to. When the bruises, cuts, and scars have faded - I will let them die.	Luco open the door of his penthouse. The last job was a tricky one, the target was an executive of a private mercenary company. The reason he got hit? He tried to shed light on the true about what their contractors did in Central Africa. Dirty stuff that would knock the company to the ground. Of course the big shot don't want that, and Luco is not interested in knowing what happened, all he cared was he was paid a good price, and the target is now dead. A shot from his own gun through the head, with his victim own hand. How? He have a daughter, 17 years old, a good kid, it would be a shame if she were to overdosed and die when hanging out with some new 'friends'. Conveniently, he just wrote a dead letter saying how much his wife accident devastated him, and a record of going to psychologist that Luco had altered. The guy was a good man, too bad he is a the wrong place. With the job done, Luco decided to reward himself with a small vacation. The infamous assassin whose hand never directly kill anyone enjoy a much more simple lifestyle unlike the penthouse that he own. The penthouse is part of his cover, a successful businessman with interested in Singapore, so that he can travel from place to place in name of looking for business partner. Just as he finish booking a trip to SEA, his doorbell rungs. The building's security slides in a small envelope: 'Sir, you got a letter. It arrived yesterday, with instruction to give it to you as soon as you are home.' 'Thank you Juarez, you can go now.' -as Luco pick up the envelope at the door. Luco is curious, the envelope was originally addressed to Luco, but the sender cross out the name and put his cover alias Longbridge. The writing was that of a kid, no older than 10. It mean not only does the sender know where he live, but also his true name. Luco has always been confident with how he cover up his track, and yet the sender seems to know exactly who he is. "Dear Mr. Longbridge, or Luco if you prefer that name. I would like you to kill my host family and pick me up afterward. In exchange, I have information that I know you would be interested in. I hope that you will come soon. P.S. just in case you are doubting what I know, I'm a human computer and this is part of the info I hold (Rome, Julius Cassani, 2008, December 7th, cause of death multiple cuts and blood lost.)" After Luco saw Cassani name, he know that this is a job that he will do no matter what. Looking at the envelope again, he read the sender name Lucy Stakewood, and the address is of former Senator Stakewood, one of the people who contracted him many time. 'This one will be interesting' - Luco pick up his phone and start dialing, 'Alright then, let's start working'.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	Stay in this line of work long enough and you begin to pick out patterns. Some months, there'll be a hit a day, the blood lust of the human race manifesting itself, painting its picture through my hand. Other months, eerily few contracts present themselves. Like the world has had enough killing for the time being and needs to recharge, reattain its karmic balance before it again looses my red hands on its some-guilty-some-less denizens. This was one such period, February is usually like that. The business of January has come and gone, the more twisted of the new year's resolutions quietly taken care of, and a lull sets in as the world just turns. This was the first contract of the month. A simple whitish-yellow envelope, nothing written on the outside, as was usual enough. I tear the seal as I've done so many countless times before, and something slips out, shimmering quickly in the dim light before clinking to the ground. I reach down to pick it up... It's a quarter. My eyes returning to the envelope, intrigued by this... unusual presentation of payment, I gaze into it. A few crumpled bills accompanied by some more loose change, even a few pennies... was this some kind of joke? I place down the envelope carefully, so as to not spill out any more change, and remove the unevenly folded sheet of paper from within. Folded open, my breath hitches in my throat before I even read the words, and in my line of work, I'm not taken aback often. I'm met with the sloppy scrawl of a child, written in pencil, addressed to "Mr. Killer." My eyes scan the text three times before I really read it. If someone held a gun to my head and ordered me to read those child's words out loud, I'd be a dead man, for I could never bring myself to. We all have existential moments in our lives, it is simply a by-product of human imperfection, but never before has my world been so rocked by so few innocent words. Mr Killer, I don't know why you killed my mommy, but I'm sure you had a reason. I am sad and I miss her, but I am sorry for you too, because if you had to kill her for your job then you must be pretty sad too. I don't have a lot of money, I had to break open my piggy bank for this, but I hope its enough so that you don't have to kill anybody ever again. Signed, Sophie The "i" was dotted with a heart.	Luco open the door of his penthouse. The last job was a tricky one, the target was an executive of a private mercenary company. The reason he got hit? He tried to shed light on the true about what their contractors did in Central Africa. Dirty stuff that would knock the company to the ground. Of course the big shot don't want that, and Luco is not interested in knowing what happened, all he cared was he was paid a good price, and the target is now dead. A shot from his own gun through the head, with his victim own hand. How? He have a daughter, 17 years old, a good kid, it would be a shame if she were to overdosed and die when hanging out with some new 'friends'. Conveniently, he just wrote a dead letter saying how much his wife accident devastated him, and a record of going to psychologist that Luco had altered. The guy was a good man, too bad he is a the wrong place. With the job done, Luco decided to reward himself with a small vacation. The infamous assassin whose hand never directly kill anyone enjoy a much more simple lifestyle unlike the penthouse that he own. The penthouse is part of his cover, a successful businessman with interested in Singapore, so that he can travel from place to place in name of looking for business partner. Just as he finish booking a trip to SEA, his doorbell rungs. The building's security slides in a small envelope: 'Sir, you got a letter. It arrived yesterday, with instruction to give it to you as soon as you are home.' 'Thank you Juarez, you can go now.' -as Luco pick up the envelope at the door. Luco is curious, the envelope was originally addressed to Luco, but the sender cross out the name and put his cover alias Longbridge. The writing was that of a kid, no older than 10. It mean not only does the sender know where he live, but also his true name. Luco has always been confident with how he cover up his track, and yet the sender seems to know exactly who he is. "Dear Mr. Longbridge, or Luco if you prefer that name. I would like you to kill my host family and pick me up afterward. In exchange, I have information that I know you would be interested in. I hope that you will come soon. P.S. just in case you are doubting what I know, I'm a human computer and this is part of the info I hold (Rome, Julius Cassani, 2008, December 7th, cause of death multiple cuts and blood lost.)" After Luco saw Cassani name, he know that this is a job that he will do no matter what. Looking at the envelope again, he read the sender name Lucy Stakewood, and the address is of former Senator Stakewood, one of the people who contracted him many time. 'This one will be interesting' - Luco pick up his phone and start dialing, 'Alright then, let's start working'.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	Marcus Winters sat at the dead-drop inside his beat to shit, red 1964 Chevrolet Biscayne. He was scanning a crudely written letter on what appeared to be blue construction paper and done in pencil crayons. He took a drag on the cigarette and tossed it out the window of the car. He's wearing what appears to be a ragged, and worn black pea coat, a white dress shirt with black necktie and black jeans and brown leather boots. His messy black hair is styled into some sort of quiff, and his hazel eyes are piercings daggers into the paper. Mister, Mommy and daddy don't believe me about the monsters living in our house. The man with the long tongue watches me from my door-way every night and I think he wants to eat me, please help. Mommy and daddy think he's just a dream. He rolls the small change around in his palm and tosses the change in the empty cup-holder next to him and drives off into the night. A few hours later Marcus pulls up to the address on the letter and peers from the car as he sees two argumentative and possibly abusive parents lead the girl upstairs to her bedroom with her in tears the entire time, the parents screaming quite audible from the car. He lights another cigarette and reaches for the glove-box and removes a beautiful midnight black painted Desert Eagle with religious markings etched into the grip. He double checks to make sure it's loaded and steps out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. He strides up the front door and casually steps inside, and is quite careful to make sure he's not making a sound, he's a professional after all. He can hear the parents screaming at their daughter from upstairs and proclaiming she needs to go to sleep now or meet the belt. "Pricks." He mutters under his breath and slowly makes his way up the stairs. He halts on the stairs in the darkness watching as the parents leave the room and make their way to their respective room all while complaining about their failure of a child and how they should drown her. He makes a mental note on dealing with them before leaving. He enters the child's room and sees the kid shaking with fear on her bed, the blankets drawn over head. He mutters something under his breath in Latin and shuts the door which causes the girl to jump and let out a shout, and oddly enough the sound doesn't alert the parents. "It's alright child." He waves her letter around and she seems to relax and wipe the snot and tears from her face. "Are you here to get rid of the monsters?" He nods and approaches the closet and opens it up and much to his dismay, finds it empty. The girl scampers out of bed and approaches him and stares into the closet with the armed man. She tugs onto his sleeve and looks up at him, catching his smile as he looks down. "He usually stands at my door when mommy and daddy are angry at me." She points to her door, and Marcus casually strides over his Desert Eagle firmly in his grasp. He closes his eyes and places his ear on the door and listens with intent. "I say we take her in the truck, drive out to the lake and just end it. I'm tired of living in hiding." The father says just outside the door, the mother makes a noise in agreement and Marcus leans back as knocks are heard on the door. Marcus motions for the child to get into bed and he takes a step back just as the door swings open and he hides behind the now open door as the parents walk in, the father quite visibly holding a syringe full of some liquid and the two of them are advancing on their daughter. "We're sorry for not believing you baby, it'll all be over soon, we promise." The father says slowly approaching the bed. As the "parents" approach the bed, a sigil appears on the door and begins to glow brightly. The two parents seem to react to this and hold their heads in agony letting out the most otherworldly demonic screams possible. However, Marcus is accustomed to this and aims his Desert Eagle up just as the Father snaps his head up revealing a foot long tongue drooping from his mouth and dripping with salivia. The "Father" screams and lunges at Marcus only to receive a bullet between the eyes, and drops to the floor with a dull thud. The "Mother" lets out a similar scream, leaps up and begins crawling like a spider with blinding speed on the ceiling. BLAM! BLAM! Two shots miss and Marcus rolls out of the way as a globule of acidic spit narrowly misses his face. "I fookin' hate spiders" He says in an Irish accent and straightens himself just as the Mother leaps at him and knocks him out of the room her jaws snapping at his neck. Struggling with the globules of saliva dripping and singeing holes into his coat, he throws the Mother off of him and down the flight of stairs, before she scurries off somewhere into the nearby living room. He stands up and motions for the daughter to stay put and slowly descends the stairs withdrawing a long silver cylinder from inside his coat. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and groans in protest as all of the lights have been turned off, and he is now thrust into darkness. "You will not save the girl, she will feed us, she will feed the many mouthed beasts, for we are whole." The Mother slowly crawls up behind Marcus, her jaws extended preparing to finish him off for good. As she pounces, he spins around with ferocious speed, extending the silver cylinder into a large cross and impales the Mother creature through the mouth and out the back of her head, its bulbous eyes rolling back into its skull. The blade slides effortlessly back into the cylinder and the corpse falls to the floor with a sickening wet plop. "Did you do it? Did you stop the monsters?" The girl's tiny voice startles Marcus as she is now standing at the bottom of the stairs staring down at her "Mother" who is now some sort of demonic-spider creature. He nods and walks over, patting her ontop of the head. "Let's get you outta here, kid. You need some bloody pancakes." And he picks the kid up and two of them step out of the house, and move towards the beaten-up car.	Luco open the door of his penthouse. The last job was a tricky one, the target was an executive of a private mercenary company. The reason he got hit? He tried to shed light on the true about what their contractors did in Central Africa. Dirty stuff that would knock the company to the ground. Of course the big shot don't want that, and Luco is not interested in knowing what happened, all he cared was he was paid a good price, and the target is now dead. A shot from his own gun through the head, with his victim own hand. How? He have a daughter, 17 years old, a good kid, it would be a shame if she were to overdosed and die when hanging out with some new 'friends'. Conveniently, he just wrote a dead letter saying how much his wife accident devastated him, and a record of going to psychologist that Luco had altered. The guy was a good man, too bad he is a the wrong place. With the job done, Luco decided to reward himself with a small vacation. The infamous assassin whose hand never directly kill anyone enjoy a much more simple lifestyle unlike the penthouse that he own. The penthouse is part of his cover, a successful businessman with interested in Singapore, so that he can travel from place to place in name of looking for business partner. Just as he finish booking a trip to SEA, his doorbell rungs. The building's security slides in a small envelope: 'Sir, you got a letter. It arrived yesterday, with instruction to give it to you as soon as you are home.' 'Thank you Juarez, you can go now.' -as Luco pick up the envelope at the door. Luco is curious, the envelope was originally addressed to Luco, but the sender cross out the name and put his cover alias Longbridge. The writing was that of a kid, no older than 10. It mean not only does the sender know where he live, but also his true name. Luco has always been confident with how he cover up his track, and yet the sender seems to know exactly who he is. "Dear Mr. Longbridge, or Luco if you prefer that name. I would like you to kill my host family and pick me up afterward. In exchange, I have information that I know you would be interested in. I hope that you will come soon. P.S. just in case you are doubting what I know, I'm a human computer and this is part of the info I hold (Rome, Julius Cassani, 2008, December 7th, cause of death multiple cuts and blood lost.)" After Luco saw Cassani name, he know that this is a job that he will do no matter what. Looking at the envelope again, he read the sender name Lucy Stakewood, and the address is of former Senator Stakewood, one of the people who contracted him many time. 'This one will be interesting' - Luco pick up his phone and start dialing, 'Alright then, let's start working'.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	'Fuck', Jonathan says as he puts down the letter, which page was probably ripped out of an exercise book. He looks at the bad, scrawly handwriting and lets out another 'Fuck'. He was a contract killer for several years now and for the most part had no problem with killing people. Of course he had his fair share of vomiting after executing his first few targets, but in hindsight it's as bad as an emergency doctor seeing his first car crash patient, torn up and bloody. The key for him to not go insane was to emotional detach from everything that happened. Never think about your target as a human. Don't even imagine what would be, if he was a father and had family. Maybe he was already mad inside. When Jonathan was executing his orders - doing his job - he wasn't thinking with his heart, but his hand. It is like a hunter doesn't think of a deer as a living individual, but as prey. Jonathan wasn't killing humans, he was barely hunting his prey. At first they were merely unknown small fries, enemies of people with a lot more connections and a lot more money. Maybe they didn't pay back the money they rented or were just at the wrong time at the wrong place, but in the end they had to give their life for it. The clients giving the order were the kind of people, who wear real fur coats, get driven around in their limousine and have a big self-righteous grin in their fat, ugly face. Jonathan hated looking at them, hated how they took everything for granted and how they didn't care about anything at all except themselves. 'Stupid Johnny didn't pay my money last friday', they would say, reeking of tobacco and champagne. 'He knew what would happen...' And then the fat grin again. Always the goddamn grinning. The grin of knowledge that they have won. Oh yes, these kind of guys would always win. In this world, money equals power and these people had more than enough of that. Welcome to the fucking twenty-first century. Nowadays Jonathan barely talks to his clients anymore. His friend Ace retired as a contract killer after he got shot in the leg, while trying to assassinate someone. He is over 50 already and was the one getting Jonathan into the job. Now he has taken the position as his manager. Ace has a lot of connections and since Jonathan has him at his side, he got a lot more offers. In exchange Ace takes little money in comparison, just enough for him and his family to survive, as he knows that Jonathan needs every penny he can get. While Jonathan was drinking in a bar to forget about his problems, he met Ace. Back then Ace must have been in his early fourties, still having full black hair, which he gelled backwards. His face was edged, but still attractive and he was giving off a sympathetic aura. Nonetheless, he was getting into a fight with a drunkard at the bar. The drunkard accused Ace of spilling his beer and tried to attack him with the half empty bottle, pouring beer over himself. Jonathan got up from his table in the corner of the room and staggered, being drunk himself, through the barely lit room to help Ace. With the help of the barkeeper, the problem resolved fairly quickly, but Ace and Jonathan would get into a conversation and a friendship ensued. Ace found out that Jonathan needed a lot of money for his wifes hospital bills, but couldn't find any work, whatever he tried. After a few weeks of thinking things through, Ace told him: 'I know how you're in desperate needs of money and I would lend you some from me. Oh I would give you all I have on my bank account, but that doesn't fix your problem.' He took a sip of his beer. 'You need a job. A good paying one at that. I have something that would be right for you, but it's not a job everyone can do. I could train you. I could show you everything you need to know.' Jonathan looked at him with a wondering, but interesting look. 'Jonathan, I trust you, I really do. Even though we only know each other for a few weeks, I trust you. Do you also trust me?' 'Of course I trust you, Ace, but I really don't understand...' 'Have you ever killed someone?' Knowing Ace, Jonathan knew this letter in his hands was real. Only the two of them knew the dead drop. It was the one they always used for his jobs. The absurd amount of $23.42 and the handwriting kind of validated the realness. He gazed over the letter once again, trying to grasp the situation. Dear Mr. Killer, I am Mary Lauper. I am 9 years old. I am really ill. My doctor said I have cancer. Mommy and daddy always cry and it makes me very sad. I know mommy and daddy can't buy things. They always look sad, when i want something, because we have no money. The hospital is really expensive. I think we have no money, because of me. I don't want mommy and daddy to be sad. I think they are happier, when i am not there. I am still in the hospital. Can you please come and kill me? At the end of the letter was the adress of the hospital attached. Jonathan swallowed visibly and his throat felt dry and constricted. As he read the last sentence he felt a chill down his spine. Not only that this girl was just nine years old, she also had cancer. The same illness that plagued his wife and made his life into what it was. He knew exactly how it could drain not only all the money out of one, but also make you physically exhausted from the stress. Seeing his loved one with a bald head always reminds him of the early days, when she had long blond hair, she was very proud of. Laura said, she wouldn't mind losing the hair and she would never stop fighting, but over the years the glow in her eyes ceased more and more. The worst thing was that Jonathan couldn't do anything, but stand beside her and watch. Moments like these made him contemplate his life decisions and think about retirement again. He hated his job, he really did, but at the end of the day it payed for food and the house. And his wife's hospital bills. He took a deep breath. Why didn't Ace ignore this letter? When it's about work, Ace never jokes around, so this should be the real deal. Does he want to test me? 'I would like to visit Mary Lauper', Jonathan said with a smile. The smile was fake, but the nurse didn't seem to realize. 'And you are...?' 'I'm her uncle. I haven't seen her in ages and I thought, you know, before she may be gone soon.' 'Oh... it's in the second floor room thirteen.' Jonathan walked through the hallway of the hospital. He could feel the cold metal of his revolver under his black leather jaket. Of course nobody could tell there was a gun under it from the outside. Normally he is used to the weight of the revolver, but now it felt like dragging a sack of stones. He also took a lot more time to get to his destination than usually. She was only nine years, had her whole life still to live as long as she could beat cancer. He shook his head. No, he couldn't allow these kind of thoughts, he should act like he always did. But this job wasn't like the other jobs. There was no fat, farting asshole with money. There was no-one who did something bad by owing money or messed with the wrong guys. There was just a little nine year old girl, who didn't want to be a burden to her family. 13. Room 13. There it was. He stood there in silence, not knowing if he should actually do it. Knocking. It was his knocking. He didn't realize he raised his hand and was looking at it as if it was some unknown sea creature. 'Come in', said a gentle high pitched voice. He opened the door and went into a bright, open hospital room. Only one bed was occupied and in it was laying a small, bald child. She sat up and smiled at him as he came in. 'You really came!', she exclaimed. Unsure why she knew how Jonathan looked like, he came closer to her bed. When he reached it, he carefully sat down at the edge. 'Hey little one, how are you?' 'I don't feel so good, but now that you are here, it's better.' She smiled brightly. 'You see... Do you really want to do that? Don't you think your parents will miss you more than the money? Family is really important.' 'I know, but... I made a choice. Mommy and daddy will understand, I know it.' After all, she was really just a kid. She didn't understand the consequences of her choice. 'I can lend your family money, I... ' 'It's okay', she interrupted him. 'I know that you don' t have money, too. My parents couldn't pay it back. I think it's better this way.' Jonathan wasn't believing her, couldn't believe her. But he could see in her eyes that she was dead serious, though. She indeed made a choice and maybe she actually realized the consequences. Jonathan was shocked, but at the same time also had respect for her and what she chose. He pulled out the gun from under his jacket and showed it to her. 'Are you sure?', he asked one more time, looking at the revolver. She noded. 'Yes.' Slowly he screwed the silencer on top of the barrel. 'I hope you had a good life until now. I respect your choice. It's something not many can do, not even adults.' He swallowed. The gun in his hand. The tool to vanish this girls life. She's just a little girl The gun lifts in the air, pointing at her waist. She is only nine. Pointing at her chest. She has her whole life... Pointing at her head. ... ahead of her. A smile in the face. Eyes closed. Waiting for the end. Can you really kill a child? The finger at the trigger. The Heaviness of a life at his fingertips. Can you? And then black.	Luco open the door of his penthouse. The last job was a tricky one, the target was an executive of a private mercenary company. The reason he got hit? He tried to shed light on the true about what their contractors did in Central Africa. Dirty stuff that would knock the company to the ground. Of course the big shot don't want that, and Luco is not interested in knowing what happened, all he cared was he was paid a good price, and the target is now dead. A shot from his own gun through the head, with his victim own hand. How? He have a daughter, 17 years old, a good kid, it would be a shame if she were to overdosed and die when hanging out with some new 'friends'. Conveniently, he just wrote a dead letter saying how much his wife accident devastated him, and a record of going to psychologist that Luco had altered. The guy was a good man, too bad he is a the wrong place. With the job done, Luco decided to reward himself with a small vacation. The infamous assassin whose hand never directly kill anyone enjoy a much more simple lifestyle unlike the penthouse that he own. The penthouse is part of his cover, a successful businessman with interested in Singapore, so that he can travel from place to place in name of looking for business partner. Just as he finish booking a trip to SEA, his doorbell rungs. The building's security slides in a small envelope: 'Sir, you got a letter. It arrived yesterday, with instruction to give it to you as soon as you are home.' 'Thank you Juarez, you can go now.' -as Luco pick up the envelope at the door. Luco is curious, the envelope was originally addressed to Luco, but the sender cross out the name and put his cover alias Longbridge. The writing was that of a kid, no older than 10. It mean not only does the sender know where he live, but also his true name. Luco has always been confident with how he cover up his track, and yet the sender seems to know exactly who he is. "Dear Mr. Longbridge, or Luco if you prefer that name. I would like you to kill my host family and pick me up afterward. In exchange, I have information that I know you would be interested in. I hope that you will come soon. P.S. just in case you are doubting what I know, I'm a human computer and this is part of the info I hold (Rome, Julius Cassani, 2008, December 7th, cause of death multiple cuts and blood lost.)" After Luco saw Cassani name, he know that this is a job that he will do no matter what. Looking at the envelope again, he read the sender name Lucy Stakewood, and the address is of former Senator Stakewood, one of the people who contracted him many time. 'This one will be interesting' - Luco pick up his phone and start dialing, 'Alright then, let's start working'.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	'Fuck', Jonathan says as he puts down the letter, which page was probably ripped out of an exercise book. He looks at the bad, scrawly handwriting and lets out another 'Fuck'. He was a contract killer for several years now and for the most part had no problem with killing people. Of course he had his fair share of vomiting after executing his first few targets, but in hindsight it's as bad as an emergency doctor seeing his first car crash patient, torn up and bloody. The key for him to not go insane was to emotional detach from everything that happened. Never think about your target as a human. Don't even imagine what would be, if he was a father and had family. Maybe he was already mad inside. When Jonathan was executing his orders - doing his job - he wasn't thinking with his heart, but his hand. It is like a hunter doesn't think of a deer as a living individual, but as prey. Jonathan wasn't killing humans, he was barely hunting his prey. At first they were merely unknown small fries, enemies of people with a lot more connections and a lot more money. Maybe they didn't pay back the money they rented or were just at the wrong time at the wrong place, but in the end they had to give their life for it. The clients giving the order were the kind of people, who wear real fur coats, get driven around in their limousine and have a big self-righteous grin in their fat, ugly face. Jonathan hated looking at them, hated how they took everything for granted and how they didn't care about anything at all except themselves. 'Stupid Johnny didn't pay my money last friday', they would say, reeking of tobacco and champagne. 'He knew what would happen...' And then the fat grin again. Always the goddamn grinning. The grin of knowledge that they have won. Oh yes, these kind of guys would always win. In this world, money equals power and these people had more than enough of that. Welcome to the fucking twenty-first century. Nowadays Jonathan barely talks to his clients anymore. His friend Ace retired as a contract killer after he got shot in the leg, while trying to assassinate someone. He is over 50 already and was the one getting Jonathan into the job. Now he has taken the position as his manager. Ace has a lot of connections and since Jonathan has him at his side, he got a lot more offers. In exchange Ace takes little money in comparison, just enough for him and his family to survive, as he knows that Jonathan needs every penny he can get. While Jonathan was drinking in a bar to forget about his problems, he met Ace. Back then Ace must have been in his early fourties, still having full black hair, which he gelled backwards. His face was edged, but still attractive and he was giving off a sympathetic aura. Nonetheless, he was getting into a fight with a drunkard at the bar. The drunkard accused Ace of spilling his beer and tried to attack him with the half empty bottle, pouring beer over himself. Jonathan got up from his table in the corner of the room and staggered, being drunk himself, through the barely lit room to help Ace. With the help of the barkeeper, the problem resolved fairly quickly, but Ace and Jonathan would get into a conversation and a friendship ensued. Ace found out that Jonathan needed a lot of money for his wifes hospital bills, but couldn't find any work, whatever he tried. After a few weeks of thinking things through, Ace told him: 'I know how you're in desperate needs of money and I would lend you some from me. Oh I would give you all I have on my bank account, but that doesn't fix your problem.' He took a sip of his beer. 'You need a job. A good paying one at that. I have something that would be right for you, but it's not a job everyone can do. I could train you. I could show you everything you need to know.' Jonathan looked at him with a wondering, but interesting look. 'Jonathan, I trust you, I really do. Even though we only know each other for a few weeks, I trust you. Do you also trust me?' 'Of course I trust you, Ace, but I really don't understand...' 'Have you ever killed someone?' Knowing Ace, Jonathan knew this letter in his hands was real. Only the two of them knew the dead drop. It was the one they always used for his jobs. The absurd amount of $23.42 and the handwriting kind of validated the realness. He gazed over the letter once again, trying to grasp the situation. Dear Mr. Killer, I am Mary Lauper. I am 9 years old. I am really ill. My doctor said I have cancer. Mommy and daddy always cry and it makes me very sad. I know mommy and daddy can't buy things. They always look sad, when i want something, because we have no money. The hospital is really expensive. I think we have no money, because of me. I don't want mommy and daddy to be sad. I think they are happier, when i am not there. I am still in the hospital. Can you please come and kill me? At the end of the letter was the adress of the hospital attached. Jonathan swallowed visibly and his throat felt dry and constricted. As he read the last sentence he felt a chill down his spine. Not only that this girl was just nine years old, she also had cancer. The same illness that plagued his wife and made his life into what it was. He knew exactly how it could drain not only all the money out of one, but also make you physically exhausted from the stress. Seeing his loved one with a bald head always reminds him of the early days, when she had long blond hair, she was very proud of. Laura said, she wouldn't mind losing the hair and she would never stop fighting, but over the years the glow in her eyes ceased more and more. The worst thing was that Jonathan couldn't do anything, but stand beside her and watch. Moments like these made him contemplate his life decisions and think about retirement again. He hated his job, he really did, but at the end of the day it payed for food and the house. And his wife's hospital bills. He took a deep breath. Why didn't Ace ignore this letter? When it's about work, Ace never jokes around, so this should be the real deal. Does he want to test me? 'I would like to visit Mary Lauper', Jonathan said with a smile. The smile was fake, but the nurse didn't seem to realize. 'And you are...?' 'I'm her uncle. I haven't seen her in ages and I thought, you know, before she may be gone soon.' 'Oh... it's in the second floor room thirteen.' Jonathan walked through the hallway of the hospital. He could feel the cold metal of his revolver under his black leather jaket. Of course nobody could tell there was a gun under it from the outside. Normally he is used to the weight of the revolver, but now it felt like dragging a sack of stones. He also took a lot more time to get to his destination than usually. She was only nine years, had her whole life still to live as long as she could beat cancer. He shook his head. No, he couldn't allow these kind of thoughts, he should act like he always did. But this job wasn't like the other jobs. There was no fat, farting asshole with money. There was no-one who did something bad by owing money or messed with the wrong guys. There was just a little nine year old girl, who didn't want to be a burden to her family. 13. Room 13. There it was. He stood there in silence, not knowing if he should actually do it. Knocking. It was his knocking. He didn't realize he raised his hand and was looking at it as if it was some unknown sea creature. 'Come in', said a gentle high pitched voice. He opened the door and went into a bright, open hospital room. Only one bed was occupied and in it was laying a small, bald child. She sat up and smiled at him as he came in. 'You really came!', she exclaimed. Unsure why she knew how Jonathan looked like, he came closer to her bed. When he reached it, he carefully sat down at the edge. 'Hey little one, how are you?' 'I don't feel so good, but now that you are here, it's better.' She smiled brightly. 'You see... Do you really want to do that? Don't you think your parents will miss you more than the money? Family is really important.' 'I know, but... I made a choice. Mommy and daddy will understand, I know it.' After all, she was really just a kid. She didn't understand the consequences of her choice. 'I can lend your family money, I... ' 'It's okay', she interrupted him. 'I know that you don' t have money, too. My parents couldn't pay it back. I think it's better this way.' Jonathan wasn't believing her, couldn't believe her. But he could see in her eyes that she was dead serious, though. She indeed made a choice and maybe she actually realized the consequences. Jonathan was shocked, but at the same time also had respect for her and what she chose. He pulled out the gun from under his jacket and showed it to her. 'Are you sure?', he asked one more time, looking at the revolver. She noded. 'Yes.' Slowly he screwed the silencer on top of the barrel. 'I hope you had a good life until now. I respect your choice. It's something not many can do, not even adults.' He swallowed. The gun in his hand. The tool to vanish this girls life. She's just a little girl The gun lifts in the air, pointing at her waist. She is only nine. Pointing at her chest. She has her whole life... Pointing at her head. ... ahead of her. A smile in the face. Eyes closed. Waiting for the end. Can you really kill a child? The finger at the trigger. The Heaviness of a life at his fingertips. Can you? And then black.	The heavy door thudds shut behind me, silencing the pleas and cries. The noise echos in my ears, lingering. As my back hits the wall and I begin to slide down I find myself thinking of my own sister, Maggie, and wondering what would drive a sweet, innocent 9 year old girl like her to this request. I can picture her, standing in front of my parents, waving as I drive away from Sunday brunch, blond hair flowing with the cool autumn breeze. I see her sitting on my lap, watching cartoons every Saturday. The life of a nine year old girl, How could a girl like this, so young, harbor this much hatred. Maggie was so sweet, so carefree, what happened to this girl. Slipping further, my body reaches the floor, and the letter carefully folded in my back pocket crackles drawing me back. As I look at my hands I see the blood. Some my own; drawn from the continued beating. Some theirs; from any of countless wounds. Pulling out the letter I leave a sickly red stain on the crisp white paper. As I unfold the letter, my hands begin to shake with the weight of what I've done. I have failed for the first time, I cannot fail, I never fail. > Please help me. Every night they hurt me. I do not like it. When I cry it is worse. They hide it, so no one knows. If I tell anyone they will make it so much worse. My parents are bad people The sound of my tear hitting the cold tile surprises me. This girl is nothing like my Sister, these parents - something foreign. No, this is a girl with a life of misery, these are parents driven my anger. These are the people I kill. A letter, tucked behind a loose brick, filled with cash and a name. But this time is different. > "I do not want to live with them. Please kill them and help me" Never has a girl so young requested such an act. Never has someone given me the name of their own parents. As I think of the girl that wrote this letter, sitting in the dark, hiding and praying for help my sister again flashes before my eyes; laughing in the park, chasing leaves and smiling at me. How fickle life can be to treat these two people so differently. I think, maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe these people were good, and the girl was wrong. Maybe, I am the bad in this world. As I Hold the letter in one hand, and a young girls life savings in the other I steel myself to finish the letter. The one word that remains. > Maggie The name so carefully written, the tiny heart over the 'i'. My sister, standing in front of my parents, waving, the bruises from "gymnastics" fading on her eye. The cuts from "the play ground" red against her pail skin as the T.V plays. The faded lines across her back as she runs. Never before have I failed to kill a mark, but now my hands are steady. I cannot kill anymore, I must be a different person, I must love and care for Maggie. I failed to see what was happening, I failed to kill the target, but I did what I had to. When the bruises, cuts, and scars have faded - I will let them die.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	'Fuck', Jonathan says as he puts down the letter, which page was probably ripped out of an exercise book. He looks at the bad, scrawly handwriting and lets out another 'Fuck'. He was a contract killer for several years now and for the most part had no problem with killing people. Of course he had his fair share of vomiting after executing his first few targets, but in hindsight it's as bad as an emergency doctor seeing his first car crash patient, torn up and bloody. The key for him to not go insane was to emotional detach from everything that happened. Never think about your target as a human. Don't even imagine what would be, if he was a father and had family. Maybe he was already mad inside. When Jonathan was executing his orders - doing his job - he wasn't thinking with his heart, but his hand. It is like a hunter doesn't think of a deer as a living individual, but as prey. Jonathan wasn't killing humans, he was barely hunting his prey. At first they were merely unknown small fries, enemies of people with a lot more connections and a lot more money. Maybe they didn't pay back the money they rented or were just at the wrong time at the wrong place, but in the end they had to give their life for it. The clients giving the order were the kind of people, who wear real fur coats, get driven around in their limousine and have a big self-righteous grin in their fat, ugly face. Jonathan hated looking at them, hated how they took everything for granted and how they didn't care about anything at all except themselves. 'Stupid Johnny didn't pay my money last friday', they would say, reeking of tobacco and champagne. 'He knew what would happen...' And then the fat grin again. Always the goddamn grinning. The grin of knowledge that they have won. Oh yes, these kind of guys would always win. In this world, money equals power and these people had more than enough of that. Welcome to the fucking twenty-first century. Nowadays Jonathan barely talks to his clients anymore. His friend Ace retired as a contract killer after he got shot in the leg, while trying to assassinate someone. He is over 50 already and was the one getting Jonathan into the job. Now he has taken the position as his manager. Ace has a lot of connections and since Jonathan has him at his side, he got a lot more offers. In exchange Ace takes little money in comparison, just enough for him and his family to survive, as he knows that Jonathan needs every penny he can get. While Jonathan was drinking in a bar to forget about his problems, he met Ace. Back then Ace must have been in his early fourties, still having full black hair, which he gelled backwards. His face was edged, but still attractive and he was giving off a sympathetic aura. Nonetheless, he was getting into a fight with a drunkard at the bar. The drunkard accused Ace of spilling his beer and tried to attack him with the half empty bottle, pouring beer over himself. Jonathan got up from his table in the corner of the room and staggered, being drunk himself, through the barely lit room to help Ace. With the help of the barkeeper, the problem resolved fairly quickly, but Ace and Jonathan would get into a conversation and a friendship ensued. Ace found out that Jonathan needed a lot of money for his wifes hospital bills, but couldn't find any work, whatever he tried. After a few weeks of thinking things through, Ace told him: 'I know how you're in desperate needs of money and I would lend you some from me. Oh I would give you all I have on my bank account, but that doesn't fix your problem.' He took a sip of his beer. 'You need a job. A good paying one at that. I have something that would be right for you, but it's not a job everyone can do. I could train you. I could show you everything you need to know.' Jonathan looked at him with a wondering, but interesting look. 'Jonathan, I trust you, I really do. Even though we only know each other for a few weeks, I trust you. Do you also trust me?' 'Of course I trust you, Ace, but I really don't understand...' 'Have you ever killed someone?' Knowing Ace, Jonathan knew this letter in his hands was real. Only the two of them knew the dead drop. It was the one they always used for his jobs. The absurd amount of $23.42 and the handwriting kind of validated the realness. He gazed over the letter once again, trying to grasp the situation. Dear Mr. Killer, I am Mary Lauper. I am 9 years old. I am really ill. My doctor said I have cancer. Mommy and daddy always cry and it makes me very sad. I know mommy and daddy can't buy things. They always look sad, when i want something, because we have no money. The hospital is really expensive. I think we have no money, because of me. I don't want mommy and daddy to be sad. I think they are happier, when i am not there. I am still in the hospital. Can you please come and kill me? At the end of the letter was the adress of the hospital attached. Jonathan swallowed visibly and his throat felt dry and constricted. As he read the last sentence he felt a chill down his spine. Not only that this girl was just nine years old, she also had cancer. The same illness that plagued his wife and made his life into what it was. He knew exactly how it could drain not only all the money out of one, but also make you physically exhausted from the stress. Seeing his loved one with a bald head always reminds him of the early days, when she had long blond hair, she was very proud of. Laura said, she wouldn't mind losing the hair and she would never stop fighting, but over the years the glow in her eyes ceased more and more. The worst thing was that Jonathan couldn't do anything, but stand beside her and watch. Moments like these made him contemplate his life decisions and think about retirement again. He hated his job, he really did, but at the end of the day it payed for food and the house. And his wife's hospital bills. He took a deep breath. Why didn't Ace ignore this letter? When it's about work, Ace never jokes around, so this should be the real deal. Does he want to test me? 'I would like to visit Mary Lauper', Jonathan said with a smile. The smile was fake, but the nurse didn't seem to realize. 'And you are...?' 'I'm her uncle. I haven't seen her in ages and I thought, you know, before she may be gone soon.' 'Oh... it's in the second floor room thirteen.' Jonathan walked through the hallway of the hospital. He could feel the cold metal of his revolver under his black leather jaket. Of course nobody could tell there was a gun under it from the outside. Normally he is used to the weight of the revolver, but now it felt like dragging a sack of stones. He also took a lot more time to get to his destination than usually. She was only nine years, had her whole life still to live as long as she could beat cancer. He shook his head. No, he couldn't allow these kind of thoughts, he should act like he always did. But this job wasn't like the other jobs. There was no fat, farting asshole with money. There was no-one who did something bad by owing money or messed with the wrong guys. There was just a little nine year old girl, who didn't want to be a burden to her family. 13. Room 13. There it was. He stood there in silence, not knowing if he should actually do it. Knocking. It was his knocking. He didn't realize he raised his hand and was looking at it as if it was some unknown sea creature. 'Come in', said a gentle high pitched voice. He opened the door and went into a bright, open hospital room. Only one bed was occupied and in it was laying a small, bald child. She sat up and smiled at him as he came in. 'You really came!', she exclaimed. Unsure why she knew how Jonathan looked like, he came closer to her bed. When he reached it, he carefully sat down at the edge. 'Hey little one, how are you?' 'I don't feel so good, but now that you are here, it's better.' She smiled brightly. 'You see... Do you really want to do that? Don't you think your parents will miss you more than the money? Family is really important.' 'I know, but... I made a choice. Mommy and daddy will understand, I know it.' After all, she was really just a kid. She didn't understand the consequences of her choice. 'I can lend your family money, I... ' 'It's okay', she interrupted him. 'I know that you don' t have money, too. My parents couldn't pay it back. I think it's better this way.' Jonathan wasn't believing her, couldn't believe her. But he could see in her eyes that she was dead serious, though. She indeed made a choice and maybe she actually realized the consequences. Jonathan was shocked, but at the same time also had respect for her and what she chose. He pulled out the gun from under his jacket and showed it to her. 'Are you sure?', he asked one more time, looking at the revolver. She noded. 'Yes.' Slowly he screwed the silencer on top of the barrel. 'I hope you had a good life until now. I respect your choice. It's something not many can do, not even adults.' He swallowed. The gun in his hand. The tool to vanish this girls life. She's just a little girl The gun lifts in the air, pointing at her waist. She is only nine. Pointing at her chest. She has her whole life... Pointing at her head. ... ahead of her. A smile in the face. Eyes closed. Waiting for the end. Can you really kill a child? The finger at the trigger. The Heaviness of a life at his fingertips. Can you? And then black.	Stay in this line of work long enough and you begin to pick out patterns. Some months, there'll be a hit a day, the blood lust of the human race manifesting itself, painting its picture through my hand. Other months, eerily few contracts present themselves. Like the world has had enough killing for the time being and needs to recharge, reattain its karmic balance before it again looses my red hands on its some-guilty-some-less denizens. This was one such period, February is usually like that. The business of January has come and gone, the more twisted of the new year's resolutions quietly taken care of, and a lull sets in as the world just turns. This was the first contract of the month. A simple whitish-yellow envelope, nothing written on the outside, as was usual enough. I tear the seal as I've done so many countless times before, and something slips out, shimmering quickly in the dim light before clinking to the ground. I reach down to pick it up... It's a quarter. My eyes returning to the envelope, intrigued by this... unusual presentation of payment, I gaze into it. A few crumpled bills accompanied by some more loose change, even a few pennies... was this some kind of joke? I place down the envelope carefully, so as to not spill out any more change, and remove the unevenly folded sheet of paper from within. Folded open, my breath hitches in my throat before I even read the words, and in my line of work, I'm not taken aback often. I'm met with the sloppy scrawl of a child, written in pencil, addressed to "Mr. Killer." My eyes scan the text three times before I really read it. If someone held a gun to my head and ordered me to read those child's words out loud, I'd be a dead man, for I could never bring myself to. We all have existential moments in our lives, it is simply a by-product of human imperfection, but never before has my world been so rocked by so few innocent words. Mr Killer, I don't know why you killed my mommy, but I'm sure you had a reason. I am sad and I miss her, but I am sorry for you too, because if you had to kill her for your job then you must be pretty sad too. I don't have a lot of money, I had to break open my piggy bank for this, but I hope its enough so that you don't have to kill anybody ever again. Signed, Sophie The "i" was dotted with a heart.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	'Fuck', Jonathan says as he puts down the letter, which page was probably ripped out of an exercise book. He looks at the bad, scrawly handwriting and lets out another 'Fuck'. He was a contract killer for several years now and for the most part had no problem with killing people. Of course he had his fair share of vomiting after executing his first few targets, but in hindsight it's as bad as an emergency doctor seeing his first car crash patient, torn up and bloody. The key for him to not go insane was to emotional detach from everything that happened. Never think about your target as a human. Don't even imagine what would be, if he was a father and had family. Maybe he was already mad inside. When Jonathan was executing his orders - doing his job - he wasn't thinking with his heart, but his hand. It is like a hunter doesn't think of a deer as a living individual, but as prey. Jonathan wasn't killing humans, he was barely hunting his prey. At first they were merely unknown small fries, enemies of people with a lot more connections and a lot more money. Maybe they didn't pay back the money they rented or were just at the wrong time at the wrong place, but in the end they had to give their life for it. The clients giving the order were the kind of people, who wear real fur coats, get driven around in their limousine and have a big self-righteous grin in their fat, ugly face. Jonathan hated looking at them, hated how they took everything for granted and how they didn't care about anything at all except themselves. 'Stupid Johnny didn't pay my money last friday', they would say, reeking of tobacco and champagne. 'He knew what would happen...' And then the fat grin again. Always the goddamn grinning. The grin of knowledge that they have won. Oh yes, these kind of guys would always win. In this world, money equals power and these people had more than enough of that. Welcome to the fucking twenty-first century. Nowadays Jonathan barely talks to his clients anymore. His friend Ace retired as a contract killer after he got shot in the leg, while trying to assassinate someone. He is over 50 already and was the one getting Jonathan into the job. Now he has taken the position as his manager. Ace has a lot of connections and since Jonathan has him at his side, he got a lot more offers. In exchange Ace takes little money in comparison, just enough for him and his family to survive, as he knows that Jonathan needs every penny he can get. While Jonathan was drinking in a bar to forget about his problems, he met Ace. Back then Ace must have been in his early fourties, still having full black hair, which he gelled backwards. His face was edged, but still attractive and he was giving off a sympathetic aura. Nonetheless, he was getting into a fight with a drunkard at the bar. The drunkard accused Ace of spilling his beer and tried to attack him with the half empty bottle, pouring beer over himself. Jonathan got up from his table in the corner of the room and staggered, being drunk himself, through the barely lit room to help Ace. With the help of the barkeeper, the problem resolved fairly quickly, but Ace and Jonathan would get into a conversation and a friendship ensued. Ace found out that Jonathan needed a lot of money for his wifes hospital bills, but couldn't find any work, whatever he tried. After a few weeks of thinking things through, Ace told him: 'I know how you're in desperate needs of money and I would lend you some from me. Oh I would give you all I have on my bank account, but that doesn't fix your problem.' He took a sip of his beer. 'You need a job. A good paying one at that. I have something that would be right for you, but it's not a job everyone can do. I could train you. I could show you everything you need to know.' Jonathan looked at him with a wondering, but interesting look. 'Jonathan, I trust you, I really do. Even though we only know each other for a few weeks, I trust you. Do you also trust me?' 'Of course I trust you, Ace, but I really don't understand...' 'Have you ever killed someone?' Knowing Ace, Jonathan knew this letter in his hands was real. Only the two of them knew the dead drop. It was the one they always used for his jobs. The absurd amount of $23.42 and the handwriting kind of validated the realness. He gazed over the letter once again, trying to grasp the situation. Dear Mr. Killer, I am Mary Lauper. I am 9 years old. I am really ill. My doctor said I have cancer. Mommy and daddy always cry and it makes me very sad. I know mommy and daddy can't buy things. They always look sad, when i want something, because we have no money. The hospital is really expensive. I think we have no money, because of me. I don't want mommy and daddy to be sad. I think they are happier, when i am not there. I am still in the hospital. Can you please come and kill me? At the end of the letter was the adress of the hospital attached. Jonathan swallowed visibly and his throat felt dry and constricted. As he read the last sentence he felt a chill down his spine. Not only that this girl was just nine years old, she also had cancer. The same illness that plagued his wife and made his life into what it was. He knew exactly how it could drain not only all the money out of one, but also make you physically exhausted from the stress. Seeing his loved one with a bald head always reminds him of the early days, when she had long blond hair, she was very proud of. Laura said, she wouldn't mind losing the hair and she would never stop fighting, but over the years the glow in her eyes ceased more and more. The worst thing was that Jonathan couldn't do anything, but stand beside her and watch. Moments like these made him contemplate his life decisions and think about retirement again. He hated his job, he really did, but at the end of the day it payed for food and the house. And his wife's hospital bills. He took a deep breath. Why didn't Ace ignore this letter? When it's about work, Ace never jokes around, so this should be the real deal. Does he want to test me? 'I would like to visit Mary Lauper', Jonathan said with a smile. The smile was fake, but the nurse didn't seem to realize. 'And you are...?' 'I'm her uncle. I haven't seen her in ages and I thought, you know, before she may be gone soon.' 'Oh... it's in the second floor room thirteen.' Jonathan walked through the hallway of the hospital. He could feel the cold metal of his revolver under his black leather jaket. Of course nobody could tell there was a gun under it from the outside. Normally he is used to the weight of the revolver, but now it felt like dragging a sack of stones. He also took a lot more time to get to his destination than usually. She was only nine years, had her whole life still to live as long as she could beat cancer. He shook his head. No, he couldn't allow these kind of thoughts, he should act like he always did. But this job wasn't like the other jobs. There was no fat, farting asshole with money. There was no-one who did something bad by owing money or messed with the wrong guys. There was just a little nine year old girl, who didn't want to be a burden to her family. 13. Room 13. There it was. He stood there in silence, not knowing if he should actually do it. Knocking. It was his knocking. He didn't realize he raised his hand and was looking at it as if it was some unknown sea creature. 'Come in', said a gentle high pitched voice. He opened the door and went into a bright, open hospital room. Only one bed was occupied and in it was laying a small, bald child. She sat up and smiled at him as he came in. 'You really came!', she exclaimed. Unsure why she knew how Jonathan looked like, he came closer to her bed. When he reached it, he carefully sat down at the edge. 'Hey little one, how are you?' 'I don't feel so good, but now that you are here, it's better.' She smiled brightly. 'You see... Do you really want to do that? Don't you think your parents will miss you more than the money? Family is really important.' 'I know, but... I made a choice. Mommy and daddy will understand, I know it.' After all, she was really just a kid. She didn't understand the consequences of her choice. 'I can lend your family money, I... ' 'It's okay', she interrupted him. 'I know that you don' t have money, too. My parents couldn't pay it back. I think it's better this way.' Jonathan wasn't believing her, couldn't believe her. But he could see in her eyes that she was dead serious, though. She indeed made a choice and maybe she actually realized the consequences. Jonathan was shocked, but at the same time also had respect for her and what she chose. He pulled out the gun from under his jacket and showed it to her. 'Are you sure?', he asked one more time, looking at the revolver. She noded. 'Yes.' Slowly he screwed the silencer on top of the barrel. 'I hope you had a good life until now. I respect your choice. It's something not many can do, not even adults.' He swallowed. The gun in his hand. The tool to vanish this girls life. She's just a little girl The gun lifts in the air, pointing at her waist. She is only nine. Pointing at her chest. She has her whole life... Pointing at her head. ... ahead of her. A smile in the face. Eyes closed. Waiting for the end. Can you really kill a child? The finger at the trigger. The Heaviness of a life at his fingertips. Can you? And then black.	Marcus Winters sat at the dead-drop inside his beat to shit, red 1964 Chevrolet Biscayne. He was scanning a crudely written letter on what appeared to be blue construction paper and done in pencil crayons. He took a drag on the cigarette and tossed it out the window of the car. He's wearing what appears to be a ragged, and worn black pea coat, a white dress shirt with black necktie and black jeans and brown leather boots. His messy black hair is styled into some sort of quiff, and his hazel eyes are piercings daggers into the paper. Mister, Mommy and daddy don't believe me about the monsters living in our house. The man with the long tongue watches me from my door-way every night and I think he wants to eat me, please help. Mommy and daddy think he's just a dream. He rolls the small change around in his palm and tosses the change in the empty cup-holder next to him and drives off into the night. A few hours later Marcus pulls up to the address on the letter and peers from the car as he sees two argumentative and possibly abusive parents lead the girl upstairs to her bedroom with her in tears the entire time, the parents screaming quite audible from the car. He lights another cigarette and reaches for the glove-box and removes a beautiful midnight black painted Desert Eagle with religious markings etched into the grip. He double checks to make sure it's loaded and steps out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. He strides up the front door and casually steps inside, and is quite careful to make sure he's not making a sound, he's a professional after all. He can hear the parents screaming at their daughter from upstairs and proclaiming she needs to go to sleep now or meet the belt. "Pricks." He mutters under his breath and slowly makes his way up the stairs. He halts on the stairs in the darkness watching as the parents leave the room and make their way to their respective room all while complaining about their failure of a child and how they should drown her. He makes a mental note on dealing with them before leaving. He enters the child's room and sees the kid shaking with fear on her bed, the blankets drawn over head. He mutters something under his breath in Latin and shuts the door which causes the girl to jump and let out a shout, and oddly enough the sound doesn't alert the parents. "It's alright child." He waves her letter around and she seems to relax and wipe the snot and tears from her face. "Are you here to get rid of the monsters?" He nods and approaches the closet and opens it up and much to his dismay, finds it empty. The girl scampers out of bed and approaches him and stares into the closet with the armed man. She tugs onto his sleeve and looks up at him, catching his smile as he looks down. "He usually stands at my door when mommy and daddy are angry at me." She points to her door, and Marcus casually strides over his Desert Eagle firmly in his grasp. He closes his eyes and places his ear on the door and listens with intent. "I say we take her in the truck, drive out to the lake and just end it. I'm tired of living in hiding." The father says just outside the door, the mother makes a noise in agreement and Marcus leans back as knocks are heard on the door. Marcus motions for the child to get into bed and he takes a step back just as the door swings open and he hides behind the now open door as the parents walk in, the father quite visibly holding a syringe full of some liquid and the two of them are advancing on their daughter. "We're sorry for not believing you baby, it'll all be over soon, we promise." The father says slowly approaching the bed. As the "parents" approach the bed, a sigil appears on the door and begins to glow brightly. The two parents seem to react to this and hold their heads in agony letting out the most otherworldly demonic screams possible. However, Marcus is accustomed to this and aims his Desert Eagle up just as the Father snaps his head up revealing a foot long tongue drooping from his mouth and dripping with salivia. The "Father" screams and lunges at Marcus only to receive a bullet between the eyes, and drops to the floor with a dull thud. The "Mother" lets out a similar scream, leaps up and begins crawling like a spider with blinding speed on the ceiling. BLAM! BLAM! Two shots miss and Marcus rolls out of the way as a globule of acidic spit narrowly misses his face. "I fookin' hate spiders" He says in an Irish accent and straightens himself just as the Mother leaps at him and knocks him out of the room her jaws snapping at his neck. Struggling with the globules of saliva dripping and singeing holes into his coat, he throws the Mother off of him and down the flight of stairs, before she scurries off somewhere into the nearby living room. He stands up and motions for the daughter to stay put and slowly descends the stairs withdrawing a long silver cylinder from inside his coat. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and groans in protest as all of the lights have been turned off, and he is now thrust into darkness. "You will not save the girl, she will feed us, she will feed the many mouthed beasts, for we are whole." The Mother slowly crawls up behind Marcus, her jaws extended preparing to finish him off for good. As she pounces, he spins around with ferocious speed, extending the silver cylinder into a large cross and impales the Mother creature through the mouth and out the back of her head, its bulbous eyes rolling back into its skull. The blade slides effortlessly back into the cylinder and the corpse falls to the floor with a sickening wet plop. "Did you do it? Did you stop the monsters?" The girl's tiny voice startles Marcus as she is now standing at the bottom of the stairs staring down at her "Mother" who is now some sort of demonic-spider creature. He nods and walks over, patting her ontop of the head. "Let's get you outta here, kid. You need some bloody pancakes." And he picks the kid up and two of them step out of the house, and move towards the beaten-up car.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	"Dear Mr X. There is a monster in my closet and it is relly scary. My dad sed he killed it but it survivd and sed it was going to kill my famly plese help. This is all the mony that I have. I live at 1983 S Murklow way. Come quik. I'll leve my window open for you. Sally Kraus " Well this was different. How does a little kid know about my drop location. I turned the letter over and see more writing. "Hey Craig. It's blowhard, I heard you were in town, you still owe me a few beers and figured you could help me out with my daughter. I'll put up a ladder for you, just open the closet and fire a few blanks into the closet, silenced of course, and that should do it. I'll meet you at the back door after wards. And please don't bring that cheap piss you are so fond of." Blowhard... Wow, I thought he was dead... A daughter. He really got out. Good for him. This is going to be a fun night. I bring my eyes to the bottom of the window sill and take in the room. A bed on the right wall. A small white and pink dresser on the far wall and on the left, the closet , closed, with a jump rope tied around the knobs. Looks like a kids room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just like the whole block. Pretty boring out here in the suburbs. How did blowhard stay sane? I climbed in the window and I can hear Sally's breathing quickening from the bed. I whispered "I got your letter Sally, it will be over soon. You can stay under your blanket if you want." "No. I want to make sure you get it. Daddy said he got it but he didn't." came her small and quivering voice "Would you like proof if the kill?" "What is that?" "A piece of the monster. So you know I did the job right." A few seconds of silence pass. " Yes, I want that. I want to know its dead." I walk over to the closet, draw my gun, attach a silencer and remove the jump rope. I look back to see Sally peeking out from her covers her eyes wide. I open the door, i pause for dramatic effect. I quickly aim and fire off 2 quick shots, then one more. Holstering my gun I lean in and pull out my knife, make a quick motion and pull out a pigs ear from my pocket for her proof. "Ok. Sally. One dead monster" I walk over to her bed holding out my hand. "Your proof" She held out her open hands and i dropped the 'proof' into them. She recoiled a bit when it hit her hand. But she soon held it closer to her face to examine it. "Well, sleep tight" I turned an took a step towards the window. "Wait. This isn't the ear from the monster!" Sally cried. "Oh..." I turned to look at her face now contorted with fear and panic. "No. Its ears are longer and hairier! You didn't kill.....it......" her voice and face drain of all energy, eyes drifting out of focus but directed at the closet toward my back left. Chuckling, "What's wrong kid? Man your dad has got his hands full with you, doesn't he." But my last word was cut off by a hairy arm wrapping around my throat and pulling me backwards. A trap... A TRAP! I walked into a trap! Blowhard always said that sentiment is the deadliest poison. I pulled out my knife and stabbed back into my assailant and was rewarded with the squelch of rending flesh and a pained grunt. The arm around my throat gave way just enough for me to break free and turn to face my would-be assasin. But something was not right. My mind couldn't process what was before me. A hairy arm that had grabbed me. A bleeding gash in a...leg? Five glowing blue eyes above a toothless maw that seemed to be able to suck light in. And on top it all, two long hairy ears. What is thi... Its arms lashed out breaking bones and ending thought.	Dear Mr. Killer Sir, I know this isn't much money, but it's all I could get my hands on, my daddy only uses credit cards. I need you to kill my best friend Sally. Last week I told her I was going to wear my purple dress with the lace, and that Little back stabbing whore wore the same outfit!" Make it long and painful, like the pain I felt every time I looked over at her in class... Thanks Ivanka
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	When I was 9 years old I was considered by most people who knew me as a prodigy At age 5 I could speak my native language plus 2 more thanks to my interracial parents I could play the violin by age 7 and had mastered high school math by 8. I also had a very good vocabulary for a kid my age at 9 I have always been a grammar and spelling nazi. Always wanting to correct when I came across wrong usage of what I thought some of the most beautiful things. The Written Word Which is why I am now sitting in front of this wisp of girl. She is 9 years old. And she has brought me a letter. The letter lay between us facing her. The other item she had brought was a small envelope containing $23.42 in loose change. The amount didn't matter. I would do this for free but first some lessons had to be taught. "I can definitely help your Mother with her problem. But before that we have one pending point to be sorted out " The girl looked at me with wide and trusting eyes. Eyes that had been on the verge of tears when she i called her in after seeing her trying to drop a letter in my mail Box . I asked her to read me her letter. In a slow low voice she started. "Dear Doctor S------- Please help my Mother. She keeps hitting into things at home and I am very scared that she cannot see me much longer. She is the best Mother and I love her very much We don't have many money but I saved up some. You can take it. My Mother says you are the best Contract killer in this town and you will do it painlessly. I don't want my Mother to pain. Please help her " It was true that a spot i did on TV a few years ago after a successful operation on a famous movie star had bestowed upon me a nickname as the Contacts Killer. My eye surgery business has boomed since then but personally I never liked the nick name. But now was not the time to talk about my dislike of my nickname. A lesson in spelling and grammar had to be taught.	This was something new. I had never gotten any letters from illiterate kids before. "Hey dath, Plese come bak to us. I and Mom is mising yu. Love Sara PS: I hop this enough mony for a plain ticket" Cant really blame the post service, that this ended up here either. Maybe i should tell her, that her dad wont ever come back, but then again i had a lot of work and it wasnt her time yet. I grabbed my scythe and went back to rural China.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	"You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it." "But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior." She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size. "You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us." I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone. "None of us ever bury our sympathy." My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me. "We just turn it off." I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this. The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think. "You're with me now," she said. "Do it." I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots. ----------- We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile. "It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard." I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later. "Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important." "It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me." She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her. The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago. I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words. "Teach me." I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from. "Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it." I cock my gun and give it to her. "No one ever really enjoys it."	This was something new. I had never gotten any letters from illiterate kids before. "Hey dath, Plese come bak to us. I and Mom is mising yu. Love Sara PS: I hop this enough mony for a plain ticket" Cant really blame the post service, that this ended up here either. Maybe i should tell her, that her dad wont ever come back, but then again i had a lot of work and it wasnt her time yet. I grabbed my scythe and went back to rural China.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	"You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it." "But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior." She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size. "You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us." I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone. "None of us ever bury our sympathy." My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me. "We just turn it off." I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this. The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think. "You're with me now," she said. "Do it." I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots. ----------- We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile. "It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard." I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later. "Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important." "It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me." She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her. The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago. I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words. "Teach me." I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from. "Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it." I cock my gun and give it to her. "No one ever really enjoys it."	Finally, after various tests and scans ensured not to disturb the contents of the envelope, the man in grey and red dared to examine it under his own gloved fingers. The contents felt like small change- possibly American, judging by the size of some of the individual disks. A flick of his knife, a puff of his cigarette, and the top of the paper opened up with practiced ease, allowing the renowned assassin to dump the contents onto his desk. He discovered a couple of small bills among the change (American, as he'd expected, and probably real judging by the wear), but it still hardly added up to enough to buy him lunch. A little over 20 dollars did not a hit make. Already certain that whomever had sent him the contents of their pockets didn't intend for him to take them seriously (though he questioned how they could have found any mailing address that related to him), he unfolded the last of the envelope's contents: a crumpled page of lined paper, covered in chicken scratch that he had to squint to interpret. 'Dear Mr Spektor , How ar you today? I am not wel. Miz H is helping me no what to rite here, and I need your help. Plees take my momy and dady away ! They ar meen and lowd and they make me hurt a lot. Dady has the brown botles that he hits on the wal and it is LOWD and scary and then he makes me run to hide with it. This is al my mony, I hope it is enuf. From Sara J' Excellent, the 'Frenchman' thought to himself as he struggled through the last line and crumpled a page. Either some idiot prankster could succeed in baiting him into a reaction, or he could end up stealing from a small child evidently suffering from abusive parents. Neither option seemed acceptable- one hurt his image, the other, what shred of a conscious he had left. Knock knock. "-Mr. Noel?" "What is it, Judith?" "Your lunch is ready, sir. Shall I bring it up to you?" "...I'll be down in a few minutes. And you can have the rest of the day free, if you like." "If you insist, sir..." Despite her struggles, he clearly heard the ill-concealed glee in her tone, driving her voice upwards by an octave or two. She'd been hoping for a day to spend with her girlfriends, he'd noticed. And the famed Crimson Spectre needed some time to himself to think.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	I'm usually clinical about my work, like a doctor. Emotions tend to cause mistakes. I got a letter from a little girl and it said "He hurts me at night. I just want it to stop. Please help me." so this job was a little different. It felt good to use a knife again, it had been a while since i'd been up close and personal.	I knew something was wrong the moment I picked up the envelope, first of all it was to light, secondly it rattled. Bills do not rattle, only coins do, and unless I was very much mistaken there were not $100 coins. I shook the envelope again confirming the noise before looking at the man who had brought me the envelope. "Did anyone see you Charles?" Charles shook his head, "no Mr. I nobody saw me." I sighed and emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table, a handful of coins tumbled onto the table a long with a note. I reached forward and grabbed the note while Charles began counting the money. It didn't take him long, "$23.42" he said. I didn't say anything I was transfixed by the letter, I read it once quickly then a second time more slowly. "What is it Mr. I?" Charles asked. I looked at him, "If I am not mistaken Charles this letter is written by a little girl." Charles stared at me in disbelief, "A little girl?" "Yes listen," I began to read aloud. "Mr, Please help me, my mummy and daddy are being mean to me. They are hurting me each day they torture me. They dont let me watch t.v. or play video games. They make me go outside its so unfair. Tyler gets to play his video games all the time. I only get an hour aday I AM A BIG GIRL i dont need to have a bed time or take naps. Please MR they are MEAN please help me please make them stop being so mean. This is all the money I have please make the mean people go away." Charles and I stared at each other before breaking into laughter. "She must really love her video games," Charles managed to say. "Clearly" I said trying to stop laughing. I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fire, "Well that was the easiest money I ever made." Charles could only nod.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	"You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it." "But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior." She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size. "You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us." I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone. "None of us ever bury our sympathy." My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me. "We just turn it off." I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this. The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think. "You're with me now," she said. "Do it." I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots. ----------- We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile. "It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard." I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later. "Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important." "It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me." She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her. The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago. I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words. "Teach me." I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from. "Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it." I cock my gun and give it to her. "No one ever really enjoys it."	I knew something was wrong the moment I picked up the envelope, first of all it was to light, secondly it rattled. Bills do not rattle, only coins do, and unless I was very much mistaken there were not $100 coins. I shook the envelope again confirming the noise before looking at the man who had brought me the envelope. "Did anyone see you Charles?" Charles shook his head, "no Mr. I nobody saw me." I sighed and emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table, a handful of coins tumbled onto the table a long with a note. I reached forward and grabbed the note while Charles began counting the money. It didn't take him long, "$23.42" he said. I didn't say anything I was transfixed by the letter, I read it once quickly then a second time more slowly. "What is it Mr. I?" Charles asked. I looked at him, "If I am not mistaken Charles this letter is written by a little girl." Charles stared at me in disbelief, "A little girl?" "Yes listen," I began to read aloud. "Mr, Please help me, my mummy and daddy are being mean to me. They are hurting me each day they torture me. They dont let me watch t.v. or play video games. They make me go outside its so unfair. Tyler gets to play his video games all the time. I only get an hour aday I AM A BIG GIRL i dont need to have a bed time or take naps. Please MR they are MEAN please help me please make them stop being so mean. This is all the money I have please make the mean people go away." Charles and I stared at each other before breaking into laughter. "She must really love her video games," Charles managed to say. "Clearly" I said trying to stop laughing. I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fire, "Well that was the easiest money I ever made." Charles could only nod.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	I had a reputation for working for cheap but this was ridiculous. Kind of scary even. I considered the kid's $23.42 and read her letter for a 3rd time. 'tere is a bully who is mean to me. he keeps stealing my lunch money and says if i tell my mommy he would do bad things to me. he showed me a REAL!! gun when he said that. billy said his dad got your help with another mean person. here is all my money (you can buy a lot of candy with it). he is always on the corner at the end of my street. i live in 4576 northpine drive. thank you and my name is sally' She'd included a printout picture of the guy too. Bottom of the barrel scumbag: dirty Jeans and t-shirt, bags under his eyes, and a few visible needle marks on his scrawny arms. The kind desperate enough to rough up a little girl for a few dollars. The real worst that humanity has to offer, and that's coming from a guy who kills people for $50. Ah, the price. That was also a dilemma. Besides the kid's likely incomprehension of what it means to 'help with a mean person', she was twenty six dollars short. I sighed and took a swig from my flask. I looked at the picture for a little longer and came to a decision. Mr. Ohonly, I learned to be his name in a footnote in the newspaper the next morning, died of what is suspected to be a gang related drive by shooting. No witnesses have come forward yet with any information on the car and persons that took part in the killing.	I knew something was wrong the moment I picked up the envelope, first of all it was to light, secondly it rattled. Bills do not rattle, only coins do, and unless I was very much mistaken there were not $100 coins. I shook the envelope again confirming the noise before looking at the man who had brought me the envelope. "Did anyone see you Charles?" Charles shook his head, "no Mr. I nobody saw me." I sighed and emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table, a handful of coins tumbled onto the table a long with a note. I reached forward and grabbed the note while Charles began counting the money. It didn't take him long, "$23.42" he said. I didn't say anything I was transfixed by the letter, I read it once quickly then a second time more slowly. "What is it Mr. I?" Charles asked. I looked at him, "If I am not mistaken Charles this letter is written by a little girl." Charles stared at me in disbelief, "A little girl?" "Yes listen," I began to read aloud. "Mr, Please help me, my mummy and daddy are being mean to me. They are hurting me each day they torture me. They dont let me watch t.v. or play video games. They make me go outside its so unfair. Tyler gets to play his video games all the time. I only get an hour aday I AM A BIG GIRL i dont need to have a bed time or take naps. Please MR they are MEAN please help me please make them stop being so mean. This is all the money I have please make the mean people go away." Charles and I stared at each other before breaking into laughter. "She must really love her video games," Charles managed to say. "Clearly" I said trying to stop laughing. I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fire, "Well that was the easiest money I ever made." Charles could only nod.
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.	"You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it." "But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior." She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size. "You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us." I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone. "None of us ever bury our sympathy." My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me. "We just turn it off." I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this. The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think. "You're with me now," she said. "Do it." I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots. ----------- We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile. "It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard." I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later. "Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important." "It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me." She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her. The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago. I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words. "Teach me." I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from. "Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it." I cock my gun and give it to her. "No one ever really enjoys it."	I'm usually clinical about my work, like a doctor. Emotions tend to cause mistakes. I got a letter from a little girl and it said "He hurts me at night. I just want it to stop. Please help me." so this job was a little different. It felt good to use a knife again, it had been a while since i'd been up close and personal.
[WP] Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean.	Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean. The air on Deneb VII, an exotic mixture of helium and nitrogen at around 50 Kelvin, made for a dazzling display at sunset. Even out on the inner fringe of Deneb's Oort cloud, the white supergiant casts harsh shadows and just enough warmth to create a day and night cycle. An energy gradient. Always crucial. Before our faceplates, spurs of nitrogen ice began to pierce the perfect spherical gems from the inside, creating exotic three-dimensional snowflakes falling at a gentle pace. Deneb sinks behind the horizon in less than a minute with the swift rotation of this remote world, and the temperature immediately began to drop further. Twisting, jagged spurs of "ice" began to flourish from the metallic crust beneath our boots like glassine flowers. A muted crunch as Lin-Dyn shifts her position on the permafrost. And then. The Silence. The profound, alien silence only an archaeologist on a "lifeless" world could know. We bask in that silence, away from the bright, noisy worlds of Mankind. Listening and digging for the secret, and warning, of why the stars are utterly silent.	Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean. Very much like the thoughts that visited Jim's head - wholesome, wonderful ideas that would sometimes come in a downpour of exquisite clarity about life and purpose. But he knew it never lasted, never for long aside from those moments. So much to savor in so little time... And like the rain, once they hit the ground, all that beauty was lost. What was once clear water became mud flooding the drainpipes, hurtling down the sewers along with the waste. Jim's shivered under thin parka, and peered over the ledge of the river dam. The water below was churning in the dark, rain and the artificial tide syncing up into one droning cacophony. He held the bag out in his hand, dangling it for a bit in the air. The rain shushed against it. Yes, that's how it happened most of the times. Good intentions turned rotten, sour. Acidic, even. The dripping water rolled over the bag and turned red, each drop - a ruby, plonking down into the abyss. Well, nothing he could do about it, Jim thought as he hesitated for one more moment and then let go off his burden. The shiny plastic flashed in the floodlights for a second as the package tumbled downstream, and then vanished. Jim liked the rain. It was far more forgiving of his mistakes than anyone else.
[WP] Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean.	Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean. The air on Deneb VII, an exotic mixture of helium and nitrogen at around 50 Kelvin, made for a dazzling display at sunset. Even out on the inner fringe of Deneb's Oort cloud, the white supergiant casts harsh shadows and just enough warmth to create a day and night cycle. An energy gradient. Always crucial. Before our faceplates, spurs of nitrogen ice began to pierce the perfect spherical gems from the inside, creating exotic three-dimensional snowflakes falling at a gentle pace. Deneb sinks behind the horizon in less than a minute with the swift rotation of this remote world, and the temperature immediately began to drop further. Twisting, jagged spurs of "ice" began to flourish from the metallic crust beneath our boots like glassine flowers. A muted crunch as Lin-Dyn shifts her position on the permafrost. And then. The Silence. The profound, alien silence only an archaeologist on a "lifeless" world could know. We bask in that silence, away from the bright, noisy worlds of Mankind. Listening and digging for the secret, and warning, of why the stars are utterly silent.	If a sword could rot, this one had. Even as Kyra gripped it in his hand, it seemed to be falling apart, ever so slowly destroying itself. A hint of green writhed around the blade, and it would have accented the shining silver but for the fact that the silver had long lost its shine. The sword, then, fit in well with the rest of the group. Five men of varying ages, but none younger than eighteen. They had chosen the strongest, the most intelligent and experienced, and it was these five that had left on the quest. Enough that the ones left behind could hold out hope, could dream of their success. Just enough so that there was a sufficient number of workers to help the families they had abandoned. Perhaps it was a farce, Kyra mused. It certainly seemed that their quest was a hopeless one, but they were all jaded, more now than ever. Fights had broken out among the men when they had first set out, over paths to follow and actions to take. Rarely, they had turned violent, friends coming to blows as their journey became ever more stressful. And then... it had just stopped. They had reached a point where they no longer cared, where their day-to-day survival was the only thing they truly put effort into. What mattered was that their families back home, the ones they had left behind, had hope. Some fragment of a dream, something to hold onto, as they slowly withered and died. Their hope was built on nothing, Kyra had long realized. Their entire group, each and every one of them, had come to accept that nothing would come of their quest. Even as they slowly made their way north, forging into the wilting forests that marked a world completely separate from the one they had known, they knew that every step they took brought them further and further away from reality. Further and further into a hopeless dream. Kyra gestured with the sword, the dull point wavering in the air in front of him. While he had thought, the others argued. Not a fight anyone would win: A debate of morals, of consequence. The old man they had found seemed almost amused by their discussion. He sat in a tattered chair, legs sunken into the dirt in front of his hut. A recluse, a hermit. The others had wanted to take what he had. None of them had set out thinking they would even consider such a thing. They were searching for redemption, for aid for their families, and to steal from an elderly hermit was the last thing their families would have wanted. And, well, they were good men - it was the last thing they would have wanted, as well. And yet here they were. Something about their hopeless quest into fantasy and delusion had changed things. They were distanced from reality, living in a fragmented dream, and somehow that made the idea of breaking their own rules less daunting. Less of a hurdle, when none of it felt real anyways. "Look," Kyra said, and the others listened. He had come to his decision, and majority ruled. They would likely have listened to him anyways, as he had slowly become the de facto leader of their group. Quiet, not the youngest or oldest of their group, they had come into the belief he was possessed of some sort of wisdom. Whether they were right or not, that he couldn't say. "We've come a long way on little rations. I know we could use the boost... but it's not worth it. If we're going to fail anyways-" his open admission made two of them look away- "then there's no point compromising our virtues to do so. Let's just move on." Murmurs of agreement came from the other members of his group. Even the two that had been arguing for a more violent course of action seemed to be in agreement, nodding their heads. A peaceful resolution, made easy by the apathy that had spread through their company already. One or two turned away, and then the man started laughing. A hearty laughter, not quite belonging to someone who had feared for their life just moments prior. "You all okay?" asked Grian. The youngest member of their group. The old man stood up from his chair, assisted by a wooden staff that seemed to materialize from thin air. "Why, yes, I'm perfectly all right. I am simply curious about the nature of your group. Very few have passed by here in a long, long time." Kyra sheathed his sword, if one could call the leather strap a 'sheath'. "We are on a quest to find the great wizard. It is our hope that he may be able to end this curse upon our land." A smile from the old man. "Are you sure he exists? I have heard he is but a myth, something to insert into children's stories." "Well," said Jack, the expression on his face grim, "I certainly hope not. And that's about it." The man nodded his head. Kyra wasn't sure whether it was in agreement or simply understanding. They set off once more. The horses they had brought had long died, of exhaustion and dehydration, and so they carried their supplies in improvised sacks. There was little to do to prepare to continue their journey. It was hardly an hour later when the sky clouded over. "Cover!" called Kyra. "Get under cover!" Sheets were tacked to a tree stump, hardly waterproof, and they hid underneath. Meagre protection, but it would have to do. The rain fell, and the mood rapidly changed - first from a hard acceptance, then to hope, then to excitement. Each droplet that fell from the sky was glittering like a diamond, pure and clean. --- more writing on r/forricide
[WP] You are the subject of the world's first successful cryogenic experiment, and you wake up to a world ruled by...	Kyle pushed open the heavy hospital door and emerged into sunlight. He breathed deep and shielded his face. It was bright and burning, as if the sun was too close to the surface of the earth. It was hot. He felt sweat bead at his hairline immediately. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked and tried to adjust. It had been winter when he went under. The cancer was too aggressive. This was his only option. "They're close to a treatment on this particular strain, Mr. Matthews," his doctor had muttered, reviewing his paperwork from behind a wide, polished wood desk. "Five, six years perhaps. No more than ten, surely." Kyle had glanced at Jenna then, and her eternally optimistic gaze was as bright as the sun that greeted him outside the hospital. She had grasped his hand so tightly. "We have the money, Kyle. We can do this." "Jenna, please," he sighed. "To be gone for that long...the boys..." "I think the boys would rather lose five years with you than forever." Her smile had been glorious. A solution. So he had agreed. Cryogenically frozen for five years, ten at the most. At that point they would revive him whether there was something to be done for his cancer or not. He didn't want to leave them for any longer than he would have to. Kisses all around. Tommy understood what was happening, but little Dave thought Daddy was taking a long nap. He kept growling like a bear because he had just learned the term hibernation. Tommy had tried really hard not to cry, but he was seven. It was impossible not to cry a bit. Jenna had held them all close and tight, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her belly. A third boy, Joseph was growing inside of her. Five more months and he'd be joining the wait for Kyle's return. Jenna then sent them out with her mother so she could be with him for the end. "I'll be here when you wake up," she had promised, whispering in his ear. And then he had woke up. She had been wrong. Kyle felt like he had dreamed about Jenna for a long time. As if she had never been real, just a figment of those long dreams. When he woke, she was not there. He stumbled out of his chamber, his legs in shambles even with the machines that had worked so hard to keep his muscles from atrophying. The hospital was empty. It was clean and empty, as if all the patients and staff and visitors had just vanished one day. Kyle found some scrubs in a locker and changed, tamping down his confusion and fear as hard as he could. All electricity was off. He couldn't boot a computer or get an outside phone line. Nothing, no one. Kyle called out into the dark the obligatory: "Hello! Is anyone there?" It was met with unfeeling tile floors and whitewashed drywall. He stumbled out of the hospital and into the bright sunlight. The streets were empty, the businesses closed. The entire city was shut down. Kyle swallowed and scanned the neighborhood from the hospital grounds, but there was nothing. A ghost town. "But nothing's destroyed," Kyle murmured. There was no devastation, no sickness he could tell. No bodies, no broken down cars. Nothing. He was getting tired of repeating that in his mind over and over again: nothing, nothing, nothing... There was nothing else to do; he began walking. For hours Kyle walked through an empty desert of suburbia. He stopped at a grocery store and found aisles and aisles of food still available. No electricity so the produce and frozen stuff were depleted, but the boxed stuff and canned goods were still edible. For the first time he noticed there was a thick film of dust over everything. The hospital had been so empty there had been nothing for dust to settle on, but in the grocery store, it was everywhere. Kyle ate a little, his stomach small and full from the chamber keeping him fed, but it was nice to eat real food again. After the store, the walk continued. It was droning and monotonous. At sunset Kyle's frustration was impossible. He finally stopped at a community playground and screamed into nothing. Obviously the plan to revive him had failed, but for how long. How many months had passed? Years? Decades? Where was his family? He screamed into the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon without a care. Kyle's frustration had no effect on its path. Time continued to pass. Everything was shaking, the need to sit was absolute. He sat on a swing and held his face in his hands. More than anything else he wanted to see Jenna. Needed to see her. Everything could be dealt with if he could just speak to his wife. The air moved around Kyle. It disrupted the soft stillness of the oncoming evening. Someone was in the playground with him. His head snapped up and he twisted in the swing to get a better look at who had appeared. It was a man. Thirty or thirty-five. A serene expression on his face as he walked directly toward Kyle. Kyle jumped off the swing, immediately on guard, not knowing what to expect. The man approached slowly, but with little caution. He stopped four feet in front of Kyle, and put his hands in his pockets. He was relaxed as he studied the scared, confused man in hospital scrubs who had recently been swinging and crying like a child. "Hello," Kyle finally said. His throat, despite the faint whispers to himself, felt raw and raspy with the effort to make speech. The man's casual grin widened. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. We were unsure if you were going to join us." "Join who?" Kyle asked. He glanced around. "There's no one here. Who are you? Do you know me?" "Indeed I do," the young man smiled broadly, stepping closer to Kyle. "It's incredibly good to meet you, dad," said Joseph. I know I changed the parameters a little on the prompt. Also, I kind of want to make this a two-parter, is that allowed? New to the group...	"Harmincnégy..." ... "Harmincöt..." ... "Harminchat." "whaaaaa..." "Tizenkettő, hátra!" "wheee... am i?" "Mehet!" A flash of light, and i saw my last moments. 2018, i was terminally ill. I wanted to live. My family! "WHEEE .. IIIS MAH... FAMLEEE" Damn it, it hurts! I feel like... like i'm half frozen. "Ez mi? Mit mond?" "Hello?" A man with the white mask looks at me. Two others to his side. "Halló? Tud beszélni? Hall engem?" "My.... family... here? ... Where... am... i?" One of the others spoke. "Angol. Hivjátok be Zsoltot, ő beszéli." One of the others left. Okay, i seem to be alive, i can't really move. The walls are white and made of tiles, i must be in a hospital. I can't recognize the language tho. They speak spanish? No it is different. Where... when am i? I have a family... i think. Are they okay? A fourth man came in, was wearing grey instead of white. Strange cap with a cross, no a black "+"? What is going on? "Good ev-nin. Are you spee-king eng-leesh?" "Yeah. Where am i? Who... who are you?" The man in white had a ... surprised expression on his face. "Ez most amerikás?" "Are you ameri-can?" "Yes." "Mi a neve?" "What is your name?" "I'm... i'm Jack, Jack Johnson." One of the men in white yelled to the others: "Ez nem az! Mit keverhettek össze?" The one who hasn't spoken yet answered: "Nézzünk egy DNSt. Ha nem is magyar, legalább beosztjuk takarítónak..." "Mut bánom én... Őrmester, mondja meg neki, hogy ne mozogjon. Holnapra jobban lesz és mindent megbeszélünk. Egyenlőre szedje össze a gondolatait." "Értettem. Look, Jack. Jack, you need to... think about yourself. You can't move yet. We will come back tomorrow morning and you will get answers." "Yea." I was confused... this was the best answer i could blurt out. I have no idea what is happening, but so far it looks like i'm not in danger.
[WP] You are the subject of the world's first successful cryogenic experiment, and you wake up to a world ruled by...	Kyle pushed open the heavy hospital door and emerged into sunlight. He breathed deep and shielded his face. It was bright and burning, as if the sun was too close to the surface of the earth. It was hot. He felt sweat bead at his hairline immediately. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked and tried to adjust. It had been winter when he went under. The cancer was too aggressive. This was his only option. "They're close to a treatment on this particular strain, Mr. Matthews," his doctor had muttered, reviewing his paperwork from behind a wide, polished wood desk. "Five, six years perhaps. No more than ten, surely." Kyle had glanced at Jenna then, and her eternally optimistic gaze was as bright as the sun that greeted him outside the hospital. She had grasped his hand so tightly. "We have the money, Kyle. We can do this." "Jenna, please," he sighed. "To be gone for that long...the boys..." "I think the boys would rather lose five years with you than forever." Her smile had been glorious. A solution. So he had agreed. Cryogenically frozen for five years, ten at the most. At that point they would revive him whether there was something to be done for his cancer or not. He didn't want to leave them for any longer than he would have to. Kisses all around. Tommy understood what was happening, but little Dave thought Daddy was taking a long nap. He kept growling like a bear because he had just learned the term hibernation. Tommy had tried really hard not to cry, but he was seven. It was impossible not to cry a bit. Jenna had held them all close and tight, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her belly. A third boy, Joseph was growing inside of her. Five more months and he'd be joining the wait for Kyle's return. Jenna then sent them out with her mother so she could be with him for the end. "I'll be here when you wake up," she had promised, whispering in his ear. And then he had woke up. She had been wrong. Kyle felt like he had dreamed about Jenna for a long time. As if she had never been real, just a figment of those long dreams. When he woke, she was not there. He stumbled out of his chamber, his legs in shambles even with the machines that had worked so hard to keep his muscles from atrophying. The hospital was empty. It was clean and empty, as if all the patients and staff and visitors had just vanished one day. Kyle found some scrubs in a locker and changed, tamping down his confusion and fear as hard as he could. All electricity was off. He couldn't boot a computer or get an outside phone line. Nothing, no one. Kyle called out into the dark the obligatory: "Hello! Is anyone there?" It was met with unfeeling tile floors and whitewashed drywall. He stumbled out of the hospital and into the bright sunlight. The streets were empty, the businesses closed. The entire city was shut down. Kyle swallowed and scanned the neighborhood from the hospital grounds, but there was nothing. A ghost town. "But nothing's destroyed," Kyle murmured. There was no devastation, no sickness he could tell. No bodies, no broken down cars. Nothing. He was getting tired of repeating that in his mind over and over again: nothing, nothing, nothing... There was nothing else to do; he began walking. For hours Kyle walked through an empty desert of suburbia. He stopped at a grocery store and found aisles and aisles of food still available. No electricity so the produce and frozen stuff were depleted, but the boxed stuff and canned goods were still edible. For the first time he noticed there was a thick film of dust over everything. The hospital had been so empty there had been nothing for dust to settle on, but in the grocery store, it was everywhere. Kyle ate a little, his stomach small and full from the chamber keeping him fed, but it was nice to eat real food again. After the store, the walk continued. It was droning and monotonous. At sunset Kyle's frustration was impossible. He finally stopped at a community playground and screamed into nothing. Obviously the plan to revive him had failed, but for how long. How many months had passed? Years? Decades? Where was his family? He screamed into the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon without a care. Kyle's frustration had no effect on its path. Time continued to pass. Everything was shaking, the need to sit was absolute. He sat on a swing and held his face in his hands. More than anything else he wanted to see Jenna. Needed to see her. Everything could be dealt with if he could just speak to his wife. The air moved around Kyle. It disrupted the soft stillness of the oncoming evening. Someone was in the playground with him. His head snapped up and he twisted in the swing to get a better look at who had appeared. It was a man. Thirty or thirty-five. A serene expression on his face as he walked directly toward Kyle. Kyle jumped off the swing, immediately on guard, not knowing what to expect. The man approached slowly, but with little caution. He stopped four feet in front of Kyle, and put his hands in his pockets. He was relaxed as he studied the scared, confused man in hospital scrubs who had recently been swinging and crying like a child. "Hello," Kyle finally said. His throat, despite the faint whispers to himself, felt raw and raspy with the effort to make speech. The man's casual grin widened. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. We were unsure if you were going to join us." "Join who?" Kyle asked. He glanced around. "There's no one here. Who are you? Do you know me?" "Indeed I do," the young man smiled broadly, stepping closer to Kyle. "It's incredibly good to meet you, dad," said Joseph. I know I changed the parameters a little on the prompt. Also, I kind of want to make this a two-parter, is that allowed? New to the group...	"He's waking up!" The voice sounded almost exactly like my little sister's. I was half lying, half sitting on what felt like a couch with an armrest torn off. "Don't get up too quickly," said a voice that must have belonged to a kid no older than twelve. I raised a slimy hand to wipe off some of the cryogenic coagulant covering my face, than realized the futility of the gesture. "They put some nasty stuff into that vat," I groaned. My voice couldn't have sounded more hungover, but I doubted any of the kids here knew what that even meant. "I can't open my eyes, without getting the stuff in 'em. Where am I? Who's in charge here? Someone wiped a mat over my face, and I opened my eyes to see a ten year old Black boy, an eight year old Caucasian girl, and another girl with who's face suggested being of Asian decent, either Chinese or Thai. She seemed the oldest of the three, and said "That would be me. I'm Doctor Patel." (Indian! Should have guessed it.) "That's very funny, but I need to see an actual adult." Her face a mask, she retorted "mentally I am a hundred years older than you, Mr. Doe. The cryogenics that froze you were primitive, we were hardly able to figure out how to thaw you out. You're lucky that Dr. Jones urged me to continue pulling you out, I thought you would be a lost cause for sure." I looked around. I was in some sort of children's hospital. I was lying on a cot made for a kid, and I could see the cryogenic pod in the corner of the room. At this point, the Black kid spoke up. "I'm Doctor Peter Jones, sir. You must be really confused. I apologize for my colleague, she doesn't really spend a lot of time using bedside manners." At this, Patel stared such daggers at him, it was a wonder she didn't break skin. "You see, years after you were put under, we discovered a way to halt the aging process. a person who looks ten today, might actually be hundreds of years old." "You called me Mr. Doe," I said, trying to wrap my head around this. When faced with huge things, I tend to react by focusing on the smallest matters. Why is that?" The younger girl spoke up. "You're registered as John Doe, sir. I don't think she realized what that means." They labeled me dead? "I-it's Greene. Felix Greene" "Greene," asked the boy. "Do you think he?" "Of course not," snapped Patel. This guy was out of the way, but not that far out of the way. Mr. Greene, what year was it when you went under?" I told them. "We got him," said the younger girl. "We got the first." It took days for me to get acclimated to the new world. In addition to computer-based education, I was also educated by some of the greatest teachers in the world. All of whom looked like they should have been in fourth or fifth grade. Evidently, after they found a fix for telomerase, scientists mastered the hormones of development. The result: a pill that froze aging. Some chose to stop aging at twenty one, others eighteen, others going only far enough to be able to conceive children. However, the segment of the population that remained prepubescent turned out to be the most successful, through a combination of neuroelasticity, capacity the work together, and the use of time not devoted to pornography. By the time ten-year olds (the boys were always ten. The girls tended to "freeze" immediately before menarche.) ruled the world, all the older people could not turn back. More that one of my tutors mournfully told me that I would probably only live to the age of 250. The world was a better place. Without the avarice and greed of the past, world peace had been achieved. As the world's population consumed children's calories, farms were able to keep up with population growth, and deforestation and land-grabbing came to an end. When everyone started to have children through artificial wombs, racial, ethnic, and nationalist movements kind of fell apart. Rape obviously stopped being a thing. I found myself being the only man who owned a house without a ball pit or cotton candy machine. "Mr. Greene, it's been a year since you woke up, what's it like living in the modern day?" It was my third press conference since my "resurrection," and all the press were scrambling to speak to the oldest man alive. "Well, I still think of this beautiful world as the future. Do you know how much I relish waking up every morning knowing that there are no more wars, or third world countries? How much I love spending every day watching the people of countries that used to be filled with chaos ind strife build new things? I didn't know what a weight on my shoulders climate change was until it was lifted. The pizza's good too." They all laughed. The nice thing about being one of the last adults is that everyone else has the sense of humor of a kid. I took the next question. "Mr. Greene, how lonely do you feel, being so isolated in your circumstances?" It was a good question. I was one of two men who had been unfrozen in the last fifteen years. The other guy was an angry Australian in his eighties who wanted nothing to do with me. None of the three women spoke English. And the total lack of porn was a struggle. "Very empathetic of you, Alissa. It's still hard for me to remember that even though I'm chronologically and physically older than all my neighbors, I'm mentally centuries beneath them." "Sir, having seen the world change so much, what advise do you have to the world?" "All the good I've seen, all the change that's been made came at a tremendous risk. No one knew whether I'd survive being frozen, or if they could get me out. The first kids to freeze early didn't know what the ramifications of being ten for so long would be. We had no idea if the Perseus missions would work, but we launched them anyway. It's very easy to fall into the trap of complacency. But don't. You never know which risk will change the world."
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"Listen closely Sarah, you know that if it was two or three dragons I'd have said a couple of dragons..." He paused as she started to scold him for assuming that the dragons were dating each other, he cut her off "It's a figure of speech, listen we are getting off topic here! There's a few DRAGONS, fire breathing ones, and yes I SAW them breath fire before you scold me for assuming they're ALL fire breather-" He sighed as she hung up on him saying he's so insensitive and never listens to her. Jeff stood there looking out the window as the sky filled with smoke from the fires the dragons where causing filled the sky, as one flew towards the house, fire streaming across the ground he stared out the window at the approaching flame, "Is it a gaggle, a flock, pack or what when its a bunch of dragons together..." The flames burst through the window and ended the train of thought.	Everyone tends to turn towards loud sounds, which makes sense in non-explosive cases. At this point it just meant that Dave, Greg and Sue got to see John lean his back against the door he had just slammed shut and slowly sink to the floor. “Dude,” Dave said. “Duuuude,” Greg agreed. “You look sweaty,” Sue said, she always had been the perceptive one. “Did you run back?” At this point she got up and walked over to John. Dave and Greg looked at her having some difficulty understanding how she could be standing up when gravity was so high. Sue however was not noticing the increased gravity, because she wasn’t, excuse the colloquialism, tripping balls. She was however high enough to have mostly gone over to John to grab the bags of snacks he was supposed to get. When she realized that supposed to meant that he indeed hadn’t, she understandably freaked out a little. “Dude!” she exclaimed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Ice cream!” This made no sense to Dave and Greg. Why would John have forgotten to buy the ice cream when he clearly would have remembered to buy all the other things on the lengthy list they had imagined giving him? In no reality did it make sense to them for John to have not brought the things they so heartily craved. “D… dragons…” John stammered out. “There’s a… uh… a few dragons outside.” The silent pause in the apartment after his statement befit the gravity of the situation. “Dude,” said Greg. “Dude you know how like… rabbits?” Eyes turned towards him. Was this going to be another one of the raunchy side-stories Greg, the man who had allegedly once banged a movie star or possibly just a crack whore that looked a lot like Steve Buscemi, constantly came up with? “Dude, like… some rabbits is subjective,” he said, clarifying exactly nothing. “Three rabbits is like, objective.” The group were enthralled by this lesson in elementary grammar that probably constituted the bulk of what Greg remembered from school. “So like… when you say a few dragons, that’s like, subjective dude.” Gazes turned again towards John, seeking clarification given this new and vital information. “Oh,” John said and slowly got up, stumbling towards the couch. Sue stomped her foot angrily at him, and he shuffled around her awkwardly, getting a punch in the arm for his troubles. Sue was rather mean when she had the munchies. “Like I dunno, three? I didn’t fucking count them,” he said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Three is a lot,” Dave said, nodding sagely, giving his own subjective take on the situation. Theoretically true his statement was met with silence. Three might not be a lot when it comes to candy bars or scoops of delicious ice cream, but it was certainly a lot when it came to dragons. “Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Guess we better stay inside.” This prompted an angry and ice-cream deprived snort from Sue, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Three dragons was a lot. “So like, Dude,” Dave said to John as John slid down into the couch in that semi-liquid fashion of extreme relaxation, “Dude, like, were did they spot you?” Eyes turned to John again, and he threw up his hands. “Just as I was coming back, dude,” he said. “Outside the old hags house.” This did not need further explanation, the four had ran into the old hag more than once and she had earned the name quite well. Again the silence reigned as the four processed the loss of previously expected deliciousness. Then suddenly Sue perked up. “Dude… you were on your way back?” “Yeah,” John said with a sigh. “Good thing I was close to home.” This just made Sue perk up more, which wasn’t unusual – she was the lightweight of the gang and usually partook in far less of the entertainment, meaning she was typically the perkiest of them. “Dude,” she said excitedly. “Ice cream!” As one three set of tired eyes flew up as they realized the treasure waiting for them, dropped somewhere between here and the old hags house. Three dragons was a lot… subjectively. Objectively, there was bags of tasty things on the ground, waiting to be eaten. There was a sudden commotion as hands reached behind couches eagerly grabbing pieces of steel armor, swords were brought out from the cleaning cupboard, and constant exclamations of “Dude!” and “Dude?” and “Duuuude” as they started helping each other suit up. The knights would ride again, and three dragons, or thereabouts, would be bravely slain. Perhaps. Definitely, if they stood between Sue and her ice cream. ***** I archive my writing on r/ringaroundtheroses in case you're looking for more to read!
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"Ehh. Thats kind of difficult to awnser. I mean, how do you personally count multiple headed dragons? Do you consider it a single dragon because its one body, or since each head is conscious does each head count as its own dragon? What about younger ones? Do they get a full point or because they arent as big do they get a fraction? Honestly, I'm kind of confused on what awnser you are trying to get to. The literal amount? Because if you're interested in the amount of danger ourside, I have to say, I against asigning each dragon a single point. That said, it does get into very 'personal opinion' territory. Do you asign the same points to a fire breathing dragon to an acid spewing dragon of equal size? Is acid worse or better that fire? Teeth verse claws? Speed or power? Honestly, i don't think i can come up with a suitabe awnser." "... You know what, I'll just check for myself."	Everyone tends to turn towards loud sounds, which makes sense in non-explosive cases. At this point it just meant that Dave, Greg and Sue got to see John lean his back against the door he had just slammed shut and slowly sink to the floor. “Dude,” Dave said. “Duuuude,” Greg agreed. “You look sweaty,” Sue said, she always had been the perceptive one. “Did you run back?” At this point she got up and walked over to John. Dave and Greg looked at her having some difficulty understanding how she could be standing up when gravity was so high. Sue however was not noticing the increased gravity, because she wasn’t, excuse the colloquialism, tripping balls. She was however high enough to have mostly gone over to John to grab the bags of snacks he was supposed to get. When she realized that supposed to meant that he indeed hadn’t, she understandably freaked out a little. “Dude!” she exclaimed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Ice cream!” This made no sense to Dave and Greg. Why would John have forgotten to buy the ice cream when he clearly would have remembered to buy all the other things on the lengthy list they had imagined giving him? In no reality did it make sense to them for John to have not brought the things they so heartily craved. “D… dragons…” John stammered out. “There’s a… uh… a few dragons outside.” The silent pause in the apartment after his statement befit the gravity of the situation. “Dude,” said Greg. “Dude you know how like… rabbits?” Eyes turned towards him. Was this going to be another one of the raunchy side-stories Greg, the man who had allegedly once banged a movie star or possibly just a crack whore that looked a lot like Steve Buscemi, constantly came up with? “Dude, like… some rabbits is subjective,” he said, clarifying exactly nothing. “Three rabbits is like, objective.” The group were enthralled by this lesson in elementary grammar that probably constituted the bulk of what Greg remembered from school. “So like… when you say a few dragons, that’s like, subjective dude.” Gazes turned again towards John, seeking clarification given this new and vital information. “Oh,” John said and slowly got up, stumbling towards the couch. Sue stomped her foot angrily at him, and he shuffled around her awkwardly, getting a punch in the arm for his troubles. Sue was rather mean when she had the munchies. “Like I dunno, three? I didn’t fucking count them,” he said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Three is a lot,” Dave said, nodding sagely, giving his own subjective take on the situation. Theoretically true his statement was met with silence. Three might not be a lot when it comes to candy bars or scoops of delicious ice cream, but it was certainly a lot when it came to dragons. “Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Guess we better stay inside.” This prompted an angry and ice-cream deprived snort from Sue, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Three dragons was a lot. “So like, Dude,” Dave said to John as John slid down into the couch in that semi-liquid fashion of extreme relaxation, “Dude, like, were did they spot you?” Eyes turned to John again, and he threw up his hands. “Just as I was coming back, dude,” he said. “Outside the old hags house.” This did not need further explanation, the four had ran into the old hag more than once and she had earned the name quite well. Again the silence reigned as the four processed the loss of previously expected deliciousness. Then suddenly Sue perked up. “Dude… you were on your way back?” “Yeah,” John said with a sigh. “Good thing I was close to home.” This just made Sue perk up more, which wasn’t unusual – she was the lightweight of the gang and usually partook in far less of the entertainment, meaning she was typically the perkiest of them. “Dude,” she said excitedly. “Ice cream!” As one three set of tired eyes flew up as they realized the treasure waiting for them, dropped somewhere between here and the old hags house. Three dragons was a lot… subjectively. Objectively, there was bags of tasty things on the ground, waiting to be eaten. There was a sudden commotion as hands reached behind couches eagerly grabbing pieces of steel armor, swords were brought out from the cleaning cupboard, and constant exclamations of “Dude!” and “Dude?” and “Duuuude” as they started helping each other suit up. The knights would ride again, and three dragons, or thereabouts, would be bravely slain. Perhaps. Definitely, if they stood between Sue and her ice cream. ***** I archive my writing on r/ringaroundtheroses in case you're looking for more to read!
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"Really?" Kevrel asked, incredulously waving his arm, "That's the word you're focusing on? Few?" Durai opened her mouth to speak again but Kevrel cut her off before another word could escape her lips. "You heard what I said, right? Dragons? Plural? As in, more than one? There are a few dragons outside this building right now!" Kevrel was nearly shouting in her face at this point, leaning over the expensive marble desktop. "I'm sorry, Minister, but I cannot let you past the desk without proper auth..." "You know what?" Kevrel cut her off again. He took a deep breath, leaned away from her and conjured up what was almost a smile. "Never mind. I need to talk to Minister Havache. I'm invoking Council authority. If you stop me you are committing treason and you will be subject to an immediate penalty of dismemberment." He gestured to his three aides to follow him through the lobby of the building, past the insanely aggravating receptionist whose mouth was agape but who did not attempt to halt their progress. "Fucking vampires," he muttered to himself as he hurriedly stalked toward the elevator, his team sticking close to the heels of his heavy boots. "Endless storerooms of logic, not a bucket of common sense." The elevator was dimly but fashionably lit and rose quicker than Kevrel was accustomed to. His aides, two satyrs and a fawn, were clearly rattled just by being in the building. But he had little sympathy for them. Not today. Not when they were outside. Sooner or later, these three interns would need to learn to deal with difficult situations, like he had when he was a young upstart politician. Better to learn this way, under fire, than to sit at a desk for hours on end taking memos from some prattling old geezer who had been in office a hundred years or more. Funny, he thought to himself, Under fire. That expression just might be a little too on the nose today. The elevator's bell rang and the doors abruptly opened. There was only one office on this floor, the top floor, and it was the one he needed. The moment the doors were wide enough apart to admit his hulking frame he levered himself free of the elevator and strode angrily toward the man standing at the bar behind the huge, ornate mahogany desk at the far end of the room. Havache nearly dropped the decanter of wine he was holding when Kevrel snorted an accusation at him. "What the fuck did you do, you goddamned imbecile?!" Kevrel hollared at him, his head lowered as if we was about to rush the human and gore him with his horns. Havache's eyes widened further; he had obviously never seen a fellow Council member in such a rage. Kevrel was fine with that. He knew that anything he did to Havache would be far better than what awaited the two of them outside. "Ah, Minister Kevrel. So nice to see you this early in the morning," the human said, regaining some of his composure, "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" Havache's eyes darted to the three aides Kevrel had brought with him, a clear signal to Kevrel that he did not wish to discuss less-than-legitimate business in front of lackeys. Kevrel ignored the glance completely. "Don't. Not now, Havache. Maybe never again." He was almost upon the man now, just a few more steps. Kevrel dropped his expensive briefcase on the floor and unbuttoned the top of his expensive suit as he approached. "Why are they here, Havache?" he asked, his tone low and menacing. His head was still lowered, eyes blazing and fixed on the human. "I don't know what..." Havache stammered. Kevrel cut him off like the obstinate receptionist in the lobby: "You ignorant, facile dunce!" he screamed, delivering a blow straight to the human's gut. The three interns in the room were forgotten. The office was forgotten. Everything but his anger was forgotten. Havache doubled over in pain. Kevrel snorted at his kneeling body, "If you exposed my people to the Judges because of a fucking timber contract, I will personally have your anus on the end of my horns!" Havache looked up at the enraged minotaur towering over him, a confused expression on his face. "I don't know what you're talking..." "The motherfucking DRAGONS are here, Havache! Six of them! Six!!" Kevrel watched as the realization of the present situation dawned on the face of the human, and kept watching as the dawning realization turned to abject terror. Kevrel was not expecting that. He grasped and lifted Havache off the floor by his shoulders, like a child, staring directly into his eyes. "What," he asked again, seething, "did you do?" Havache's eyes were staring into the distance behind Kevrel, as if he were trying to remember a book he'd read years earlier. He didn't answer. "What did you do?!" Kevrel yelled again, this time giving the smaller Councilman a quick, hard shake. "They're not here about the timber," Havache answered in an ominous whisper, finally meeting Kevrel's eyes. His voice was hollow. At that moment, the wall opposite Kevrel began to melt. The paintings, and the tapestry, and the woodwork, and the wall color itself all began to run together and drip toward the floor. Kevrel could feel the heat before he turned and looked at his doom bearing down upon him. There was no escape from them. The wall continued to melt until there was a gaping hole a hundred feet wide. He could see two dragons hovering just on the other side, their bronze-tinted black skin glinting in the morning sun. Another, larger dragon glided through the hole that had been melted in the wall. It was one Kevrel knew; white skin that shone with an iridescence that made her look angelic in the sunlight, and a single red fleck of color splashed across her temple over her left eye. Jinthreka. Kevrel dropped Havache. No sooner had Jinthreka landed in the ostentatiously huge office than a second dragon followed her through the building's new aerial entrance. This one, a deep, dark green with flecks of gold pinpricking down his back and tail, was known to all, though very few had ever met him in person. Lord Kalenth. The Keystone of the Judiciary. Kevrel sank to one knee, bowing low before the two Judges, fearing the worst. They must know. How could they not? In the presence of the Lord of Judges, Kevrel became suddenly convinced that the misdeeds he had sown with the human next to him were somehow laid bare, and he would be punished without hesitation. He had contracted logging operations with a disreputable partner, on lands he did not own, to bolster the economy of his failing peoples' settlements. ((continued))	Everyone tends to turn towards loud sounds, which makes sense in non-explosive cases. At this point it just meant that Dave, Greg and Sue got to see John lean his back against the door he had just slammed shut and slowly sink to the floor. “Dude,” Dave said. “Duuuude,” Greg agreed. “You look sweaty,” Sue said, she always had been the perceptive one. “Did you run back?” At this point she got up and walked over to John. Dave and Greg looked at her having some difficulty understanding how she could be standing up when gravity was so high. Sue however was not noticing the increased gravity, because she wasn’t, excuse the colloquialism, tripping balls. She was however high enough to have mostly gone over to John to grab the bags of snacks he was supposed to get. When she realized that supposed to meant that he indeed hadn’t, she understandably freaked out a little. “Dude!” she exclaimed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Ice cream!” This made no sense to Dave and Greg. Why would John have forgotten to buy the ice cream when he clearly would have remembered to buy all the other things on the lengthy list they had imagined giving him? In no reality did it make sense to them for John to have not brought the things they so heartily craved. “D… dragons…” John stammered out. “There’s a… uh… a few dragons outside.” The silent pause in the apartment after his statement befit the gravity of the situation. “Dude,” said Greg. “Dude you know how like… rabbits?” Eyes turned towards him. Was this going to be another one of the raunchy side-stories Greg, the man who had allegedly once banged a movie star or possibly just a crack whore that looked a lot like Steve Buscemi, constantly came up with? “Dude, like… some rabbits is subjective,” he said, clarifying exactly nothing. “Three rabbits is like, objective.” The group were enthralled by this lesson in elementary grammar that probably constituted the bulk of what Greg remembered from school. “So like… when you say a few dragons, that’s like, subjective dude.” Gazes turned again towards John, seeking clarification given this new and vital information. “Oh,” John said and slowly got up, stumbling towards the couch. Sue stomped her foot angrily at him, and he shuffled around her awkwardly, getting a punch in the arm for his troubles. Sue was rather mean when she had the munchies. “Like I dunno, three? I didn’t fucking count them,” he said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Three is a lot,” Dave said, nodding sagely, giving his own subjective take on the situation. Theoretically true his statement was met with silence. Three might not be a lot when it comes to candy bars or scoops of delicious ice cream, but it was certainly a lot when it came to dragons. “Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Guess we better stay inside.” This prompted an angry and ice-cream deprived snort from Sue, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Three dragons was a lot. “So like, Dude,” Dave said to John as John slid down into the couch in that semi-liquid fashion of extreme relaxation, “Dude, like, were did they spot you?” Eyes turned to John again, and he threw up his hands. “Just as I was coming back, dude,” he said. “Outside the old hags house.” This did not need further explanation, the four had ran into the old hag more than once and she had earned the name quite well. Again the silence reigned as the four processed the loss of previously expected deliciousness. Then suddenly Sue perked up. “Dude… you were on your way back?” “Yeah,” John said with a sigh. “Good thing I was close to home.” This just made Sue perk up more, which wasn’t unusual – she was the lightweight of the gang and usually partook in far less of the entertainment, meaning she was typically the perkiest of them. “Dude,” she said excitedly. “Ice cream!” As one three set of tired eyes flew up as they realized the treasure waiting for them, dropped somewhere between here and the old hags house. Three dragons was a lot… subjectively. Objectively, there was bags of tasty things on the ground, waiting to be eaten. There was a sudden commotion as hands reached behind couches eagerly grabbing pieces of steel armor, swords were brought out from the cleaning cupboard, and constant exclamations of “Dude!” and “Dude?” and “Duuuude” as they started helping each other suit up. The knights would ride again, and three dragons, or thereabouts, would be bravely slain. Perhaps. Definitely, if they stood between Sue and her ice cream. ***** I archive my writing on r/ringaroundtheroses in case you're looking for more to read!
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"What's going on out there?!" screamed Commander Hilliard over the thunderous rumbles and otherworldly screeches, "Has anyone seen the threat?" Fresh ground pebbles and fine dust fell from the stone ceiling as another impact shook the Central Tower. It was hard to tell if the voices were friend or foe, their echoes carried through the stone, vague and haunting in Hilliard's ears. He needed to get this situation under control. "Who has seen these unwelcome guests knocking on our walls?! ANYONE!" The door to the southern ramparts flung open, revealing a Captain and a lowly Tower Guard. The Captain nudged the poor boy forward into the Situation Room, "Sir! This solider was stationed on the Southern Tower right before it fell, he has seen the threat!" Hilliard responded calmly with a hint of relief, "Well done Captain, thank you for bringing him. Continue to hold the lines." "Sir!" The Captain exited to fulfill his commands. "Now," Hilliard turning his attention to the surviving guard, "Are you okay, boy? What is your name?" "R-R-Ryan, sir!" The Tower Guard's name is Ryan. "Okay, son, now tell me very clearly and accurately, what did you see?" Ryan straitened up and took a deep breath before locking eyes with Commander Hilliard. "Well sir, it was a dense foggy day here on the Mount of Kings during the 500th Eve of the Great Rest..." "I know where we are, the date and the weather outside, child! What. Are. We. Fighting. Understand?" "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. Just a few dragons." Commander Hilliards let out a sigh of relie-"Wait, DRAGONS?!" "Yessir, those large, scaly, winged creatures the size of a nice stable with the appetite to match. Dragons, sir." Ryan spake, proud to think he actually knew something. "How many?" Hilliard managed to both scream and whisper through gritted teeth. "Like I said, sir, just a few. Though it is a really foggy day, there could have been more." Exhaling his rage, he regrouped his wits against this Ryan boy. "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? For example: 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside. How many dragons are out there?" "Possibly a posse, sir." "Do you know how to count?" "No, sir; I don't know the words for numbers." 'God's Damn It', Hilliard screamed in his mind, "Okay, son." Hilliard needed a way to translate. "How many fingers am I holding up" he holds up his thumb and his middle finger. "The thumb ain't a finger, sir, it is a digit, so only your middle finger. An excellent trick question, sir, but is this really the time for that?" Hilliard began to fume, "You don't know how to count but you know the word 'digit'?..", but his training is keeping him centered, "No, you're right," sarcastically, "how many now?" he said, holding up all on one hand but his thumb. "Well, that's an entourage, sir." Three fingers, "A few." Five, "A group." Six, "A posse." Eight, "A couple of entourages." Hilliard raised his index fingers to his temples and massaged as best his could to combat this ignorant fool. "How about by color? Give me the group name of each color you saw." "Oh, right sir, okay then, there was: a white posse, a couple of greens, a few blacks, an entourage of blues, a multi-colored and....hmm, hold on," Ryan paused to do the equivalent of calculating, "and I reckon about a council of posses of those red dragons, but they were smaller than the others....or just really far away. It was foggy up there you know." "A council?" Hilliard managed to expel from his mouth. If he survives he will push for complete education for all in the empire, if only to never deal with this again. "That'd be if you and that guy over there, is he sleeping?, oh no he just stabbed himself. Well, if he were still alive, you and him would hold an entourage in each hand. So, wait yeah, an entourage of entourages, that's a council." One of the auxiliary commanders was laying in the corner. He had committed suicide by self-inflicted stabbing, Hilliard noticed now and gave his regards to the body, "Courage picks its moments to embody us, but not always for what we thought we'd need courage for. May the Great Sleep take you, solider." His mind lingered on the thought of the Great Sleep...would it take him away from this imbecile? Hilliard snapped to, "You said a council of entourages of the red variety, right?" "Yessir, give or take a couple, due to-" "The Fog," Hilliard finished the sentence for Ryan. He was sick of the excuse...but had to excuse it. After a moment of converting, Hilliard landed on 96 Reds and 16 of the other varieties attacking the Keep. "You're saying there are 112 dragons attacking us right now?" "No sir, I said there were a few...though perhaps I should have said 'many', that might have given you a better indication of what's happening out there. It's pretty bad, sir. I wish you knew how to use collective nouns, then I could have told you this earlier." The Commander has officially lost control as his armored fist grips Ryan by his jaw, if only to shut him up. "I have lost too many men, jeopardized the security of our empire, our FUTURE, and all the work we've done holding back the Winged Tide from crashing into ours lands. FIVE. HUNDRED. YEARS. My family has dedicated to protecting you serfs from total destruction, and this is what I get?! The one person who came to give me the information I needed can't even count! What is your damage, child? Why am I even fighting at this point?!" Suddenly, the wall crashes in, rubble sprays across the War Tables. A chunk of stone crushes the auxiliary commander's body in the corner, spewing blood onto the War Tables. A large blotch of blood strikes and stains the part of the map containing their Keep on the Mount of Kings. A large maw of horns and scales pierces the breach, it's clear scales refracting the sunlight into a menagerie of colors throughout the room. Aside from the sheer terror of a dragon's head entering the room, the display was quite mesmerizing. Commander Hilliard let Ryan go as both took a step toward the staircase on the east side of the tower. "That's the multi-colored one I saw before, sir." Ryan spoke up, nearly choking on his own tongue. "That would be a Prismatic Dragon, young Ryan, the most dangerous kind that we know of." Hilliard replied in a defeated monotone. The Dragon slithered his way into the tower, inch by inch, scales clinking like armor with each muscle movement. Its head got within the human's grasp, when it coughed twice and spoke. "Hey there, Hi there, Ho There!," said a squeaky effeminate voice from the dragon's mouth, "my name is Dew Drop. Yes, I am a Prismatic Dragon and leader of this assault to reclaim our lands from you quaint little parasites. I do hope you have a nice afterlife!" Dew Drop spoke plainly and kindly, a surprise as most dragons would rather eat to their food then talk to it. It opened it's mouth as its throat clenched. A phantasmagoria began coalescing into the back of his throat as he prepared his magical breath. The last thing Hilliard would see is a beam of refracted light reducing him and Ryan into ash and dust. Dew Drop paused before releasing his power, "I couldn't help but overhear your discussion earlier. You know, anything more than a council of dragons is known as a Dignity of Dragons." Ryan looked towards Hilliard, a morbid joy overtook his face, "That's how many dragons are out there, sir." Hilliard was wrong, the last thing he would see is Ryan's stupid smiling face lit up in a multi-hued glow, only slightly less ignorant than he was before....and Dew Drop was left with his Dignity intact. EDIT: Some grammar mistakes and story elements that I caught. EDIT 2: Thank you kind stranger for my first ever Gold! :)	Everyone tends to turn towards loud sounds, which makes sense in non-explosive cases. At this point it just meant that Dave, Greg and Sue got to see John lean his back against the door he had just slammed shut and slowly sink to the floor. “Dude,” Dave said. “Duuuude,” Greg agreed. “You look sweaty,” Sue said, she always had been the perceptive one. “Did you run back?” At this point she got up and walked over to John. Dave and Greg looked at her having some difficulty understanding how she could be standing up when gravity was so high. Sue however was not noticing the increased gravity, because she wasn’t, excuse the colloquialism, tripping balls. She was however high enough to have mostly gone over to John to grab the bags of snacks he was supposed to get. When she realized that supposed to meant that he indeed hadn’t, she understandably freaked out a little. “Dude!” she exclaimed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Ice cream!” This made no sense to Dave and Greg. Why would John have forgotten to buy the ice cream when he clearly would have remembered to buy all the other things on the lengthy list they had imagined giving him? In no reality did it make sense to them for John to have not brought the things they so heartily craved. “D… dragons…” John stammered out. “There’s a… uh… a few dragons outside.” The silent pause in the apartment after his statement befit the gravity of the situation. “Dude,” said Greg. “Dude you know how like… rabbits?” Eyes turned towards him. Was this going to be another one of the raunchy side-stories Greg, the man who had allegedly once banged a movie star or possibly just a crack whore that looked a lot like Steve Buscemi, constantly came up with? “Dude, like… some rabbits is subjective,” he said, clarifying exactly nothing. “Three rabbits is like, objective.” The group were enthralled by this lesson in elementary grammar that probably constituted the bulk of what Greg remembered from school. “So like… when you say a few dragons, that’s like, subjective dude.” Gazes turned again towards John, seeking clarification given this new and vital information. “Oh,” John said and slowly got up, stumbling towards the couch. Sue stomped her foot angrily at him, and he shuffled around her awkwardly, getting a punch in the arm for his troubles. Sue was rather mean when she had the munchies. “Like I dunno, three? I didn’t fucking count them,” he said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Three is a lot,” Dave said, nodding sagely, giving his own subjective take on the situation. Theoretically true his statement was met with silence. Three might not be a lot when it comes to candy bars or scoops of delicious ice cream, but it was certainly a lot when it came to dragons. “Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Guess we better stay inside.” This prompted an angry and ice-cream deprived snort from Sue, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Three dragons was a lot. “So like, Dude,” Dave said to John as John slid down into the couch in that semi-liquid fashion of extreme relaxation, “Dude, like, were did they spot you?” Eyes turned to John again, and he threw up his hands. “Just as I was coming back, dude,” he said. “Outside the old hags house.” This did not need further explanation, the four had ran into the old hag more than once and she had earned the name quite well. Again the silence reigned as the four processed the loss of previously expected deliciousness. Then suddenly Sue perked up. “Dude… you were on your way back?” “Yeah,” John said with a sigh. “Good thing I was close to home.” This just made Sue perk up more, which wasn’t unusual – she was the lightweight of the gang and usually partook in far less of the entertainment, meaning she was typically the perkiest of them. “Dude,” she said excitedly. “Ice cream!” As one three set of tired eyes flew up as they realized the treasure waiting for them, dropped somewhere between here and the old hags house. Three dragons was a lot… subjectively. Objectively, there was bags of tasty things on the ground, waiting to be eaten. There was a sudden commotion as hands reached behind couches eagerly grabbing pieces of steel armor, swords were brought out from the cleaning cupboard, and constant exclamations of “Dude!” and “Dude?” and “Duuuude” as they started helping each other suit up. The knights would ride again, and three dragons, or thereabouts, would be bravely slain. Perhaps. Definitely, if they stood between Sue and her ice cream. ***** I archive my writing on r/ringaroundtheroses in case you're looking for more to read!
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"Objectively I'd say there are two and a quarter dragons, sir." "Two and a quarter? How in the world could you possible come up with answer that specific?" Remarked the guard captain. "Well sir, one seems like more of wyvern than a dragon so I figured..." "A what? "A wyvern, sir." "Well what the hell is a wyvern?" "Well one of the dragons is missing its front legs so I figure that makes it a wyvern, sir." "We have different names for disabled dragons? Why would that possibly be a thing? You're obviously pulling my leg." "No sir I believe they are born that way, and there are other differences as well." "Well how many different types of giant winged lizard are there anyways?" "Well sir, I believe there are those two, the cockatrice, and... well I'm not sure if you could count what the basilisk has as wings but I think that covers most of them." "How do you know all this?" "Who do you think called the dragons?"	Everyone tends to turn towards loud sounds, which makes sense in non-explosive cases. At this point it just meant that Dave, Greg and Sue got to see John lean his back against the door he had just slammed shut and slowly sink to the floor. “Dude,” Dave said. “Duuuude,” Greg agreed. “You look sweaty,” Sue said, she always had been the perceptive one. “Did you run back?” At this point she got up and walked over to John. Dave and Greg looked at her having some difficulty understanding how she could be standing up when gravity was so high. Sue however was not noticing the increased gravity, because she wasn’t, excuse the colloquialism, tripping balls. She was however high enough to have mostly gone over to John to grab the bags of snacks he was supposed to get. When she realized that supposed to meant that he indeed hadn’t, she understandably freaked out a little. “Dude!” she exclaimed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Ice cream!” This made no sense to Dave and Greg. Why would John have forgotten to buy the ice cream when he clearly would have remembered to buy all the other things on the lengthy list they had imagined giving him? In no reality did it make sense to them for John to have not brought the things they so heartily craved. “D… dragons…” John stammered out. “There’s a… uh… a few dragons outside.” The silent pause in the apartment after his statement befit the gravity of the situation. “Dude,” said Greg. “Dude you know how like… rabbits?” Eyes turned towards him. Was this going to be another one of the raunchy side-stories Greg, the man who had allegedly once banged a movie star or possibly just a crack whore that looked a lot like Steve Buscemi, constantly came up with? “Dude, like… some rabbits is subjective,” he said, clarifying exactly nothing. “Three rabbits is like, objective.” The group were enthralled by this lesson in elementary grammar that probably constituted the bulk of what Greg remembered from school. “So like… when you say a few dragons, that’s like, subjective dude.” Gazes turned again towards John, seeking clarification given this new and vital information. “Oh,” John said and slowly got up, stumbling towards the couch. Sue stomped her foot angrily at him, and he shuffled around her awkwardly, getting a punch in the arm for his troubles. Sue was rather mean when she had the munchies. “Like I dunno, three? I didn’t fucking count them,” he said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Three is a lot,” Dave said, nodding sagely, giving his own subjective take on the situation. Theoretically true his statement was met with silence. Three might not be a lot when it comes to candy bars or scoops of delicious ice cream, but it was certainly a lot when it came to dragons. “Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Guess we better stay inside.” This prompted an angry and ice-cream deprived snort from Sue, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Three dragons was a lot. “So like, Dude,” Dave said to John as John slid down into the couch in that semi-liquid fashion of extreme relaxation, “Dude, like, were did they spot you?” Eyes turned to John again, and he threw up his hands. “Just as I was coming back, dude,” he said. “Outside the old hags house.” This did not need further explanation, the four had ran into the old hag more than once and she had earned the name quite well. Again the silence reigned as the four processed the loss of previously expected deliciousness. Then suddenly Sue perked up. “Dude… you were on your way back?” “Yeah,” John said with a sigh. “Good thing I was close to home.” This just made Sue perk up more, which wasn’t unusual – she was the lightweight of the gang and usually partook in far less of the entertainment, meaning she was typically the perkiest of them. “Dude,” she said excitedly. “Ice cream!” As one three set of tired eyes flew up as they realized the treasure waiting for them, dropped somewhere between here and the old hags house. Three dragons was a lot… subjectively. Objectively, there was bags of tasty things on the ground, waiting to be eaten. There was a sudden commotion as hands reached behind couches eagerly grabbing pieces of steel armor, swords were brought out from the cleaning cupboard, and constant exclamations of “Dude!” and “Dude?” and “Duuuude” as they started helping each other suit up. The knights would ride again, and three dragons, or thereabouts, would be bravely slain. Perhaps. Definitely, if they stood between Sue and her ice cream. ***** I archive my writing on r/ringaroundtheroses in case you're looking for more to read!
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"What's going on out there?!" screamed Commander Hilliard over the thunderous rumbles and otherworldly screeches, "Has anyone seen the threat?" Fresh ground pebbles and fine dust fell from the stone ceiling as another impact shook the Central Tower. It was hard to tell if the voices were friend or foe, their echoes carried through the stone, vague and haunting in Hilliard's ears. He needed to get this situation under control. "Who has seen these unwelcome guests knocking on our walls?! ANYONE!" The door to the southern ramparts flung open, revealing a Captain and a lowly Tower Guard. The Captain nudged the poor boy forward into the Situation Room, "Sir! This solider was stationed on the Southern Tower right before it fell, he has seen the threat!" Hilliard responded calmly with a hint of relief, "Well done Captain, thank you for bringing him. Continue to hold the lines." "Sir!" The Captain exited to fulfill his commands. "Now," Hilliard turning his attention to the surviving guard, "Are you okay, boy? What is your name?" "R-R-Ryan, sir!" The Tower Guard's name is Ryan. "Okay, son, now tell me very clearly and accurately, what did you see?" Ryan straitened up and took a deep breath before locking eyes with Commander Hilliard. "Well sir, it was a dense foggy day here on the Mount of Kings during the 500th Eve of the Great Rest..." "I know where we are, the date and the weather outside, child! What. Are. We. Fighting. Understand?" "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. Just a few dragons." Commander Hilliards let out a sigh of relie-"Wait, DRAGONS?!" "Yessir, those large, scaly, winged creatures the size of a nice stable with the appetite to match. Dragons, sir." Ryan spake, proud to think he actually knew something. "How many?" Hilliard managed to both scream and whisper through gritted teeth. "Like I said, sir, just a few. Though it is a really foggy day, there could have been more." Exhaling his rage, he regrouped his wits against this Ryan boy. "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? For example: 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside. How many dragons are out there?" "Possibly a posse, sir." "Do you know how to count?" "No, sir; I don't know the words for numbers." 'God's Damn It', Hilliard screamed in his mind, "Okay, son." Hilliard needed a way to translate. "How many fingers am I holding up" he holds up his thumb and his middle finger. "The thumb ain't a finger, sir, it is a digit, so only your middle finger. An excellent trick question, sir, but is this really the time for that?" Hilliard began to fume, "You don't know how to count but you know the word 'digit'?..", but his training is keeping him centered, "No, you're right," sarcastically, "how many now?" he said, holding up all on one hand but his thumb. "Well, that's an entourage, sir." Three fingers, "A few." Five, "A group." Six, "A posse." Eight, "A couple of entourages." Hilliard raised his index fingers to his temples and massaged as best his could to combat this ignorant fool. "How about by color? Give me the group name of each color you saw." "Oh, right sir, okay then, there was: a white posse, a couple of greens, a few blacks, an entourage of blues, a multi-colored and....hmm, hold on," Ryan paused to do the equivalent of calculating, "and I reckon about a council of posses of those red dragons, but they were smaller than the others....or just really far away. It was foggy up there you know." "A council?" Hilliard managed to expel from his mouth. If he survives he will push for complete education for all in the empire, if only to never deal with this again. "That'd be if you and that guy over there, is he sleeping?, oh no he just stabbed himself. Well, if he were still alive, you and him would hold an entourage in each hand. So, wait yeah, an entourage of entourages, that's a council." One of the auxiliary commanders was laying in the corner. He had committed suicide by self-inflicted stabbing, Hilliard noticed now and gave his regards to the body, "Courage picks its moments to embody us, but not always for what we thought we'd need courage for. May the Great Sleep take you, solider." His mind lingered on the thought of the Great Sleep...would it take him away from this imbecile? Hilliard snapped to, "You said a council of entourages of the red variety, right?" "Yessir, give or take a couple, due to-" "The Fog," Hilliard finished the sentence for Ryan. He was sick of the excuse...but had to excuse it. After a moment of converting, Hilliard landed on 96 Reds and 16 of the other varieties attacking the Keep. "You're saying there are 112 dragons attacking us right now?" "No sir, I said there were a few...though perhaps I should have said 'many', that might have given you a better indication of what's happening out there. It's pretty bad, sir. I wish you knew how to use collective nouns, then I could have told you this earlier." The Commander has officially lost control as his armored fist grips Ryan by his jaw, if only to shut him up. "I have lost too many men, jeopardized the security of our empire, our FUTURE, and all the work we've done holding back the Winged Tide from crashing into ours lands. FIVE. HUNDRED. YEARS. My family has dedicated to protecting you serfs from total destruction, and this is what I get?! The one person who came to give me the information I needed can't even count! What is your damage, child? Why am I even fighting at this point?!" Suddenly, the wall crashes in, rubble sprays across the War Tables. A chunk of stone crushes the auxiliary commander's body in the corner, spewing blood onto the War Tables. A large blotch of blood strikes and stains the part of the map containing their Keep on the Mount of Kings. A large maw of horns and scales pierces the breach, it's clear scales refracting the sunlight into a menagerie of colors throughout the room. Aside from the sheer terror of a dragon's head entering the room, the display was quite mesmerizing. Commander Hilliard let Ryan go as both took a step toward the staircase on the east side of the tower. "That's the multi-colored one I saw before, sir." Ryan spoke up, nearly choking on his own tongue. "That would be a Prismatic Dragon, young Ryan, the most dangerous kind that we know of." Hilliard replied in a defeated monotone. The Dragon slithered his way into the tower, inch by inch, scales clinking like armor with each muscle movement. Its head got within the human's grasp, when it coughed twice and spoke. "Hey there, Hi there, Ho There!," said a squeaky effeminate voice from the dragon's mouth, "my name is Dew Drop. Yes, I am a Prismatic Dragon and leader of this assault to reclaim our lands from you quaint little parasites. I do hope you have a nice afterlife!" Dew Drop spoke plainly and kindly, a surprise as most dragons would rather eat to their food then talk to it. It opened it's mouth as its throat clenched. A phantasmagoria began coalescing into the back of his throat as he prepared his magical breath. The last thing Hilliard would see is a beam of refracted light reducing him and Ryan into ash and dust. Dew Drop paused before releasing his power, "I couldn't help but overhear your discussion earlier. You know, anything more than a council of dragons is known as a Dignity of Dragons." Ryan looked towards Hilliard, a morbid joy overtook his face, "That's how many dragons are out there, sir." Hilliard was wrong, the last thing he would see is Ryan's stupid smiling face lit up in a multi-hued glow, only slightly less ignorant than he was before....and Dew Drop was left with his Dignity intact. EDIT: Some grammar mistakes and story elements that I caught. EDIT 2: Thank you kind stranger for my first ever Gold! :)	"Listen closely Sarah, you know that if it was two or three dragons I'd have said a couple of dragons..." He paused as she started to scold him for assuming that the dragons were dating each other, he cut her off "It's a figure of speech, listen we are getting off topic here! There's a few DRAGONS, fire breathing ones, and yes I SAW them breath fire before you scold me for assuming they're ALL fire breather-" He sighed as she hung up on him saying he's so insensitive and never listens to her. Jeff stood there looking out the window as the sky filled with smoke from the fires the dragons where causing filled the sky, as one flew towards the house, fire streaming across the ground he stared out the window at the approaching flame, "Is it a gaggle, a flock, pack or what when its a bunch of dragons together..." The flames burst through the window and ended the train of thought.
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"Objectively I'd say there are two and a quarter dragons, sir." "Two and a quarter? How in the world could you possible come up with answer that specific?" Remarked the guard captain. "Well sir, one seems like more of wyvern than a dragon so I figured..." "A what? "A wyvern, sir." "Well what the hell is a wyvern?" "Well one of the dragons is missing its front legs so I figure that makes it a wyvern, sir." "We have different names for disabled dragons? Why would that possibly be a thing? You're obviously pulling my leg." "No sir I believe they are born that way, and there are other differences as well." "Well how many different types of giant winged lizard are there anyways?" "Well sir, I believe there are those two, the cockatrice, and... well I'm not sure if you could count what the basilisk has as wings but I think that covers most of them." "How do you know all this?" "Who do you think called the dragons?"	"Listen closely Sarah, you know that if it was two or three dragons I'd have said a couple of dragons..." He paused as she started to scold him for assuming that the dragons were dating each other, he cut her off "It's a figure of speech, listen we are getting off topic here! There's a few DRAGONS, fire breathing ones, and yes I SAW them breath fire before you scold me for assuming they're ALL fire breather-" He sighed as she hung up on him saying he's so insensitive and never listens to her. Jeff stood there looking out the window as the sky filled with smoke from the fires the dragons where causing filled the sky, as one flew towards the house, fire streaming across the ground he stared out the window at the approaching flame, "Is it a gaggle, a flock, pack or what when its a bunch of dragons together..." The flames burst through the window and ended the train of thought.
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"What's going on out there?!" screamed Commander Hilliard over the thunderous rumbles and otherworldly screeches, "Has anyone seen the threat?" Fresh ground pebbles and fine dust fell from the stone ceiling as another impact shook the Central Tower. It was hard to tell if the voices were friend or foe, their echoes carried through the stone, vague and haunting in Hilliard's ears. He needed to get this situation under control. "Who has seen these unwelcome guests knocking on our walls?! ANYONE!" The door to the southern ramparts flung open, revealing a Captain and a lowly Tower Guard. The Captain nudged the poor boy forward into the Situation Room, "Sir! This solider was stationed on the Southern Tower right before it fell, he has seen the threat!" Hilliard responded calmly with a hint of relief, "Well done Captain, thank you for bringing him. Continue to hold the lines." "Sir!" The Captain exited to fulfill his commands. "Now," Hilliard turning his attention to the surviving guard, "Are you okay, boy? What is your name?" "R-R-Ryan, sir!" The Tower Guard's name is Ryan. "Okay, son, now tell me very clearly and accurately, what did you see?" Ryan straitened up and took a deep breath before locking eyes with Commander Hilliard. "Well sir, it was a dense foggy day here on the Mount of Kings during the 500th Eve of the Great Rest..." "I know where we are, the date and the weather outside, child! What. Are. We. Fighting. Understand?" "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. Just a few dragons." Commander Hilliards let out a sigh of relie-"Wait, DRAGONS?!" "Yessir, those large, scaly, winged creatures the size of a nice stable with the appetite to match. Dragons, sir." Ryan spake, proud to think he actually knew something. "How many?" Hilliard managed to both scream and whisper through gritted teeth. "Like I said, sir, just a few. Though it is a really foggy day, there could have been more." Exhaling his rage, he regrouped his wits against this Ryan boy. "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? For example: 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside. How many dragons are out there?" "Possibly a posse, sir." "Do you know how to count?" "No, sir; I don't know the words for numbers." 'God's Damn It', Hilliard screamed in his mind, "Okay, son." Hilliard needed a way to translate. "How many fingers am I holding up" he holds up his thumb and his middle finger. "The thumb ain't a finger, sir, it is a digit, so only your middle finger. An excellent trick question, sir, but is this really the time for that?" Hilliard began to fume, "You don't know how to count but you know the word 'digit'?..", but his training is keeping him centered, "No, you're right," sarcastically, "how many now?" he said, holding up all on one hand but his thumb. "Well, that's an entourage, sir." Three fingers, "A few." Five, "A group." Six, "A posse." Eight, "A couple of entourages." Hilliard raised his index fingers to his temples and massaged as best his could to combat this ignorant fool. "How about by color? Give me the group name of each color you saw." "Oh, right sir, okay then, there was: a white posse, a couple of greens, a few blacks, an entourage of blues, a multi-colored and....hmm, hold on," Ryan paused to do the equivalent of calculating, "and I reckon about a council of posses of those red dragons, but they were smaller than the others....or just really far away. It was foggy up there you know." "A council?" Hilliard managed to expel from his mouth. If he survives he will push for complete education for all in the empire, if only to never deal with this again. "That'd be if you and that guy over there, is he sleeping?, oh no he just stabbed himself. Well, if he were still alive, you and him would hold an entourage in each hand. So, wait yeah, an entourage of entourages, that's a council." One of the auxiliary commanders was laying in the corner. He had committed suicide by self-inflicted stabbing, Hilliard noticed now and gave his regards to the body, "Courage picks its moments to embody us, but not always for what we thought we'd need courage for. May the Great Sleep take you, solider." His mind lingered on the thought of the Great Sleep...would it take him away from this imbecile? Hilliard snapped to, "You said a council of entourages of the red variety, right?" "Yessir, give or take a couple, due to-" "The Fog," Hilliard finished the sentence for Ryan. He was sick of the excuse...but had to excuse it. After a moment of converting, Hilliard landed on 96 Reds and 16 of the other varieties attacking the Keep. "You're saying there are 112 dragons attacking us right now?" "No sir, I said there were a few...though perhaps I should have said 'many', that might have given you a better indication of what's happening out there. It's pretty bad, sir. I wish you knew how to use collective nouns, then I could have told you this earlier." The Commander has officially lost control as his armored fist grips Ryan by his jaw, if only to shut him up. "I have lost too many men, jeopardized the security of our empire, our FUTURE, and all the work we've done holding back the Winged Tide from crashing into ours lands. FIVE. HUNDRED. YEARS. My family has dedicated to protecting you serfs from total destruction, and this is what I get?! The one person who came to give me the information I needed can't even count! What is your damage, child? Why am I even fighting at this point?!" Suddenly, the wall crashes in, rubble sprays across the War Tables. A chunk of stone crushes the auxiliary commander's body in the corner, spewing blood onto the War Tables. A large blotch of blood strikes and stains the part of the map containing their Keep on the Mount of Kings. A large maw of horns and scales pierces the breach, it's clear scales refracting the sunlight into a menagerie of colors throughout the room. Aside from the sheer terror of a dragon's head entering the room, the display was quite mesmerizing. Commander Hilliard let Ryan go as both took a step toward the staircase on the east side of the tower. "That's the multi-colored one I saw before, sir." Ryan spoke up, nearly choking on his own tongue. "That would be a Prismatic Dragon, young Ryan, the most dangerous kind that we know of." Hilliard replied in a defeated monotone. The Dragon slithered his way into the tower, inch by inch, scales clinking like armor with each muscle movement. Its head got within the human's grasp, when it coughed twice and spoke. "Hey there, Hi there, Ho There!," said a squeaky effeminate voice from the dragon's mouth, "my name is Dew Drop. Yes, I am a Prismatic Dragon and leader of this assault to reclaim our lands from you quaint little parasites. I do hope you have a nice afterlife!" Dew Drop spoke plainly and kindly, a surprise as most dragons would rather eat to their food then talk to it. It opened it's mouth as its throat clenched. A phantasmagoria began coalescing into the back of his throat as he prepared his magical breath. The last thing Hilliard would see is a beam of refracted light reducing him and Ryan into ash and dust. Dew Drop paused before releasing his power, "I couldn't help but overhear your discussion earlier. You know, anything more than a council of dragons is known as a Dignity of Dragons." Ryan looked towards Hilliard, a morbid joy overtook his face, "That's how many dragons are out there, sir." Hilliard was wrong, the last thing he would see is Ryan's stupid smiling face lit up in a multi-hued glow, only slightly less ignorant than he was before....and Dew Drop was left with his Dignity intact. EDIT: Some grammar mistakes and story elements that I caught. EDIT 2: Thank you kind stranger for my first ever Gold! :)	"Ehh. Thats kind of difficult to awnser. I mean, how do you personally count multiple headed dragons? Do you consider it a single dragon because its one body, or since each head is conscious does each head count as its own dragon? What about younger ones? Do they get a full point or because they arent as big do they get a fraction? Honestly, I'm kind of confused on what awnser you are trying to get to. The literal amount? Because if you're interested in the amount of danger ourside, I have to say, I against asigning each dragon a single point. That said, it does get into very 'personal opinion' territory. Do you asign the same points to a fire breathing dragon to an acid spewing dragon of equal size? Is acid worse or better that fire? Teeth verse claws? Speed or power? Honestly, i don't think i can come up with a suitabe awnser." "... You know what, I'll just check for myself."
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	King Norton's eyes fluttered as he heard a crack. "Thunder" he said to himself before closing them again and attempting to go back to sleep. There was another. He tried to ignore it. A third, a fourth, and a fifth all came within rapid succession of the last few. Norton was awake now. He stepped up, dressed himself, looked outside the window to see that it was a perfectly sunny day, and walked out of his bed chamber. When he started descending the stairs towards the rest of the castle he saw absolute confusion. "What the hell is going on here?" He asked, causing everyone to stop what they were doing. Six armored men approached him and pushed another man in front of Norton. "Your grace, there are a few dragons outside." "A few?" "A few." "Alright listen uh.... What's your name again?" "Sir Morgan your grace." "Sir Morgan, do you know the difference between subjective and objective right? 'some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' Dragons outside." Morgan was momentarily speechless at this when there was another crack. "and what the hell is that noise?" "It's the Dragons sir." "Wait these are Thunder Dragons? I assumed they were reds what the hell are Thunder Dragons doing out here?" "Well your grace only about Half of them are Thunders, the rest are blacks." "Black Dragons?" "Yes majesty." King Norton held his hand to his forehead and stepped away for a moment. "What the fucking fucking fuckity fuck is going the fuck on that there are Black Dragons outside of my palace?" "Well uh..." "And for fucks sake how many of them are there?" There was a pregnant silence as one of the other Knights ran to the front door, cracked it open to look, then ran back. "There are about 30 Your Majesty." "Thirty Black Dragons is not a few Sir Morgan." "Well your Grace only about 15 are Black the rest are..." There was another crack of thunder, the castle appeared to actually shake. "What do they want?" "They want to talk to you." The king simply starred at Morgan for a moment with a scowl. "Well, Alright. I guess I better go talk to them." He had expected someone to try and stop him or talk him out of it but no one did. He made a mental note to put them in the front of dangerous battles next campaign. When he pushed open the door there was indeed about thirty Dragons milling about the town. Some where flying, some where standing on buildings or in the street. King Norton approached the massive black dragon sitting in the middle of the courtyard. It was immense, with massive piercing green eyes and a head that was at least twice the size of his entire body. "Can I help you?" The King said as the dragon was drinking from a fountain he had spent a lot of time constructing. "Oh, are you the king?" The Dragon asked, suddenly looking up. "You're joking right?" The king said motioning to his crown. "Ah is that what that is? Anyway village near where I live has been unable to make offerings towards me as you have raised taxes. I was here with a few other like minded Dragons who are having similar problems." "This is about a village? Why didn't you talk to the Knight Collecting Taxes and not come all the way to the capital?" "I tried that he died." "You killed him?" "No he had a heart attack. Then I tried the Local steward, then the baron, then the count, then the lord paramount, they all either fled, told me to ask someone above them, or died like the first Knight. So I'm here." "Okay, well I'm not going to lower taxes." "Why not? I'd like offerings again." "What do you want? Gold? Virgins?" "Hevans no. Just some sheep." "We can easily give you sheep." "oh, that would be lovely actually." The King waited before speaking. "Where would you like to have them?" he said, slightly impatiently. "Oh, I live on Dark Mountain. My friends will also give their locations." "Perfect." the king replied. He then waited. Coughed, cleared his throat and started tapping his foot. "can you leave now?" "Oh is that what you were waiting for? Yes. certainly." The Dragon said as he took off. The King sighed before turning around. "Doesn't anyone do any fuckin' work around here?"	I sighed, why did it always have to be so hard? All I wanted was to be back in my office, cheerfully drinking away this month's pay and ogling wood elf woodcuts. Instead I was having this conversation. "As I was saying, the Dark Lord Zelbreth has dispatched me--" A voice interrupted me again, "No, Zelbreth's the princess" I looked around at the different members of the extremely unimpressive adventuring group, trying to figure out who said that. Was it the inexpelicably literare barbarian with a tragic past? The wizard who was reading a copy of the kingdom's laws...for some reason. It definetly wasn't the cleric who was obviously just here because she was dating someone else, boy did she look bored. No it came from the rogue who was just running around the room trying to hide behind shit, hyperactive bastard. Real winners these folks. I decided to just press on. "The Dark Lord Zelbreth, who is not a princess, has disoatched me to let you know that you are surrounded by a few dragons. A few being an arbitrary term that means between three-and-it-doesn't-matter-because-you-can't-beat-three. Now if you'll just lower your weap--" "I think we should kill him," the barbarian opined. He was the sort who only ever opined. "Nah, then dragons will fry us." The wizard responded "Standing riiiiight here..." I pointed out. "Can you stop interrupting him?" the cleric asked, "I just want to get through this already." "Uh...thanks I guess. As I was saying the Dark Lord Zelbreth--" "Princess! Zelbreth is the--" "Shut up rogue. Zelbreth and his dragons request the pleasure of your--" "What do you mean 'just get through this'," the wizard asked, "I thought you were having fun?" "I am," the cleric obviously lied. "It just seems like you aren't--" This time I interrupted. Even a Dark Lord's minions have horrors he doesn't want to see, and that conversation was one of them. "Regardless of who is having fun. You are still surrounded by a few dragons and no you don't get to find out how many that is unless you look yourself. Now will you surrender or --" "I think I looked earlier." The rogue responded. "Well do you remember how many dragons you saw?" "No," the rogue allowed, "but I feel like I should know. I did look before." I was starting to lose it. Why was every group of adventurers exactly the same? "I am not responsible for how well you remember the number of dragons. So now I'm telling you a few, so there!" "I still think we should kill him," the barbarian opined again. screw that guy, he was why I never opine. "He said we can't," responded the cleric. "No I said we shouldn't," responded the wizard. "So are we killing him then?" Said the rogue disturbingly close to my ear. "How about you let me finish? Just please?" I don't usually beg, but there was a knife to my back. "Ok," the wizard allowed, "but you have to let us do what we were going to do when you were talking, after you finish" "Ok, sure whatever. Look the Dark Lord Zelbrath wants you to surrender yourselves to him." "Never," several of them. I think. "so he can hire you to." "A quest we accept." The wizard this time. "--to retrieve the dark jewel of tramalda." "Ok we accept," the cleric assured me in a monotone. "If you refuse you will be destroyed by the between 3 and 5 dragons outside." "I still think I should know how many dragons are outside," the rogue sulked. "Will you come with me now?" I finished. Thank god. "Yeah of course. We always accept quests," explained the wizard. "We should kill him when we get the chance," the barbarian opined.
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	King Norton's eyes fluttered as he heard a crack. "Thunder" he said to himself before closing them again and attempting to go back to sleep. There was another. He tried to ignore it. A third, a fourth, and a fifth all came within rapid succession of the last few. Norton was awake now. He stepped up, dressed himself, looked outside the window to see that it was a perfectly sunny day, and walked out of his bed chamber. When he started descending the stairs towards the rest of the castle he saw absolute confusion. "What the hell is going on here?" He asked, causing everyone to stop what they were doing. Six armored men approached him and pushed another man in front of Norton. "Your grace, there are a few dragons outside." "A few?" "A few." "Alright listen uh.... What's your name again?" "Sir Morgan your grace." "Sir Morgan, do you know the difference between subjective and objective right? 'some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' Dragons outside." Morgan was momentarily speechless at this when there was another crack. "and what the hell is that noise?" "It's the Dragons sir." "Wait these are Thunder Dragons? I assumed they were reds what the hell are Thunder Dragons doing out here?" "Well your grace only about Half of them are Thunders, the rest are blacks." "Black Dragons?" "Yes majesty." King Norton held his hand to his forehead and stepped away for a moment. "What the fucking fucking fuckity fuck is going the fuck on that there are Black Dragons outside of my palace?" "Well uh..." "And for fucks sake how many of them are there?" There was a pregnant silence as one of the other Knights ran to the front door, cracked it open to look, then ran back. "There are about 30 Your Majesty." "Thirty Black Dragons is not a few Sir Morgan." "Well your Grace only about 15 are Black the rest are..." There was another crack of thunder, the castle appeared to actually shake. "What do they want?" "They want to talk to you." The king simply starred at Morgan for a moment with a scowl. "Well, Alright. I guess I better go talk to them." He had expected someone to try and stop him or talk him out of it but no one did. He made a mental note to put them in the front of dangerous battles next campaign. When he pushed open the door there was indeed about thirty Dragons milling about the town. Some where flying, some where standing on buildings or in the street. King Norton approached the massive black dragon sitting in the middle of the courtyard. It was immense, with massive piercing green eyes and a head that was at least twice the size of his entire body. "Can I help you?" The King said as the dragon was drinking from a fountain he had spent a lot of time constructing. "Oh, are you the king?" The Dragon asked, suddenly looking up. "You're joking right?" The king said motioning to his crown. "Ah is that what that is? Anyway village near where I live has been unable to make offerings towards me as you have raised taxes. I was here with a few other like minded Dragons who are having similar problems." "This is about a village? Why didn't you talk to the Knight Collecting Taxes and not come all the way to the capital?" "I tried that he died." "You killed him?" "No he had a heart attack. Then I tried the Local steward, then the baron, then the count, then the lord paramount, they all either fled, told me to ask someone above them, or died like the first Knight. So I'm here." "Okay, well I'm not going to lower taxes." "Why not? I'd like offerings again." "What do you want? Gold? Virgins?" "Hevans no. Just some sheep." "We can easily give you sheep." "oh, that would be lovely actually." The King waited before speaking. "Where would you like to have them?" he said, slightly impatiently. "Oh, I live on Dark Mountain. My friends will also give their locations." "Perfect." the king replied. He then waited. Coughed, cleared his throat and started tapping his foot. "can you leave now?" "Oh is that what you were waiting for? Yes. certainly." The Dragon said as he took off. The King sighed before turning around. "Doesn't anyone do any fuckin' work around here?"	I have to resist the urge to freeze. "No time, duck!" I scream. A roar of fire and wind fills my ears. "Dammit Melanie! You've been my apprentice for three years and you still can't count?!" "I can count, but when you a bunch of dragons, the first thing on your mind is to get out, not to count them!" My mentor, Cid, had always been calm until now. I dunno what got into him, but I don't like it. He quivers in fear, eyes glazed off into the distance. "Look Cid, please focus. Now is not the time to panic. Come on." I outstretch my hand to him but he nods his head. "I'm staying here." He lets a few tears escape. I've never known him to cry before. He's killed goblins. He's had both of his legs crushed. He lost his wife. His son. He didn't cry at any of those things... But now? "Cid. Please." I beg, but he refuses to get up. He takes his bow. A fancy, custom made silver bow made for the king, that had been passed down to him and hands it to me. It was one of the most powerful weapons of its time, about 100 years ago. It still holds up remarkably well though. "No. You aren't leaving me!" He spits on my face. "Get lost. Slay yourself a dragon. Or a few. Be the first woman, no, human ranger to kill one of those bastards. "Please Cid. Please come with me." I have to stay strong. It hurts to see my mentor like this. He was like a Dad to me. I was an orphan. He picked me up and taught me everything I know. He sits there, unmoving. I get down to his level, and wrap my arms around him. "I love you... D-dad. Please don't die." He snorts, silently thinking for 15 seconds. "I'm not your Dad. My time is up, please just let me die in peace, Mel." "NO!" I scream, but he won't budge. I try to pick him up, but he kicks me to get off. I give up. I'll let the old man die. I wipe up my tears away and head to battle. I see the monster about 100 feet away from me. In textbooks, they usually show dragons as being these beautiful, elegant red or green creatures. That's just flat out wrong. This one was a disgusting, fat, ugly looking dinosaur wannabe. It's eyes aren't the same size. In fact one of them wasn't even in it's eye socket, it was just floating off the little eye string. I pull off Cid's bow from my back. I load three arrows at ones. "One... Two... Three!" I release the volley, eyes closed and heart pounding.
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	I fumbled over my thoughts as I stood before Jovian, King Winstar's most revered adviser. I only had a limited time to gain his trust. Before I could utter a response, a giant claw emerged from the window followed by a deafening screech and a crash as the wall crumbled from the impact of a mighty dragon. "Follow me!" Jovian beckoned as we quickly descended further into the center of the castle. My focus kept me oblivious to the clamor of pandemonium that erupted among the city-dwellers as I kept in sync with every step: I was on a mission. "How did you foresee this?" Jovian grumbled as he fiddled with a set of keys, "From where did you gather this information?" "I fled the village of Maernst and watched it burn from afar" I declared "The pace of a horse was no match for a dragon once they set course. I did my best to alert the ruling power of the kingdom." "Well it wasn't preparation enough, was it?" his retort was brief. A large, heavy iron door slowly creaked open as Jovian leveraged his body to reveal a lavishly adorned armory. In the center, atop a pedestal, sat a large spear with a vibrant emerald at the end of the shaft. Jovian retrieved the spear and a cackling display of electricity shot out from all ends of the weapon. "We must deliver this to the king!" exclaimed Jovian as we set off once again. We arrived in the center plaza of the castle to be greeted by the king and his battle-ready cavalry. King Winston sat on a massive horse. Both were wearing brilliant, golden armor that reflected the sun as much as it did the dragons' flames. The true spectacle, however, was the emerald diamond ring he wore. I smiled as Jovian made his way to bequeath the powerful dragon-slayer to the almighty king. I readied my own weapon, a longbow, and painted the tip of my arrow with a pungent black powder I had kept hidden in a vial under my belt. A surge of energy felt throughout the kingdom thundered from the king's grasp as he lifted the spear to the ready. Lightning bolts sprang from his wrist and displayed his prowess. He was ready to strike down the dragons ravaging his city and threatening his sovereignty. I raised my bow with arrow mounted. Steadily, I drew the string back and took aim. "Hoozaah!!" bellowed the king as he commanded his troops to advance. The enthusiastic formation did not last long. I held my bowstring taught. When my confidence was strong, I let go and the arrow zipped from my hands. My aim was formidable: that much was certain. The cursed black substance allowed the arrow to pierce through the aura of lightning. My shot struck true to it's mark. The king stiffened and tumbled from his reign. His horse reared upwards and let out a loud whine. A dome of silence overtook the cavalry as they watched in horror as their king writhed on the ground. The poison blackened his veins and quickly spread to his cold heart. As the rest froze awestruck, I proceeded to haul ass for the exit of the city. I may have released a fury of dragons onto the city, but that was my only opportunity to end the tyranny of a cruel and merciless leader.	I have to resist the urge to freeze. "No time, duck!" I scream. A roar of fire and wind fills my ears. "Dammit Melanie! You've been my apprentice for three years and you still can't count?!" "I can count, but when you a bunch of dragons, the first thing on your mind is to get out, not to count them!" My mentor, Cid, had always been calm until now. I dunno what got into him, but I don't like it. He quivers in fear, eyes glazed off into the distance. "Look Cid, please focus. Now is not the time to panic. Come on." I outstretch my hand to him but he nods his head. "I'm staying here." He lets a few tears escape. I've never known him to cry before. He's killed goblins. He's had both of his legs crushed. He lost his wife. His son. He didn't cry at any of those things... But now? "Cid. Please." I beg, but he refuses to get up. He takes his bow. A fancy, custom made silver bow made for the king, that had been passed down to him and hands it to me. It was one of the most powerful weapons of its time, about 100 years ago. It still holds up remarkably well though. "No. You aren't leaving me!" He spits on my face. "Get lost. Slay yourself a dragon. Or a few. Be the first woman, no, human ranger to kill one of those bastards. "Please Cid. Please come with me." I have to stay strong. It hurts to see my mentor like this. He was like a Dad to me. I was an orphan. He picked me up and taught me everything I know. He sits there, unmoving. I get down to his level, and wrap my arms around him. "I love you... D-dad. Please don't die." He snorts, silently thinking for 15 seconds. "I'm not your Dad. My time is up, please just let me die in peace, Mel." "NO!" I scream, but he won't budge. I try to pick him up, but he kicks me to get off. I give up. I'll let the old man die. I wipe up my tears away and head to battle. I see the monster about 100 feet away from me. In textbooks, they usually show dragons as being these beautiful, elegant red or green creatures. That's just flat out wrong. This one was a disgusting, fat, ugly looking dinosaur wannabe. It's eyes aren't the same size. In fact one of them wasn't even in it's eye socket, it was just floating off the little eye string. I pull off Cid's bow from my back. I load three arrows at ones. "One... Two... Three!" I release the volley, eyes closed and heart pounding.
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	King Norton's eyes fluttered as he heard a crack. "Thunder" he said to himself before closing them again and attempting to go back to sleep. There was another. He tried to ignore it. A third, a fourth, and a fifth all came within rapid succession of the last few. Norton was awake now. He stepped up, dressed himself, looked outside the window to see that it was a perfectly sunny day, and walked out of his bed chamber. When he started descending the stairs towards the rest of the castle he saw absolute confusion. "What the hell is going on here?" He asked, causing everyone to stop what they were doing. Six armored men approached him and pushed another man in front of Norton. "Your grace, there are a few dragons outside." "A few?" "A few." "Alright listen uh.... What's your name again?" "Sir Morgan your grace." "Sir Morgan, do you know the difference between subjective and objective right? 'some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' Dragons outside." Morgan was momentarily speechless at this when there was another crack. "and what the hell is that noise?" "It's the Dragons sir." "Wait these are Thunder Dragons? I assumed they were reds what the hell are Thunder Dragons doing out here?" "Well your grace only about Half of them are Thunders, the rest are blacks." "Black Dragons?" "Yes majesty." King Norton held his hand to his forehead and stepped away for a moment. "What the fucking fucking fuckity fuck is going the fuck on that there are Black Dragons outside of my palace?" "Well uh..." "And for fucks sake how many of them are there?" There was a pregnant silence as one of the other Knights ran to the front door, cracked it open to look, then ran back. "There are about 30 Your Majesty." "Thirty Black Dragons is not a few Sir Morgan." "Well your Grace only about 15 are Black the rest are..." There was another crack of thunder, the castle appeared to actually shake. "What do they want?" "They want to talk to you." The king simply starred at Morgan for a moment with a scowl. "Well, Alright. I guess I better go talk to them." He had expected someone to try and stop him or talk him out of it but no one did. He made a mental note to put them in the front of dangerous battles next campaign. When he pushed open the door there was indeed about thirty Dragons milling about the town. Some where flying, some where standing on buildings or in the street. King Norton approached the massive black dragon sitting in the middle of the courtyard. It was immense, with massive piercing green eyes and a head that was at least twice the size of his entire body. "Can I help you?" The King said as the dragon was drinking from a fountain he had spent a lot of time constructing. "Oh, are you the king?" The Dragon asked, suddenly looking up. "You're joking right?" The king said motioning to his crown. "Ah is that what that is? Anyway village near where I live has been unable to make offerings towards me as you have raised taxes. I was here with a few other like minded Dragons who are having similar problems." "This is about a village? Why didn't you talk to the Knight Collecting Taxes and not come all the way to the capital?" "I tried that he died." "You killed him?" "No he had a heart attack. Then I tried the Local steward, then the baron, then the count, then the lord paramount, they all either fled, told me to ask someone above them, or died like the first Knight. So I'm here." "Okay, well I'm not going to lower taxes." "Why not? I'd like offerings again." "What do you want? Gold? Virgins?" "Hevans no. Just some sheep." "We can easily give you sheep." "oh, that would be lovely actually." The King waited before speaking. "Where would you like to have them?" he said, slightly impatiently. "Oh, I live on Dark Mountain. My friends will also give their locations." "Perfect." the king replied. He then waited. Coughed, cleared his throat and started tapping his foot. "can you leave now?" "Oh is that what you were waiting for? Yes. certainly." The Dragon said as he took off. The King sighed before turning around. "Doesn't anyone do any fuckin' work around here?"	"Riight.. Yea, so I don't know if ten really is 'a few'?" "Ten?! I wouldn't call.." "Yea and now one of them seems to have taken interest in us. See?" I interrupted when the purple one of the bunch started to waddle towards us. "Those aren't the kind of dragons I thought of, when you said there were 'a few' dragons outside" my friend said as he had huddled to the window by now. And yes I can understand how one might be surprised by that characterization, but I didn't know what I'd call them. I mean, now that I look at them they could just as easily be called dinosaurs, but those things shouldn't exist anymore anyways and as a matter of fact they don't really look like conventional dinosaurs either. What are you supposed to call a large blobby thing with reptilian features, that is walking on two legs anyways? The purple blobby reptilian thing that had taken interest in us started to get closer and suddenly I could swear I can hear it.. Yankee fucking Doodle? "What.. the..", I started. "I have no idea." "So you hear that too?" "Yeaa...." We looked at each other with our eyebrows raised, as we contemplated the state of our reality. Now the lyrics slowly started to become clear and it wasn't Yankee Doodle, even if it shared the melody. This made us both question our sanity if there was still anything left to question, because this was a version of the song both of us were unfamiliar with. "What.. What should we do?" I asked in the most confused state I'd ever been in. My friend just silently got up and started to walk out of the room. I decided to follow, as the purple blobby reptilian thing was starting to make me feel more and more unease. "We need the gun!", said my friend. "The gun?!" I had no idea what gun he was talking about. No matter I wasn't about to be left alone downstairs as the purple blobby reptilian thing was dawning ever so closer to my friend's house. I followed my friend upstairs and into his dad's room. I could hear him mumbling under his breath "it.. it should be riiight here. AHA!" He drew a shotgun from under the bed. "A fucking shotgun?!" I exclaimed shocked. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill? That thing looked weird, sure, but hardly blood lusty. More kind of, like, a hug you to death situation going on there, rather than a eat you the fuck alive type of scenario." "I AIN'T LETTING NO PURPLE FUCKERS COME AND STEAL MY FUCKING PB&J!", my friend yelled as he rushed downstairs. I rushed behind my buddy as he crushed through the front door. Next thing I could hear was "SUPER DEE-DUPER" coming out of the mouth of that reptilian blobby thing and the next thing was a loud BANG and then soon after a soft thud. "I.. I think you just killed.. killed that.. that.. WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!" "HE WAS COMING FOR MY GOD DAMN PB&J BRO! I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE MAN! I could see the lust in his eyes." "YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PB&J ON YOU!" "Oh shit you are right..",said my friend when he realized the mistake he had made. Then I spotted this other lizardy monster kind of thing emerge from behind my friend's garage. It lifted it's bowler hat and said, "You seem to have a problem on your hands, gentlemen! I can make that problem go away, but I have a price." "What might that price be?" I inquired. And the beast answered, "Aaah.. That'd be about three fiddy." What a killer steal! Three fifty to make this purple blobby lizard carcass disappear, before the neighbors would discover that we killed this unique creature. I reached into my pocket and threw all the change I could find there at the monster and poof the purple blobby thing and the larger lizardy monster were gone. I then looked my friend in the eye and asked, "Do you think the pills are working?" _________________ Edits: maybe I might be satisfied with the formating for now..
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	I fumbled over my thoughts as I stood before Jovian, King Winstar's most revered adviser. I only had a limited time to gain his trust. Before I could utter a response, a giant claw emerged from the window followed by a deafening screech and a crash as the wall crumbled from the impact of a mighty dragon. "Follow me!" Jovian beckoned as we quickly descended further into the center of the castle. My focus kept me oblivious to the clamor of pandemonium that erupted among the city-dwellers as I kept in sync with every step: I was on a mission. "How did you foresee this?" Jovian grumbled as he fiddled with a set of keys, "From where did you gather this information?" "I fled the village of Maernst and watched it burn from afar" I declared "The pace of a horse was no match for a dragon once they set course. I did my best to alert the ruling power of the kingdom." "Well it wasn't preparation enough, was it?" his retort was brief. A large, heavy iron door slowly creaked open as Jovian leveraged his body to reveal a lavishly adorned armory. In the center, atop a pedestal, sat a large spear with a vibrant emerald at the end of the shaft. Jovian retrieved the spear and a cackling display of electricity shot out from all ends of the weapon. "We must deliver this to the king!" exclaimed Jovian as we set off once again. We arrived in the center plaza of the castle to be greeted by the king and his battle-ready cavalry. King Winston sat on a massive horse. Both were wearing brilliant, golden armor that reflected the sun as much as it did the dragons' flames. The true spectacle, however, was the emerald diamond ring he wore. I smiled as Jovian made his way to bequeath the powerful dragon-slayer to the almighty king. I readied my own weapon, a longbow, and painted the tip of my arrow with a pungent black powder I had kept hidden in a vial under my belt. A surge of energy felt throughout the kingdom thundered from the king's grasp as he lifted the spear to the ready. Lightning bolts sprang from his wrist and displayed his prowess. He was ready to strike down the dragons ravaging his city and threatening his sovereignty. I raised my bow with arrow mounted. Steadily, I drew the string back and took aim. "Hoozaah!!" bellowed the king as he commanded his troops to advance. The enthusiastic formation did not last long. I held my bowstring taught. When my confidence was strong, I let go and the arrow zipped from my hands. My aim was formidable: that much was certain. The cursed black substance allowed the arrow to pierce through the aura of lightning. My shot struck true to it's mark. The king stiffened and tumbled from his reign. His horse reared upwards and let out a loud whine. A dome of silence overtook the cavalry as they watched in horror as their king writhed on the ground. The poison blackened his veins and quickly spread to his cold heart. As the rest froze awestruck, I proceeded to haul ass for the exit of the city. I may have released a fury of dragons onto the city, but that was my only opportunity to end the tyranny of a cruel and merciless leader.	"Riight.. Yea, so I don't know if ten really is 'a few'?" "Ten?! I wouldn't call.." "Yea and now one of them seems to have taken interest in us. See?" I interrupted when the purple one of the bunch started to waddle towards us. "Those aren't the kind of dragons I thought of, when you said there were 'a few' dragons outside" my friend said as he had huddled to the window by now. And yes I can understand how one might be surprised by that characterization, but I didn't know what I'd call them. I mean, now that I look at them they could just as easily be called dinosaurs, but those things shouldn't exist anymore anyways and as a matter of fact they don't really look like conventional dinosaurs either. What are you supposed to call a large blobby thing with reptilian features, that is walking on two legs anyways? The purple blobby reptilian thing that had taken interest in us started to get closer and suddenly I could swear I can hear it.. Yankee fucking Doodle? "What.. the..", I started. "I have no idea." "So you hear that too?" "Yeaa...." We looked at each other with our eyebrows raised, as we contemplated the state of our reality. Now the lyrics slowly started to become clear and it wasn't Yankee Doodle, even if it shared the melody. This made us both question our sanity if there was still anything left to question, because this was a version of the song both of us were unfamiliar with. "What.. What should we do?" I asked in the most confused state I'd ever been in. My friend just silently got up and started to walk out of the room. I decided to follow, as the purple blobby reptilian thing was starting to make me feel more and more unease. "We need the gun!", said my friend. "The gun?!" I had no idea what gun he was talking about. No matter I wasn't about to be left alone downstairs as the purple blobby reptilian thing was dawning ever so closer to my friend's house. I followed my friend upstairs and into his dad's room. I could hear him mumbling under his breath "it.. it should be riiight here. AHA!" He drew a shotgun from under the bed. "A fucking shotgun?!" I exclaimed shocked. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill? That thing looked weird, sure, but hardly blood lusty. More kind of, like, a hug you to death situation going on there, rather than a eat you the fuck alive type of scenario." "I AIN'T LETTING NO PURPLE FUCKERS COME AND STEAL MY FUCKING PB&J!", my friend yelled as he rushed downstairs. I rushed behind my buddy as he crushed through the front door. Next thing I could hear was "SUPER DEE-DUPER" coming out of the mouth of that reptilian blobby thing and the next thing was a loud BANG and then soon after a soft thud. "I.. I think you just killed.. killed that.. that.. WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!" "HE WAS COMING FOR MY GOD DAMN PB&J BRO! I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE MAN! I could see the lust in his eyes." "YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PB&J ON YOU!" "Oh shit you are right..",said my friend when he realized the mistake he had made. Then I spotted this other lizardy monster kind of thing emerge from behind my friend's garage. It lifted it's bowler hat and said, "You seem to have a problem on your hands, gentlemen! I can make that problem go away, but I have a price." "What might that price be?" I inquired. And the beast answered, "Aaah.. That'd be about three fiddy." What a killer steal! Three fifty to make this purple blobby lizard carcass disappear, before the neighbors would discover that we killed this unique creature. I reached into my pocket and threw all the change I could find there at the monster and poof the purple blobby thing and the larger lizardy monster were gone. I then looked my friend in the eye and asked, "Do you think the pills are working?" _________________ Edits: maybe I might be satisfied with the formating for now..
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	I fumbled over my thoughts as I stood before Jovian, King Winstar's most revered adviser. I only had a limited time to gain his trust. Before I could utter a response, a giant claw emerged from the window followed by a deafening screech and a crash as the wall crumbled from the impact of a mighty dragon. "Follow me!" Jovian beckoned as we quickly descended further into the center of the castle. My focus kept me oblivious to the clamor of pandemonium that erupted among the city-dwellers as I kept in sync with every step: I was on a mission. "How did you foresee this?" Jovian grumbled as he fiddled with a set of keys, "From where did you gather this information?" "I fled the village of Maernst and watched it burn from afar" I declared "The pace of a horse was no match for a dragon once they set course. I did my best to alert the ruling power of the kingdom." "Well it wasn't preparation enough, was it?" his retort was brief. A large, heavy iron door slowly creaked open as Jovian leveraged his body to reveal a lavishly adorned armory. In the center, atop a pedestal, sat a large spear with a vibrant emerald at the end of the shaft. Jovian retrieved the spear and a cackling display of electricity shot out from all ends of the weapon. "We must deliver this to the king!" exclaimed Jovian as we set off once again. We arrived in the center plaza of the castle to be greeted by the king and his battle-ready cavalry. King Winston sat on a massive horse. Both were wearing brilliant, golden armor that reflected the sun as much as it did the dragons' flames. The true spectacle, however, was the emerald diamond ring he wore. I smiled as Jovian made his way to bequeath the powerful dragon-slayer to the almighty king. I readied my own weapon, a longbow, and painted the tip of my arrow with a pungent black powder I had kept hidden in a vial under my belt. A surge of energy felt throughout the kingdom thundered from the king's grasp as he lifted the spear to the ready. Lightning bolts sprang from his wrist and displayed his prowess. He was ready to strike down the dragons ravaging his city and threatening his sovereignty. I raised my bow with arrow mounted. Steadily, I drew the string back and took aim. "Hoozaah!!" bellowed the king as he commanded his troops to advance. The enthusiastic formation did not last long. I held my bowstring taught. When my confidence was strong, I let go and the arrow zipped from my hands. My aim was formidable: that much was certain. The cursed black substance allowed the arrow to pierce through the aura of lightning. My shot struck true to it's mark. The king stiffened and tumbled from his reign. His horse reared upwards and let out a loud whine. A dome of silence overtook the cavalry as they watched in horror as their king writhed on the ground. The poison blackened his veins and quickly spread to his cold heart. As the rest froze awestruck, I proceeded to haul ass for the exit of the city. I may have released a fury of dragons onto the city, but that was my only opportunity to end the tyranny of a cruel and merciless leader.	######[](#dropcap) The Ranger squirmed and winced, rightly fearful of what he'd have to say. "...Five?" Hilary Flint snarled and slammed his fist down onto the table, knocking the map's colored unit markers down as he rose from his seat. His spurs clicked on the stone floor as he strode from the room, flanked by his subordinates. "Ready the flak guns and keep 'em covered," ordered Flint, passing a stream of civilians and support staff fleeing from the surface. "We don't want whoever's up there to know where our defenses are too early. Get all non-essential personnel into the tunnels and seal the blast doors behind them. Everyone else to their post!" The fort's alarm, salvaged from an old tornado warning siren, warmed up, its keening drone rising and falling with a desperate madden air. The two churches constructed on the fort's grounds lent their bells to the cacophony, the heavy bronze bells tolling as fast as their ringers could pull. Green cloaked rangers and self-garbed militia hurried to their fighting stations, opening up weapons lockers and beginning the laborious process of hauling the heavy flak shells out from their magazines. Fire crews, garbed in reflective fire proximity suits, waited by their hoses and engines in preparation for the worst. High overhead, reeling and turning like great birds of prey, was the unmistakable shape of dragons. Even from such a height that blast of each wing beat could be felt on those below, stirring the dust and the leaves. One of them, a massive bull by the looks, roared like thunder's clap, sending the already nervous horses in the stables and the oxen in their pens to fright. The air was filled with the screams of animals and of men, those who'd had never seen a dragon.... or those who had fought them and survived. There were men on the backs of those armored beasts. Draped in heavy armor and wrapped in lengths of turquoise cloth, they carried the grim tools of their trade, heavy axes and halberds and stout bows to pierce the hide of other dragons. Long banners fluttered from poles affixed to the straps and buckles which crisscross the creatures' bodies, each displaying a different house's sigil. Flint spat to the side as he read the heraldry through an offered binocular, taking in the details woven through the fabric. They took no action to attack or to take evasive measures. They wanted to be seen. "For fuck's sake...." he growled, shoving the binoculars back into the hands of the ensign who'd offered them. "What? What is it?" "Those banners, they belong to House Alathir and her vassal houses. Things are far worse than I thought. We don't have invaders at our gates, we have 'uninvited' guests."
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside."	"I know there are a few Dragons out there," Kai growled. As if to emphasize how exactly he knew this fact, the entire house shook violently. One of the dragons must have come in for a landing on what remained of the roof. Plaster rained from the ceiling, covering the entire party in a coating of dust. Kai missed the days when people built castles out of solid stone instead of these cheap McMansions. "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right?" Kai continued ranting as he loaded a bolt into the crossbow. "'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate." Once he finished pulling back the drawstring, he yanked the three remaining arrows from his quiver and held them up, right in Kevin's face, making it clear why he needed some specificity. There weren't a lot of mithril-tipped arrows that could pierce a dragon's hide just laying around in suburban Kansas City, so these ones had to count. "So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside." Kevin was shaking, eyes wide with disbelief. He'd seen stuff about dragons on the news, back when the television stations were still working. From when the portal had first opened. But here? On top of his house? He slumped against the kitchen island, and all he could think about was how expensive this granite had been. Deanna had insisted on having it despite the cost of the kitchen remodel, and, as a newlywed, he'd been happy to splurge for her. Yet less than a year later, chunks of it were now strewn across the kitchen floor. All Kevin could really think about was how much money he'd wasted. "There... ummm..." The contractor had certainly ripped them off on the installation, but it had been worth it to see Deanna happy. Not that she even cooked, so why bother spending a lot on a kitchen? But they'd meant it for having parties and whatnot. Not that that was possible anymore. How the hell had the world gone to shit in less than a year? Where had all of these monsters come from? "There was a lot of fire..." Kevin stammered as he tried to recall the headlong dash in from the street. "I didn't.... I mean, there was a lot of fire." "Useless!" Kai muttered, turning away from Kevin. This is what he got for taking up with civilians. How fucking hard could it be to count the number of dragons? They were the size of schoolbuses, for God's sake! "Silver, can you get a glimpse for me?" Kai jerked his head toward the window over the sink. The vampire peeked out of the pantry where he'd taken shelter from the sun. He shook his head in Kai's direction. "Don't look at me, mate. It's daylight out there. Remember when I suggested hiding out for a while and stealing the egg at night when I could help without enduring scalding pain? Remember that, Kai? Remember how you decided not to do that and went ahead with your stupid plan anyway?" Kai scowled. It really was a good plan.... up until the dragons had woken up. "Come on, John!" Kai pleaded with Silver. He only ever used his first name when he wanted something. "It may hurt a bit, sure, but it's not like they can kill you!They've got teeth, not wooden stakes!" They may chew him up a bit... and he might have to ride around in the dragon's stomach until they could kill it and cut Silver out like they did after the battle in Las Vegas... but it wouldn't kill him. "Sorry," Silver said, pulling back into his little cave among the cans. "This is your mess." Outside, a car alarm wailed wildly in alternating patterns. WEEEE-OOOOO, WEEEE-OOOOOO, ERRR ERRR ERRR, ERRR ERRR.... The blaring noise was cut off suddenly by a throaty roar and the squealing sounds of tearing metal. Apparently the dragons weren't big fans of car alarms. Kai turned to the third member of his group. "Devandross, what about you? Up for a little scouting mission?" The mage shrugged. His robes were stained, torn, and scorched just from escaping the dragon's den. Devandross himself looked pale and haggard, completely drained from over-using his abilities. "If you wanted shielding spells and protection, you should have hired a cleric. I can hold my own in a fight, but scouting is more of a ranger's job." He gave Kai a pointed look. "I mean, I can probably make a distraction for you if you want..." The implication was clear, though: it was really up to Kai. "Never should have taken this fucking job," Kai muttered to himself. At the very least, he should have brought on a dragon specialist to grab a dragon egg. But as always, his cheapness just had to come back and bite him in the ass. Couldn't have just one job go as planned, could he? "Fine. Make it big, Devandross." Kai heaved himself up and made his way as close to the front door as he dared. The dragons had already torn through most of the atrium after chasing them up the porch, so there wasn't as much cover there as in the kitchen. "You ready?" Devandross chanted under his breath, and a swirling globe of energy appeared between his hands. Holding it steady, he approached the kitchen window and then sent the ball flying out into the street. It riccocheted off of one car with so much force that the sedan went twirling through the air before coming down for a landing upside-down on a nearby lawn. Devandross's ball went bouncing down the street, giving a number of other cars and trucks the same treatment. A cascade of car alarms rang out, followed shortly by dragon roars. "Wish me luck!" Kai shouted before dashing outside. Silver, Devandross, and Kevin remained huddled in the kitchen listening to the chaos outside. Successive car alarms died out as the dragons screamed in fury and tore into the vehicles with their teeth and talons. Only a minute later, Kai came hurtling through the kitchen window in a headlong dive that sent him skidding through the rubble on the tile floor. Behind him, a dragon's massive jaws snapped shut so close that the group could smell its breath. They all had to quickly scurry behind the remains of the kitchen island as the dragon's teeth disappeared from view and its eye filled the gaping window frame, searching for the prey that had gotten away. "Well?" Silver asked once the coast was clear. "How many are there?" Kai sighed. He emptied out the quiver into his lap again: three arrows, plus the one already loaded in his crossbow. A total of four. Then he looked back up at the others and chuckled. "There's five," he answered. ----- If you enjoyed this story, you ought to subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!	######[](#dropcap) The Ranger squirmed and winced, rightly fearful of what he'd have to say. "...Five?" Hilary Flint snarled and slammed his fist down onto the table, knocking the map's colored unit markers down as he rose from his seat. His spurs clicked on the stone floor as he strode from the room, flanked by his subordinates. "Ready the flak guns and keep 'em covered," ordered Flint, passing a stream of civilians and support staff fleeing from the surface. "We don't want whoever's up there to know where our defenses are too early. Get all non-essential personnel into the tunnels and seal the blast doors behind them. Everyone else to their post!" The fort's alarm, salvaged from an old tornado warning siren, warmed up, its keening drone rising and falling with a desperate madden air. The two churches constructed on the fort's grounds lent their bells to the cacophony, the heavy bronze bells tolling as fast as their ringers could pull. Green cloaked rangers and self-garbed militia hurried to their fighting stations, opening up weapons lockers and beginning the laborious process of hauling the heavy flak shells out from their magazines. Fire crews, garbed in reflective fire proximity suits, waited by their hoses and engines in preparation for the worst. High overhead, reeling and turning like great birds of prey, was the unmistakable shape of dragons. Even from such a height that blast of each wing beat could be felt on those below, stirring the dust and the leaves. One of them, a massive bull by the looks, roared like thunder's clap, sending the already nervous horses in the stables and the oxen in their pens to fright. The air was filled with the screams of animals and of men, those who'd had never seen a dragon.... or those who had fought them and survived. There were men on the backs of those armored beasts. Draped in heavy armor and wrapped in lengths of turquoise cloth, they carried the grim tools of their trade, heavy axes and halberds and stout bows to pierce the hide of other dragons. Long banners fluttered from poles affixed to the straps and buckles which crisscross the creatures' bodies, each displaying a different house's sigil. Flint spat to the side as he read the heraldry through an offered binocular, taking in the details woven through the fabric. They took no action to attack or to take evasive measures. They wanted to be seen. "For fuck's sake...." he growled, shoving the binoculars back into the hands of the ensign who'd offered them. "What? What is it?" "Those banners, they belong to House Alathir and her vassal houses. Things are far worse than I thought. We don't have invaders at our gates, we have 'uninvited' guests."
[WP] The year is 3126, and mankind has scouted across hundreds of thousands of light years in search of similar sentient life forms, only to discover that they may truly be alone in their universe and all others. That is, until they come across a guy named Tim.	We stared at the man, dumbfounded. No-one had expected anyone else to be here. You see, for over a thousand years, humanity had set out in search of other intelligent life. First in sleeper ships. Then, as we developed faster than light travel, warp ships took up the flag, intercepting the sleeper ships and integrating them into their own crews. We swept out in ever-expanding spiral patterns, searching. Probing. Hoping... but never finding anyone else. In 2855, humanity was in a tizzy. After centuries of exploration without even so much as a single contact with another species, we finally picked up a transmission. It had been clearly artificial in nature, and our fastest warp ships headed straight for it. 32 years after we departed, we arrived to find a transmitter on a massive planet with crumbling infrastructure. A civilization had existed here, once. But no more. So we continued to search, fruitlessly. We found a handful of similar planets, but none contained a single living being. That was, until today. As our shuttle crew stared at the man, and he stared back, our leader waited for him to speak. Seeing that he appeared perfectly content to stare at us in silence, our leader took the initiative. He took a step forward, raising a hand in what we all thought was a friendly gesture. It was then that the man turned to his left, and a massive energy bolt erupted from the staff he was carrying, vaporizing a small building 500 meters away. Of course, we all dove for cover, but our leader... either fearless or stupid... just stood there, silently for a moment. "Who... who are you?" The man turned slowly back towards our leader, and thumped the bottom end of his staff into the dirt. "There are some who call me... Tim?" "Greetings, Tim," our leader said, gaining confidence. "Greetings, Arthur," Tim replied. "You know my name?" Arthur asked incredulously. "I do." Tim whirled to the right this time, vaporizing a larger building, this time, much closer. We all continued hiding, but our fearless leader Arthur didn't flinch. "You seek other lifeforms!" Tim barked towards Arthur. "We do," Arthur replied with some surprise. "You know much about us that is hidden." "Quite," replied Tim, as several small explosions went off around the party.	We left our home world when we discovered how our ignorance of our planet affected our lives. It was not a course of action to save the planet, but rather ourselves. The first to leave were high authority figures. Presidents, prime ministers, kings and queens. I remember so vividly seeing the first; my eyes drawn to the darkened windows where 22 silhouettes sat comatose. I remember even more vividly the feeling it gave me. There was no joy or celebration for our new found technology, but rather utter disappointment greeted me as my heart sunk, knowing that one day the ground on which I stood would be as barren as mars once was. Everything seemed ironic, really. When I was younger, all I could ever dream of was travelling to another planet to find aliens and explore. Not did I know that everything had already come true, not even 20 years afterwards. There was but one detail that was different. We did, in fact, find new planets and we did, in fact, explore them. No, the only thing I wouldn't have thought was what we found there. The year was 3126. My flight left 33 years ago. Since then, we had wondered far and wide across an infinite expanse, no real knowledge of what we would find. Everyone always expected the usual: little green men ready and waiting for our arrival. We'd still had no contact. 1749 planets, 761 star systems and a plethora of nebuli later and still nothing. Concern grew within the human race for a while and religion had become predominant among space explorers. After all, the universe must have been made just for us, right? No other life forms... right? I thought I'd seen it all until my boot, laden with padding and small oxygen tanks disturbed the dirt from under my feet for the first time in 33 years, my mind swelled with anticipation as we began to realize that the atmosphere in which we stood was breathable. This proved useful, because many sighs of relief could be heard that day. We had finally found a new habitable planet. Stretching my legs was, funnily enough, one of my first priorities. Having been trapped in a ship for 33 years with people you barely know is frustrating, to say the least. As I bent my knees, weak from excitement, to place myself on a nearby rock, I heard a voice. Strange as it was, I was under the impression that I was going mad. This was the first time I'd been alone in a long time, so it sort of made sense. Again. I stand and watch as a man, a stranger, peruses his way to my side. He looks uncomfortable, but almost as if he was expecting me. His eyes dazzled by us as if we weren't even human. The fear within him pierced my eyes like needles as his words struggled to leave his mouth. Does this mean we weren't the first? Have other before us made the same choices? He spoke to me, though not through words. At this moment, on this planet, I finally understood. Aliens hadn't existed for a very long time.
[WP] The year is 3126, and mankind has scouted across hundreds of thousands of light years in search of similar sentient life forms, only to discover that they may truly be alone in their universe and all others. That is, until they come across a guy named Tim.	We stared at the man, dumbfounded. No-one had expected anyone else to be here. You see, for over a thousand years, humanity had set out in search of other intelligent life. First in sleeper ships. Then, as we developed faster than light travel, warp ships took up the flag, intercepting the sleeper ships and integrating them into their own crews. We swept out in ever-expanding spiral patterns, searching. Probing. Hoping... but never finding anyone else. In 2855, humanity was in a tizzy. After centuries of exploration without even so much as a single contact with another species, we finally picked up a transmission. It had been clearly artificial in nature, and our fastest warp ships headed straight for it. 32 years after we departed, we arrived to find a transmitter on a massive planet with crumbling infrastructure. A civilization had existed here, once. But no more. So we continued to search, fruitlessly. We found a handful of similar planets, but none contained a single living being. That was, until today. As our shuttle crew stared at the man, and he stared back, our leader waited for him to speak. Seeing that he appeared perfectly content to stare at us in silence, our leader took the initiative. He took a step forward, raising a hand in what we all thought was a friendly gesture. It was then that the man turned to his left, and a massive energy bolt erupted from the staff he was carrying, vaporizing a small building 500 meters away. Of course, we all dove for cover, but our leader... either fearless or stupid... just stood there, silently for a moment. "Who... who are you?" The man turned slowly back towards our leader, and thumped the bottom end of his staff into the dirt. "There are some who call me... Tim?" "Greetings, Tim," our leader said, gaining confidence. "Greetings, Arthur," Tim replied. "You know my name?" Arthur asked incredulously. "I do." Tim whirled to the right this time, vaporizing a larger building, this time, much closer. We all continued hiding, but our fearless leader Arthur didn't flinch. "You seek other lifeforms!" Tim barked towards Arthur. "We do," Arthur replied with some surprise. "You know much about us that is hidden." "Quite," replied Tim, as several small explosions went off around the party.	"Sir, we have everything set up. When you're ready." With no response, the young man leaves and closes the door. An older gentleman stands in front of a mirror while combing his hair. The black hair accompanied by streaks of grey and even white continued to be set in place just right. His dark eyebrows furrowed with every stroke. A beard so full and well kept, keeping his angular jawline. A delicate hand finds his shoulder from behind and glides to his chest over his dress shirt. It's met with a second hand holding a tie. A very sweet, yet powerful voice graces his ears, "One of these days, you'll have to learn to tie your own ties." As she begins, he speaks for the first time all morning, "Its this moment of every morning that brings me clarity before I start my day." He turns around as she finishes his tie. He places a kiss on her cheek. He walks out the door, leaving her in front of the mirror with her hand on her cheek thinking to herself, "How could I be so lucky to have him?" The young man from before listens to his earpiece. "He's on his way. Is everything good to go still?" A rather eccentric individual with disheveled hair continues to bite his nails as he shoots back, "Good to go? You mean compared to 15 seconds ago when you asked?" "Not today!" "I'm just saying that-" "He's here!" The older gentleman walks in with a burst through doors. "Let's get started! Do we have all connections set correctly?" The eccentric individual, somewhat falling over himself, "Yes! Everything is in place and ready to go... and I must say, sir, it is truly an honor!" The older gentleman furrows his brow, only this time with confusion and frustration. He has no time for this. The eccentric individual continues, "oh right! Ok so you're just going to look into this little camera. This screen will show whoever is out there. We're just going to click here aaaaand now we are calling." The call rings. And rings. And rings... Finally, there's an answer. There's a bad connection. The audio cuts in and out. The video is choppy. The older gentleman speaks, "Hello! This is-" He's cut off immediately by the sound of amazement. A young voice is heard. "Hhaaaa whoaaaa!" The video clears up. A young man in his pajamas with a bowl of cereal slams his spoon down in his bowl. He laughs with a full mouth. "Oh man! What's up, man? Man you guys are morons. Took y'all long enough to reach outside your world." He puts down the bowl and reaches to his side. He uncovers a large bong and takes a large hit. He coughs, "My name's Tim!" The older gentleman hangs up. He sits in silence. The young man speaks after awhile, "Sir? "No one is to know about...Tim. We have found nothing." Before, anyone could speak, "Nothing!" He gets up and leaves the room. The eccentric individual finally breaks the silence, "I thought Tim was pretty rad..."
[WP] You've lived on an island all by yourself for over a year. You decide to venture to the other side, and are surprised by what you find.	"You've got to be kidding me," I said to myself as I made it over the ridge that ran through the middle of the island. I was standing on a plateau, overlooking the neglected half of my prison. It was 20 acres of jungle and beach that I avoided at all costs up to this point. If I wanted to stay alive I had to. Because that's where the island's inhabitants lived. Every night, I listened to their drums, cringed as their people wailed through the night, and smelt their burning fires. For a year, I lived my life in fear. They were a savage breed. I grew up in rural Canada, and even though I watched my fair share of documentaries on indigenous tribes, I have never seen anything of the sort. I can recall one daytime hunt stalking a wild bird, when I was chased by three naked members of their tribe. They did not stop until one of their leaders yelled repeatedly across the jungle "You fucked up! You fucked up!" In an instant, the naked men lost interest in me and returned back to the village. From that day forward I was terrified of them. Sometimes when they ventured to my side of the island I hid and watched from a distance. They stumbled around like they lacked balance. They left a lingering odour in the air that I could smell from a mile away. It stunk like fermented fruits. They fornicated out in the open without any regard for personal hygiene or privacy. I decided that they must be the last of a dying breed of people. That their way of life, while contrastive to my own, had its own merits and had survived for hundreds of years. The day I decided to cross the barrier to their side of the island, was the day I ran out of water and food. I needed their help. As I stood on the plateau and I looked down at the tribe I had feared for a year, war drums turned to electronic DJs on the beach, smoky fires turned to BBQs, and the wailing I heard before was now joyful and jubilant cheering. I got closer to their village and the three naked men who chased me before were now wearing bathing suits and sunglasses. They approached me with a big smile. "Dude you took that game seriously, I swear the next time we play Manhunt, you are on my team!" I read a sign that was directly behind them: "Lost Tribe Luxury Resort."	1 year ago this day was when I walked the plank, I was the captain of shitty-grey, but due to mutiny I was overthrown from my position and was forced to walk the plank, there was an island nearby so I swam there after untying the knots....I am a sailor for crying out loud what do you think I don't know how to untie a knot.. So anyway, I reached the island and began to live on coconuts, and waited for any ship that passes by, but no ship sailed these waters as far as I knew. Well I thought better start making arrangements for permanent residence in this place, I found a nice cave much above the water level, made it cosy with moss and leaves. Now for food arrangements, I had the sea in front of me and I knew how to catch a fish, so no big deal there, got my fish, started a fire and purified water, life had taken a nice routine, it was nice all this silence for miles, just the thrashing of waves and sound of insects chirping at the night, a life without care, just me and the old sea.... But today I thought of going to the other side of the island, I had seen in movies and read in some books when a person goes to the other side he might find civilisation and can be rescued, as I had gotten pretty bored of this I started moving in the morning with 2 coconuts full of water and it took me till afternoon to arrive at the other side, the island was very big you see... I was shocked what I saw there, it was unbelievable, It was just not possible, no one was there, no people dancing and singing or a hotel, not even a plastic bottle.... Shame... Well, what can you do now, I think maybe I should make a boat or something and go search for civilisation, On second thoughts nah, too much work, too much risky and they are a bunch of assholes anyway, kinda is fun this way, am the king of this island, I should make a throne for me to sit on.......
[WP] A note is slipped under your door; your closet door.	He'd been seeing the client for about three months now. A young girl named Sarah, she was going through the abrupt death of her mother. Her father was nervous and clearly traumatized himself, but he was devoted to her, and she'd never missed any of her weekly appointments since the incident, except for last week. There was no word from either of them about it, but that wasn't out of the realm of the ordinary. Dr. William Herman Weber liked to think he was good at his job. He prided himself on being able to connect with the children he worked with, and having nearly all of them leave with a better mindset than they came in with. Sarah, too, was showing signs of improvement. He just hoped that today's session would help her even more. "Dr. Weber? Sarah and her father are here to see you." His secretary poked around the door to his office. Speak of the devil. He smiled warmly. "Thank you. Send her in." His office was fairly large, with room enough for his desk, a couch, and a table positioned against the wall, which was a blessing with what happened next. The enormous paw appeared first, almost as big as the door frame. It paused, then, through a process that William couldn't figure out, squeezed through and under it. Its face was like something out of nightmares, with bones protruding from every corner, like its face was just something hastily tacked onto its skull. He tried not to focus on it too much. It saw down like an enormous dog. Sarah poked her head in just after. "Hi, Doctor Weber! I brought my friend here today!" She paused, as though considering something. "I hope you don't mind!" His mouth was agape. The creature met his gaze with a measured look. "Really, if it's any trouble at all," the creature said anxiously. "I'm just along, because, um, I heard you were really good at your job, and..." he shifted his paws nervously. "Well, there's some things I wanted to talk to you about." William managed to shut his mouth, but not yet to speak. "He slipped a note under my closet door," Sarah continued. "He was too shy to ask me directly, isn't that cute?" Her face split into a grin. "But he wanted to come along, so here he is! His name is Akamothammar!" "First of those taken in battle by the demonic hordes," Akamothammar commented, looking mildly embarrased. "It's really not that big of a deal." "Not that big of a deal! Listen to this guy!" Sarah punched her companion on the arm, or leg. He barely seemed to notice. "Like he didn't sink Atlantis in the first of days!" "Helped sink Atlantis," he clarified, but he looked pleased. Words managed to come to William's mouth, although he didn't know how. "So," he said. "Well. I mean. It's not really protocol to see two patients at the same time-" "Oh, it's ok!" Sarah said. "I can wait outside!" "Sarah, no," Akamothammar said. "Really, it's OK. I don't want to cut into your time." "I don't mind at all!" Sarah said. "Just for now, OK? How's that sound?" The demon considered this, then inclined his head. "Yeah. OK. Just this once." He grinned, splitting his face mask like it was made of rotten wood. Before William's eyes, it reformed again, flesh re-knotting itself over exposed bone. Sarah hugged him. "Good luck!" she said, and left. William was alone with Akamothammar. "Don't worry," Akamothammar said. "No one else can see me except for you two." "Er," William said. "Now," Akamothammar said. He looked apologetic. "I'm afraid I will have to eat you." William stared. The demon shrugged. "Sorry about that, really. You seem like a nice man. And Sarah seems like a nice girl. But I have to move on - Sarah just isn't afraid of the dark anymore. You've really done a stellar job. But I have to eat someone, else I'll go hungry, and I've gotten kind of fond of the girl and her dad, so I suppose it'll have to be you." "Wait," William said in a strangled voice. Akamothammar waited. "Hmm?" he asked, eminently polite. "Are you sure there isn't anything you want to talk about? Anything about... your family, maybe?" The demon was shaking his head, but stopped when he heard family. "Well," he said. "Uh. My mother was the deepest parts of the earth and my father was the darkness behind the stars, so I guess I never did get to see my parents much." "And how does that make you feel?" William urged. Akamothammar shook his head violently. "I know what you're trying to do," he snarled. "You're trying to trick. Just like my sister tricked me into a cage for a thousand years-" He paused. William seized on his chance. "Tell me about that!" Akamothammar sighed. "You know, when you emerge from the same firmament as someone, you think you could trust them! But no! She never even said sorry!" "That's horrible," William said. "Have you talked to her since?" Akamothammar flopped down on the floor, causing the shingles above them to rattle. "You know, I haven't! I don't really want to, though. I don't want anything more to do with her." "That's entirely fair," William said. "You don't owe anyone who treated you badly anything." "I keep telling myself that," Akamothammar said. "But, you know, it hasn't really sunk in." "Well, it's true. You deserve better." Akamothammar sighed. "You know, Doctor Weber. I was really set on eating you today. Do you think it would be OK if I came in next week with Sarah to eat you? I'm really enjoying this session, and I think I shouldn't eat someone I'm feeling so positively disposed towards, you know?" "I - I believe I do, yes." "Good. Thank you, Doctor. I should get going, though. I'll send Sarah in. See you next week! Please try not to stress too much about it, it makes your meat chewy." With that, the great beast disappeared in a cloud of smoke. William set the fan turning again. He slumped down into his chair. Next week, he would die. He supposed that now he would just have to get really, really good at demon therapy.	I glanced at the note, unable to believe my eyes. Was it not as it seemed? Who could be hiding in my closet? A ghost? Without a host? A locket without a pocket? I didn't know. I grabbed the door and opened it wide. There was nobody there. I turned back around and awoke in surprise. What was going to be my demise? I didn't know, but one thing was clear. It went against everything I held dear. Or at least, those were my last thoughts before the bang went off.
[WP] A note is slipped under your door; your closet door.	Involving the same characters as [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3yq1un/wp_a_child_realizes_that_there_is_a_monster_in/cyfr31i/) story. Kai was supposed to be writing his history paper of Charlemagne or whatever, but instead he was on reddit. He was on /r/nosleep reading a story about a kid who was being terrorized by the monster in his closet. Kai found it hilarious. “As if a real monster would actually do that.” Almost as if on cue, a piece of paper slid out from beneath Kai’s closet door. He walked over and picked it up, but he couldn’t real the tangle of squiggles smudged onto it. He wasn’t really sure it Blergh grasped the concept of writing. He tried to doorknob, but the door wouldn’t bugde. “Blergh,” he said, knocking. “C’mon man. What’s wrong.” “Mruh ze gudaba,” came the reply. “Are you still moping because Skree broke up with you?” Eight or so years ago when Kai’s kid sister Hettie had been moved out of her crib and into a real bed a lady monster had moved in underneath it. Blergh has been immediately smitten. He had been thwarted in his love for year because Hettie wasn’t as cool with monsters as her brother was and would always scream for her parents. Luckily she had grown out of it and the two love beasts had been able to spend time together. Then, about two months ago and for reasons that were never really explained to either Kai or Hettie, Skree had broken it off. Now Blergh did nothing but sulk. Kai sighed. “How about I get us some hot pockets and we play some Call of Duty? It’ll be fun.” “Nogu nauk mren?” “It won’t do any good man. She doesn’t want to talk to you.” “Kru?” Kai sighed again and walked down the hall to his sister’s room. “Whadaya want?” she glared as she opened the door. “I’m busy skyping with Jennifer.” “She can tell you about her stupid art project later. Blergh needs to talk to Skree.” “It’s the other Jennifer,” Hettie said pointedly even though there were five Jennifers, so that wasn’t even helpful. “And Skree doesn’t want to talk to him anyway.” “Did she ever even tell you what her deal is?” “I don’t know. Maybe Blergh smells.” “He’s a monster who lives in a teenage boy’s closet and eats nothing but hot pockets and Doritos. Of course he smells. She knew that when they started dating. Why would it be a problem now?” “Bnau Kreeh!” came Skree’s shreik from inside the room. “What was that?” asked the Jennifer Kai now realized was funny-colored-hair Jennifer. “Nothing,” Hettie called over her shoulder. “See? She wants you to leave. Just leave.” With that she shut her door in her brother’s face, leaving him to trudge back to his own room and comfort his monster. “Look,” he said to his closet door, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Let’s just go to the &-Eleven and get some slurpees.” “Ba.” “We could talk to the pretty monster in the crawl space under the Hernandez’s house,” he said in a sing-songy voice. Said pretty monster was only pretty by monster standards, but you probably already knew that. “Btrith?” Blergh asked, cracking the door open just a little. “Yeah, her.” The door creaked open and Blergh lurched out. After Kai helped him make sure that his hair was properly scraggly, his eyes were properly googly and his tentacles were properly slimy, the two set out to get the monster a new girlfriend.	I glanced at the note, unable to believe my eyes. Was it not as it seemed? Who could be hiding in my closet? A ghost? Without a host? A locket without a pocket? I didn't know. I grabbed the door and opened it wide. There was nobody there. I turned back around and awoke in surprise. What was going to be my demise? I didn't know, but one thing was clear. It went against everything I held dear. Or at least, those were my last thoughts before the bang went off.
[WP] The year is 1969. Aliens are headed to Mars to look for humans, but make a stop on the moon to have a picnic. Apollo 11 lands, and we don't know who is more confused.	"One small step for a man, one giant leap for - what the - Houston, we have a problem." "What seems to be the problem?" "There's aliens here. Honest to god, aliens." The aliens looked at the astronauts and asked, "are you humans?" The astronauts responded: "Yes, we're humans." The aliens then said, "Awesome. We have traveled for twenty thousand years in search of humans. Can we follow you back to Mars?" "Mars? Look at this thing, Neil, it thinks we live on Mars." "I know. I heard it." The astronauts were confused. Why did the aliens think they lived on Mars? Had humans lived on Mars thousands of years ago? That seemed impossible. Mars was a barren wasteland. There was nothing on Mars but dust and rock. The astronauts were confused why they had to explain this to these aliens, when the aliens clearly knew enough about humans to learn their languages. "Humans live on Earth. Not Mars." Neil Armstrong explained. "How is that possible?" The aliens asked. "Earth is nothing but dust and rock. It's a barren wasteland. Mars is where it's at. They've got water, soil, trees, everything. We want to go to Mars. Don't try to trick us into going to Earth." "I think you've got Earth and Mars confused," the astronauts tried to explain. "Earth is the one with the water and the trees and all of that stuff, and Mars is the one that's a barren wasteland. Mars is nothing. Earth has it all." "Stop this treachery, we already told you, we will have none of it. Take us back to Mars." "Houston, we have another problem. The aliens think we're from Mars and want us to go there. I don't think there's any way to tell them that we're not going to Mars. They won't go to Earth with us because they think we're trying to trick them." "Then why don't you go back to Earth by yourselves?" So they did. And they told the aliens that they were going to Earth. So the aliens went to Mars.	One lovely Sunday afternoon in the pitch black Moon. A team of three young earthly astronauts land a strange object. Everything around them is in the most secretly loud silence. Two days go by and finally two of them get out of the ship. They set foot on the moon in a innocuous fashion with some strange and cumbersome suit. They seem like children going to paradise land made of chocolate and candy's. Unbeknownst to them, right beyond the ship in a hidden place there's a flying sauce type of ship with some alien looking creatures next to it. These green fellas are sniffing some strange smoke and appear to be high. In what looks to be a decisive moment to the humans presented on this strange and inhospitable place, the alien's look at them from far and being high as they are they start to trip. The aliens suddenly wake up from the trip to find themselves attached to beds in what looks to be a medical facility. The doctor after checking them out goes out by the door, and when this door slams we can see the room name. "Lab 45 - Area 51"
[WP] The Deadweb, the internet for the afterlife only has one website worth looking at. Deddit. You are the Moderator for AskDeddit, and someone has just asked "what do I do if I am here, but still alive?".	Ben stares at his computer screen, his mouth agape as he reads the message. “Do you think this is legit?” I close my eyes and sigh. All new moderators tend to be naïve about other peoples’ deaths, but even by those standards, Ben is pretty green. “He’s not alive,” I say, shaking my head. “He just isn’t able to face reality yet.” “How do you know?” Ben has risen from his seat, and is now pacing the room. “I saw a movie about this once. The guy is a quarterback, and they bring him to heaven, but he’s not supposed to be dead. It’s called…” “Heaven Can Wait.” I rub my aching temples. “Look, the guy’s dead, ok? I don’t know how else to explain it. You’ll understand when you’ve been in the role a little longer.” Now it’s Ben’s turn to sigh. “Ok, I believe you. But what do we do about him?” “Well, we have him brought in, and we talk to him.” Ben frowns. “But we’re just AskDeddit moderators. Why us?” I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know. No one else wants to do the damn thing, so why not us?” The words come out harsher than I had wanted. Ben is giving me a concerned look. “I’m sorry,” I say, “it can just be a little frustrating.” I pick up my phone and hit 2 for speed dial. “Find ImAFather418 and bring him in. And send me his file, while you’re at it.” I turn to my computer and read through my new email, while Ben watches over my shoulder. By the time I’ve finished, a massive lump has formed in my throat. Before I can say anything to Ben, the door to our office opens, and a young man who can only be ImAFather418 storms in. “You’ve got to help me,” he pleads, tears already streaming down his cheeks. “I’m not supposed to be here. My kids need me.” I muster up the calmest voice I can find. “I know Thomas. Please, sit down.” Thomas obliges, and launches into his speech. Abby is five, and just lost her first tooth. Michael is ten, and his fifth grade basketball team just won the division title. He is building a new house with a big backyard so the kids can play outside, and a nursery for his and Sophie’s third child, who will be coming in two months. Through the whole story, I say nothing. I just nod my head and let him get it all out. When he’s finished, I hand him a box of tissues. “It sounds like an amazing time for your family.” Thomas smiles through his tears. “Yeah, it is.” I bite my lip. “Thomas… What’s the last thing you remember before ending up here?” “I was working on the house,” Thomas says through ragged breaths. “I was checking the shingles on the roof.” We stare at each other for a long time, before a pang of realization hits his face. “I… I fell.” “Yes.” I stand from my desk chair, and move to the seat next to Thomas. We sit together for over an hour, with my arm around his side. When he has stopped crying, I help him to his feet. “You are an amazing father, Thomas. Your family loves you very much.” The tears come again, this time from my eyes. Thomas gives me a long hug before walking to the door. “I’m always available to talk,” I say, handing him a business card. “Call me any time.” “Thank you.” Thomas turns and leaves the room, clutching the card tight in his hand. I stand in the doorway for several minutes, trying my best to slow my breathing. I turn around to see Ben still in the room, sitting in a stunned silence. I return to my desk chair and browse through the new posts on AskDeddit. It’s a long time before either of us speak. “I don’t know if I can work here,” Ben finally says. I nod. “I understand. Sleep on it, ok?” Ben nods, and gathers his things. “Good night, Molly,” he says as he reaches the door. “Good night, Ben.” ____________________________ /r/mvdww	Alright let's not panic here. Are you sure you're still alive? I think so I don't feel any different. That's normal a lot of us didn't when we died. Were you doing anything lethal or deadly like? Nope just sitting on my bed. Heart attack? I'm 22 and healthy I doubt that's the case. Maybe a Donnie Darko like situation and you just haven't realized it? What's Donnie Darko? Jeez you kids these days are so uncultured. A movie staring Jake Gyllenhaal with a guy in a weird ass bunny suit and a pre Hunger Games Jena Malone. Any way he got crushed when a plane engine falls into his bedroom. Maybe I'll go check 3 hours later. Okay dude you're right I'm dead. What made you come around. Oh would you like to know. Anyway now that I'm dead where do I go. Dude you can't just skirt us your cause of death it's a membership requirement. Well I'm not telling you. Okay man you're clearly alive and this isn't the first time I've dealt with your type before. There's thousands of mediums who come here to mess with us so just leave us alone and let us enjoy our after lives in peace. Come back when you're dead.
[WP] Using one of your favorite songs as inspiration, tell me a story that utilizes the music as a soundtrack and/or is based off the lyrics.	The raindrops patter on the bus window, the light from the street lamps reflecting in the droplets that settle. This is the right choice The radio is on but the music is barely audible over the static and I can only make out the occasional line. "I'm trying to find my place... might not be here where I feel safe" I could relate to that. I had felt so lost at home. I was leaving in the hopes that a few months away would help me clear my head, sort things out. I feel bad about leaving everyone behind though. This is the right choice. It's not as if I'm leaving forever Leaving wasn't easy but it had to be done. I left a note that said I was going, don't call me, I'll be okay. I'm not sure if that's true. "... Ghosts travelling endlessly..." The bus stops and picks up another passenger, bringing the total occupants up to three. It was a man in his mid twenties. He had a suitcase. I wonder whether he was running from anything. Probably. There's not many reasons to be getting on a bus alone at 3am. I need this I hope I'm not being selfish, just packing up and leaving like this. You have to do things for yourself sometimes right? Even if that may upset other people? Even if it might hurt them? Honestly I'm not sure. I think I'm just making excuses. But I've left now, I've been on this bus all night and there's no going back. Not yet. "...you are not useless..." I sure hope not. It feels like it sometimes but I try to ignore that. It's one of those feelings that if you let in you'll never be able to get rid of. Like spiders. Or chickenpox. "...there's no one road..." I'm getting off at the next stop. I don't know why I decided on that one. It just feels like the right place. The bus just passed a motel so I'll probably stay there until I find somewhere better. Hopefully I'll find something better. Hopefully I'll be something better As the last few notes of the song are consumed by the static, I step out into the rain.	[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IS6n2Hx9Ykk) *** Yorkshire 1969 He watched her zigzag through the audience – her flowing white dress, like the sails of a keelboat on a heaving ocean of people. There was something genuine about Linda. Sure, she was naïve and quite the stargazer, but she was real. She was not your typical groupie – she treasured the glittering spark of talent in the musicians and loved them for the golden melodies they were able to compose, but it was never in a sexual way unless she wanted that. Even from stars like Dylan, Gilmour, and Plant, she got whatever she asked for with but a word, and always for free. Everyone knew and adored her, and that pissed him off. She had never said a bad word to him and always been supportive of his music, but he knew that she held the other – more famous – musicians in a higher regard, even if she would never admit it. None of this was, however, the reason why she had to die. The reason was that he wanted it to happen – from the first time he had laid eyes on her, he had desired her dead. That was all there was to it. He hurried down the road, his shadow tall from the stage lights, and then started following her through the crowd. Near the tree line, the meaty smoke from the campfires presented itself to the shy morning mist, like an incongruous Chevalier to a young maiden. It was there he lost sight of her – just as the playful white coils whirled around her blonde hair, and rose in rings through the trees. There was still time to change the road he was on, but he so desperately wanted this. He had dreamed of it – of voiding that coy smile. * A tiny brook carefully splashed its way through the undergrowth, and from one of the larger poplars rang the chirrupy tones of a songbird. In the distance the new day slowly dawned over the crowd at the Brimleigh Festival, their voices and laughter echoing through the forest. Linda turned her gaze west, where the sun had vanished a few hours ago. A deep sorrow pulsated through her heart. This was one of those times when she wondered if she had done the right thing. Was there such as thing as right and wrong? She had traded her infant son for the chance to live her life to the fullest. She had bought herself a second chance at youth, but at what cost? It was hard always wondering what could have been. A bustle in one of the shrubs made her stir. She was deep inside the grove now. At first, her heart drummed, and she felt her mouth go dry. Her primal instincts told her to be alarmed before her common sense kicked in. There was nothing to fear out here – the people at the festival were the most decent human beings she knew. They were a big happy family. She smiled when someone put an arm around her neck, and a knife through her heart. For a moment everything stood still. Above her, the wind was blowing away the obscuring mists from the trees – as well as from her mind – abolishing fears and delusions. As the last moments of her life seeped away, the sudden gust simmered down to a soothing whisper, rustling through the leaves. The truth had come to her at last – all the materialistic things she cared about meant nothing in the grand scales of the universe. She took one last trembling breath and ascended the stairway to heaven. *** [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
[WP] Using one of your favorite songs as inspiration, tell me a story that utilizes the music as a soundtrack and/or is based off the lyrics.	The cloaked figure walked down the streets covered in what had once been an invincible army. He looked up at the warming color of the black sky as he recollected on why he was sent here. These humans, as they often referred to themselves, once lived in peace and harmony, or as close as possible at least. But not long afterwards they all strived for power, killing eachother off without a care in the world. It had been the cloaked figure's job to put an end to this chaos, and the only way to do that was by killing. It seemed no matter how much he killed, it never seemed to stop. The cloaked man realized he was running low on time as he started sprinting back to the hellhole that had brought him here. It is believed that if an immortal spends too much time on the surface, they slowly become the enemy. The cloaked man stopped and looked down the dark , crumbled street to find yet another line of soldiers and tanks coming his way. The figure grunted as he reloaded his assault rifle and prepared to fight one last wave before returning home. (This is my first writing prompt so it isn't the best. That and this was done on a phone late at night :P)	[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IS6n2Hx9Ykk) *** Yorkshire 1969 He watched her zigzag through the audience – her flowing white dress, like the sails of a keelboat on a heaving ocean of people. There was something genuine about Linda. Sure, she was naïve and quite the stargazer, but she was real. She was not your typical groupie – she treasured the glittering spark of talent in the musicians and loved them for the golden melodies they were able to compose, but it was never in a sexual way unless she wanted that. Even from stars like Dylan, Gilmour, and Plant, she got whatever she asked for with but a word, and always for free. Everyone knew and adored her, and that pissed him off. She had never said a bad word to him and always been supportive of his music, but he knew that she held the other – more famous – musicians in a higher regard, even if she would never admit it. None of this was, however, the reason why she had to die. The reason was that he wanted it to happen – from the first time he had laid eyes on her, he had desired her dead. That was all there was to it. He hurried down the road, his shadow tall from the stage lights, and then started following her through the crowd. Near the tree line, the meaty smoke from the campfires presented itself to the shy morning mist, like an incongruous Chevalier to a young maiden. It was there he lost sight of her – just as the playful white coils whirled around her blonde hair, and rose in rings through the trees. There was still time to change the road he was on, but he so desperately wanted this. He had dreamed of it – of voiding that coy smile. * A tiny brook carefully splashed its way through the undergrowth, and from one of the larger poplars rang the chirrupy tones of a songbird. In the distance the new day slowly dawned over the crowd at the Brimleigh Festival, their voices and laughter echoing through the forest. Linda turned her gaze west, where the sun had vanished a few hours ago. A deep sorrow pulsated through her heart. This was one of those times when she wondered if she had done the right thing. Was there such as thing as right and wrong? She had traded her infant son for the chance to live her life to the fullest. She had bought herself a second chance at youth, but at what cost? It was hard always wondering what could have been. A bustle in one of the shrubs made her stir. She was deep inside the grove now. At first, her heart drummed, and she felt her mouth go dry. Her primal instincts told her to be alarmed before her common sense kicked in. There was nothing to fear out here – the people at the festival were the most decent human beings she knew. They were a big happy family. She smiled when someone put an arm around her neck, and a knife through her heart. For a moment everything stood still. Above her, the wind was blowing away the obscuring mists from the trees – as well as from her mind – abolishing fears and delusions. As the last moments of her life seeped away, the sudden gust simmered down to a soothing whisper, rustling through the leaves. The truth had come to her at last – all the materialistic things she cared about meant nothing in the grand scales of the universe. She took one last trembling breath and ascended the stairway to heaven. *** [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
[WP] Using one of your favorite songs as inspiration, tell me a story that utilizes the music as a soundtrack and/or is based off the lyrics.	A thought is still there. Something happened but I just can't remember, something important. Something impossible happened, I just can't explain it. The clock slowly ticks by in my breast pocket as I get into the carriage. We drive through a tunnel, an impossible tunnel. I sink into holes deeper than anything, I'm trying to forget something. The clock ticks by again as the steps of the horses go through the countryside. I look out of my carriage and see windmills turning, turning, just like the watch in my pocket. Keys turned in the lock and I looked down my house at the pictures in frames along the hall. Something's there that I'm forgetting, but I don't know what. Then I look at the picture, and I knew it was over, and I was certainly aware, that the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair. I couldn't forget her, no matter what drugs I take, her laugh, her smile, her look of love and affection will always be there. She is with me, stuck with me, dispute the crash taking her away, you will always be with me Alison in my mind, the impossible hallways of memories. in my mind ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Windmills of your mind is the song if you where wondering.	[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IS6n2Hx9Ykk) *** Yorkshire 1969 He watched her zigzag through the audience – her flowing white dress, like the sails of a keelboat on a heaving ocean of people. There was something genuine about Linda. Sure, she was naïve and quite the stargazer, but she was real. She was not your typical groupie – she treasured the glittering spark of talent in the musicians and loved them for the golden melodies they were able to compose, but it was never in a sexual way unless she wanted that. Even from stars like Dylan, Gilmour, and Plant, she got whatever she asked for with but a word, and always for free. Everyone knew and adored her, and that pissed him off. She had never said a bad word to him and always been supportive of his music, but he knew that she held the other – more famous – musicians in a higher regard, even if she would never admit it. None of this was, however, the reason why she had to die. The reason was that he wanted it to happen – from the first time he had laid eyes on her, he had desired her dead. That was all there was to it. He hurried down the road, his shadow tall from the stage lights, and then started following her through the crowd. Near the tree line, the meaty smoke from the campfires presented itself to the shy morning mist, like an incongruous Chevalier to a young maiden. It was there he lost sight of her – just as the playful white coils whirled around her blonde hair, and rose in rings through the trees. There was still time to change the road he was on, but he so desperately wanted this. He had dreamed of it – of voiding that coy smile. * A tiny brook carefully splashed its way through the undergrowth, and from one of the larger poplars rang the chirrupy tones of a songbird. In the distance the new day slowly dawned over the crowd at the Brimleigh Festival, their voices and laughter echoing through the forest. Linda turned her gaze west, where the sun had vanished a few hours ago. A deep sorrow pulsated through her heart. This was one of those times when she wondered if she had done the right thing. Was there such as thing as right and wrong? She had traded her infant son for the chance to live her life to the fullest. She had bought herself a second chance at youth, but at what cost? It was hard always wondering what could have been. A bustle in one of the shrubs made her stir. She was deep inside the grove now. At first, her heart drummed, and she felt her mouth go dry. Her primal instincts told her to be alarmed before her common sense kicked in. There was nothing to fear out here – the people at the festival were the most decent human beings she knew. They were a big happy family. She smiled when someone put an arm around her neck, and a knife through her heart. For a moment everything stood still. Above her, the wind was blowing away the obscuring mists from the trees – as well as from her mind – abolishing fears and delusions. As the last moments of her life seeped away, the sudden gust simmered down to a soothing whisper, rustling through the leaves. The truth had come to her at last – all the materialistic things she cared about meant nothing in the grand scales of the universe. She took one last trembling breath and ascended the stairway to heaven. *** [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
[WP] Using one of your favorite songs as inspiration, tell me a story that utilizes the music as a soundtrack and/or is based off the lyrics.	The cloaked figure walked down the streets covered in what had once been an invincible army. He looked up at the warming color of the black sky as he recollected on why he was sent here. These humans, as they often referred to themselves, once lived in peace and harmony, or as close as possible at least. But not long afterwards they all strived for power, killing eachother off without a care in the world. It had been the cloaked figure's job to put an end to this chaos, and the only way to do that was by killing. It seemed no matter how much he killed, it never seemed to stop. The cloaked man realized he was running low on time as he started sprinting back to the hellhole that had brought him here. It is believed that if an immortal spends too much time on the surface, they slowly become the enemy. The cloaked man stopped and looked down the dark , crumbled street to find yet another line of soldiers and tanks coming his way. The figure grunted as he reloaded his assault rifle and prepared to fight one last wave before returning home. (This is my first writing prompt so it isn't the best. That and this was done on a phone late at night :P)	The man approached the woman under the tree. They had been here many times before, when the tree changed from its autumn leaves to its spring cherry blossom buds. Under this tree, they had shared meals, kisses, and dreams. Unlike his past visits to the tree, he wasn't happy. Clouds were rolling in, but it wouldn't rain yet. The wind picked up and tousled her dark hair. He stared at it as he trudged to the tree, dreading what was to come. She stared back. Her dress is simple and white, and it reminds him of their first date. She begins to speak. "Just leave it alone, Jerry. We can move past it if we just forget." Her eyes are pleading. Jerry knows she is sincere. And yet, he knows he must end it. "You can't do that to me and expect it to be okay. You can't tell everyone secrets I meant only for your ears. " He stops staring at her. His voice breaks. "Oh Miranda, how could you. I really trusted you. You know how hard that is for me, you know how long it took." She takes a breath. "I know I messed up. But no one cares, I swear it. No one asks about it. We can make this work." He looks in her eyes again. "No. We can't. This isn't about them. This isn't the first time you have shared secrets. Goodbye. Mike will pick up your stuff and drop it off. I expect you to find a friend to do the same. We had a good year, until you ruined it." (Song- Cherry Tree, by The National)
[WP] Using one of your favorite songs as inspiration, tell me a story that utilizes the music as a soundtrack and/or is based off the lyrics.	A thought is still there. Something happened but I just can't remember, something important. Something impossible happened, I just can't explain it. The clock slowly ticks by in my breast pocket as I get into the carriage. We drive through a tunnel, an impossible tunnel. I sink into holes deeper than anything, I'm trying to forget something. The clock ticks by again as the steps of the horses go through the countryside. I look out of my carriage and see windmills turning, turning, just like the watch in my pocket. Keys turned in the lock and I looked down my house at the pictures in frames along the hall. Something's there that I'm forgetting, but I don't know what. Then I look at the picture, and I knew it was over, and I was certainly aware, that the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair. I couldn't forget her, no matter what drugs I take, her laugh, her smile, her look of love and affection will always be there. She is with me, stuck with me, dispute the crash taking her away, you will always be with me Alison in my mind, the impossible hallways of memories. in my mind ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Windmills of your mind is the song if you where wondering.	The man approached the woman under the tree. They had been here many times before, when the tree changed from its autumn leaves to its spring cherry blossom buds. Under this tree, they had shared meals, kisses, and dreams. Unlike his past visits to the tree, he wasn't happy. Clouds were rolling in, but it wouldn't rain yet. The wind picked up and tousled her dark hair. He stared at it as he trudged to the tree, dreading what was to come. She stared back. Her dress is simple and white, and it reminds him of their first date. She begins to speak. "Just leave it alone, Jerry. We can move past it if we just forget." Her eyes are pleading. Jerry knows she is sincere. And yet, he knows he must end it. "You can't do that to me and expect it to be okay. You can't tell everyone secrets I meant only for your ears. " He stops staring at her. His voice breaks. "Oh Miranda, how could you. I really trusted you. You know how hard that is for me, you know how long it took." She takes a breath. "I know I messed up. But no one cares, I swear it. No one asks about it. We can make this work." He looks in her eyes again. "No. We can't. This isn't about them. This isn't the first time you have shared secrets. Goodbye. Mike will pick up your stuff and drop it off. I expect you to find a friend to do the same. We had a good year, until you ruined it." (Song- Cherry Tree, by The National)
[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth.	“As you can see, we’re fighting a war, ladies and gentlemen. The stronghold at Neo York has fallen, and…” “What’s the big deal? If it’s just sacking a city, most of us have done it before!” “Shut up, Uncle Scipio, and let me finish my damn presentation.” “…Doesn’t look as bad as what we did to Carthage.” “Sit down and stuff it. Their expeditionary fleet consists of three hundred Dreadnought class destroyers and four Behemoth capital ships. Their level of technology is several leagues above our own. They—” “Kid, we used differen’ classifications in our day. Those words don’ mean nothin’ to us oldies. Gotta tell us with words we used to, not words y’all young’uns know.” “Noted, Colonel. Now can I please get on with this fucking presentation?!” “Alrigh’, ‘s long as ya understand.” “Alright, here’s the deal. They have BIG FUCKING SHIPS that fly in the fucking SKY. These things shoot big balls of LIGHT that waste entire CITIES. Now, does ANYONE have any FUCKING CLUE as to WHAT THE FUCK WE CAN DO?!” “Now, I don’t know how it’s been the past few hundred years, but I think your story’s a bit… exaggerated, child. Calm down. I’m sure that if you pray to God and ask for his blessin--” “With all due respect, ma’am, the age of spiritual warfare is long over. Nothing solves a problem like a few thermonuclear warh--” “What about those mass launchers? Those, uhh, electromagnetic something cannons? They seemed to work well when I was around…” “Electrowhatthefuck? Whatever happened to the old method of slinging dead bodies over castle walls?” “That’s filthy, and you know it. Ask God for repentance, heathen.” “What about… uhhh…” “ALRIGHT EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP. You there… uhh… uncle… Morty? Was that it? Something about dead bodies over castle walls? What the fuck did that do?” “Spread the plague.” “… What the fuck’s the plague?” “You don’t know what the plague is? Shame on you, child!” “Yeah, it makes, like, giant sores grow on your dick, or something.” “With a mortality rate of… ehh, 50%, give or take, killed a lot of people way back before modern medicine. Some sort of, bacterial infection, or something? Something to do with fleas, at least.” “Yeah, yeah! We won wars because of it!” “Alright EVERYONE SHUT UP AGAIN. Uncle Bill, how the fuck would you know anything about war or this 'bacteria' shit anyways? Who the fuck invited you to the WAR COUNCIL?” “I was a keyboard warrior, man, making a living off memes and Mountain Dew.” “…” “…” “…” “Your mom sleeps with--” “Alright, ALRIGHT. Tell me, what are these uhh, bact… bacteria? Things again? How are they gonna help us kill these fucking aliens?” “Well, they were some of the most proliferous organisms in existence when I was a kid. Never really could stop some of them. They killed more men than bullets did, sometimes.” “Then why the fuck haven’t I seen one? They sound like fucking monsters!” “I mean, they’re microscopic. You can't see them with your eyes. Also, according to Miss Sandy over there, humanity killed all of them when they moved to entirely cybernetic digestive tracts, in uhh… C.E. 2800?” “…” “… okay, Bill, Sandy, and Dr. Cleveland, you guys stay. All the rest of you, get the fuck out. We got some serious shit to do if we’re gonna live through this one. Archivist, anything you wanna say?” “War Council #438 is now adjourned. For the Hope and Future of humanity, please continue to participate in our family gatherings.”	I stood to one side of the arc, both half in and half out. My father sat to my right, whispering with my great great great grandfather. I looked around the circle, hardly believing what I saw. Ghosts, although I'm not sure that's the right word. Hundreds of them, arranged in rows that reminded me of drawings of the ancient Roman Senate. A fitting description perhaps, given how many of them were from Rome, and Greece too. A lot of empires were represented here. "Sooo...' I said, dragging it out for effect, "there is a problem." "What kind of problem?" asked someone who seemed to be leaning on a battleaxe that looked half as tall as I was. "I don't know how to explain this, but I guess the way I should start is... they are not human." A roar erupted from the crowd.
[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth.	I pinched the bridge of my nose tightly with thumb and forefinger. I took a deep calming breath before speaking. "Honored Ancestor Thalrog," I began, "as I've said on numerous occasions, the Drelians - our enemy - do not have vaginas. We cannot rape their women. They don't have women. Even if they did have women, no soldier in any of the Earth's combined militaries wants to have sex with a twelve foot tall proto-reptilian. I ask you, once more, to please stop suggesting that. And please never bring those diagrams again." Thalrog, one of my earliest warrior ancestors that the Wei Device could locate, looked crestfallen - like a child who just learned there was no Santa. Minister Wilkinson spoke "Pardon?" I nodded to his floating glowing form. "Yes, well, be that as it may. Have you perhaps considered a bit of subterfuge? Perhaps a spy or turncoat? Perchance even a small ship to adhere some manner of explosive to their ship?" "Minister, I really do appreciate your input but no. Again, I must reiterate - twelve feet tall proto-reptilians. Infiltrating them is a bit more involved than growing a beard and speaking with a funny accent. As far as a bomb ship, we tried that. Their sensors are just too good. Nothing we have can get within half a light second." "You are too lax on your men!" Ghengis mother-humping Khan. He fathered so many children that nearly all of humanity was his descendant in some way. He showed up every time they tuned up the warrior ancestors on the Wei Device. I heard they actually listed him as a bug in the code. They started advertising "Now with 20% less Khan!" on this latest version. The best thing to do was ignore him. "Fear is the key." This was a voice I didn't recognize from somewhere in the back. The most forceful personalities always made it to the front so I hardly ever heard from the rear echelons. The whole assembly quieted and turned to see who spoke. It was a small man, tidily dressed, sitting on a virtual chair with glowing legs crossed. "Fear is always the answer. Well," he said, cocking his head in thought, "at least when it isn't pain, lust, greed, gluttony, pride, or wrath. Fear always works though." "I'm sorry, I don't remember you. Have we talked before?" I racked my brain trying to place the thin features. Something in the curve of his nose reminded me of my own reflection. "No, dear boy," he said. It rankled. I was Supreme Commander of the Combined Militaries of Earth. I'd had a long and storied career. I was facing down an honest-to-God alien invasion and this jackass called me "boy." But then - I did come to them for help. "No," he continued, "we have never spoken. You have never been desperate enough to heed my advice. So I remained silent. Now that you have exhausted all the other paths before you, I think you might be ready to listen." "Ok, what's your idea?" I figured the worst that would happen is I would lose a few minutes listening to a half-crazy virtual ghost. I found that if you didn't let them get their ideas out, you would pay for it a hundred times over the next time you asked for help. "This enemy of yours -" "The Drelians" "- as you say. This enemy of yours - what is important to them? Money, power, land, family?" "We don't know much about their culture. What little we know is gathered from the remains of battles we won - and it's damned few." "You didn't answer my question." "I don't know. Family maybe? We found what we think are a number of, well, family pictures and heirlooms." "There you are then." "What? I don't understand." "I think you do." His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "No, and now you're wasting my time." "Very well, I'll draw it out. They value family. They have a home. You are engaging the warriors on the field of battle. To distract and demoralize the warriors, you attack them not where they are strong but where they are weak. You attack their families. You take a small portion of your army and you lay waste to their home. Give them nowhere to return to. Wipe out their wives, their children, their parents. Destroy their homes, their cities, and their entire way of life. Do not threaten to do so - simply do it. Do not capture them - kill them. Do not accept surrender or capitulation - only death. When they hear of how utterly you have exterminated their people, they will lose the will to continue." "God damn," Minister Wilkinson said. I couldn't righty disagree with him. "Those are war crimes. Genocide." "Then you have already lost. As long as there is a step you are unwilling to take, you cannot beat an evenly matched opponent. If you were magnitudes stronger than them, you would have the luxury of gentlemanly warfare. As they are stronger than you, you must make each of your blows hurt more than theirs. Tell your people to make their peace with God for they shall be meeting him quite soon." "There has to be another way," I said. "Perhaps I was wrong about you being ready to listen. If you are truly my descendant as you would have us all believe, then you have within you the capability to do what must be done. You must break their sword upon their sadness and warp their shield around their grief."	I stood to one side of the arc, both half in and half out. My father sat to my right, whispering with my great great great grandfather. I looked around the circle, hardly believing what I saw. Ghosts, although I'm not sure that's the right word. Hundreds of them, arranged in rows that reminded me of drawings of the ancient Roman Senate. A fitting description perhaps, given how many of them were from Rome, and Greece too. A lot of empires were represented here. "Sooo...' I said, dragging it out for effect, "there is a problem." "What kind of problem?" asked someone who seemed to be leaning on a battleaxe that looked half as tall as I was. "I don't know how to explain this, but I guess the way I should start is... they are not human." A roar erupted from the crowd.
[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth.	“As you can see, we’re fighting a war, ladies and gentlemen. The stronghold at Neo York has fallen, and…” “What’s the big deal? If it’s just sacking a city, most of us have done it before!” “Shut up, Uncle Scipio, and let me finish my damn presentation.” “…Doesn’t look as bad as what we did to Carthage.” “Sit down and stuff it. Their expeditionary fleet consists of three hundred Dreadnought class destroyers and four Behemoth capital ships. Their level of technology is several leagues above our own. They—” “Kid, we used differen’ classifications in our day. Those words don’ mean nothin’ to us oldies. Gotta tell us with words we used to, not words y’all young’uns know.” “Noted, Colonel. Now can I please get on with this fucking presentation?!” “Alrigh’, ‘s long as ya understand.” “Alright, here’s the deal. They have BIG FUCKING SHIPS that fly in the fucking SKY. These things shoot big balls of LIGHT that waste entire CITIES. Now, does ANYONE have any FUCKING CLUE as to WHAT THE FUCK WE CAN DO?!” “Now, I don’t know how it’s been the past few hundred years, but I think your story’s a bit… exaggerated, child. Calm down. I’m sure that if you pray to God and ask for his blessin--” “With all due respect, ma’am, the age of spiritual warfare is long over. Nothing solves a problem like a few thermonuclear warh--” “What about those mass launchers? Those, uhh, electromagnetic something cannons? They seemed to work well when I was around…” “Electrowhatthefuck? Whatever happened to the old method of slinging dead bodies over castle walls?” “That’s filthy, and you know it. Ask God for repentance, heathen.” “What about… uhhh…” “ALRIGHT EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP. You there… uhh… uncle… Morty? Was that it? Something about dead bodies over castle walls? What the fuck did that do?” “Spread the plague.” “… What the fuck’s the plague?” “You don’t know what the plague is? Shame on you, child!” “Yeah, it makes, like, giant sores grow on your dick, or something.” “With a mortality rate of… ehh, 50%, give or take, killed a lot of people way back before modern medicine. Some sort of, bacterial infection, or something? Something to do with fleas, at least.” “Yeah, yeah! We won wars because of it!” “Alright EVERYONE SHUT UP AGAIN. Uncle Bill, how the fuck would you know anything about war or this 'bacteria' shit anyways? Who the fuck invited you to the WAR COUNCIL?” “I was a keyboard warrior, man, making a living off memes and Mountain Dew.” “…” “…” “…” “Your mom sleeps with--” “Alright, ALRIGHT. Tell me, what are these uhh, bact… bacteria? Things again? How are they gonna help us kill these fucking aliens?” “Well, they were some of the most proliferous organisms in existence when I was a kid. Never really could stop some of them. They killed more men than bullets did, sometimes.” “Then why the fuck haven’t I seen one? They sound like fucking monsters!” “I mean, they’re microscopic. You can't see them with your eyes. Also, according to Miss Sandy over there, humanity killed all of them when they moved to entirely cybernetic digestive tracts, in uhh… C.E. 2800?” “…” “… okay, Bill, Sandy, and Dr. Cleveland, you guys stay. All the rest of you, get the fuck out. We got some serious shit to do if we’re gonna live through this one. Archivist, anything you wanna say?” “War Council #438 is now adjourned. For the Hope and Future of humanity, please continue to participate in our family gatherings.”	These were dark times, calling for desperate measures. What happened was, our A.I. ran a simulation of our world. Common enough so far, this was often done by A.I.s to extract historical knowledge from the past in order to inform us humans in our activities, but this time, we asked for it to extract the minds of the most succesful warriors of the past, whether kings, philosophers, or generals, whatever it was, and place them in a virtual reality for us to interact with them. The A.I. was imaginative enough to do this its own way, with a minimum of input for us. I had been assigned to seek the council of our ancestors from the separate, yet identical reality that had run on the military A.I.s servers. So I went in. They connected me to its servers, via the nanobot computers running inside my brain, and I was transported in a different universe, where time ran infinitely slower, or faster, depending on my preference. The A.I. became myself, or rather, it had a direct connection to my mind so that I didn't have to communicate with it. It simply knew what I wanted and when I wanted it. Think of it like your unconsciousness. That's what an A.I. interating with your brain is like, except you have free and unfettered access to it, if you had the technical knowledge to make good use of it. Which I did, you don't rise in the ranks of the military as fast as I did without knowing some technology. What I excelled at, though, was strategy. That's what they valued me for. I was interested to see what these, my forebearers in the military art, could tell me that I didn't know. I was a bit skeptical that they could provide much insight into how to battle aliens widely superior to us in technological capabilities, but I was also excited to meet people like Napoleon and Sun Tzu. Surely, this was not something to pass up. And I could take as much time to talk to them as I needed. It's what everyone already used their A.I.s for as it was, that is, dwelling in separate universes created by our A.I.s where time came to a halt. I was in the middle of an ancient greek city, all of a sudden. I knew my location because the A.I. immediately told it to me in the strange, subtle way it communicated with your mind. I saw a miniature colloseum in front of me, and I heard hundreds of voices talking amongst themselves on the inside. It was night, and the ancient sky had a certain splendor of its own, with its beautiful and numerous constellations. I sighed, and made for the entrance. This was going to be a long night.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

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