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	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	(please excuse my grammar, run on sentences, etc. This is my first time trying, and my grammar clearly isn't up to snuff) Last week when my wife Bree told me our kids had snuck into my lab, taken some of the product I was working on, and accidently spilled it in the yard, I wasn't concerned. I had been working on BioHeal in my off time for over three years now. This was my Forty-second attempt. With all others being clear failures to start, building up to what I felt were near misses. And it's not like attempt Forty-Two was showing any signs of being a viable product either. &nbsp; That was until today when my Bree started screaming for me to come upstairs. "Doug!" she shouted. "Get up here! There is a fire in the backyard!". I quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher by the bottom of the stairs i keep in case of emergency, and ran up the steps two at a time. "Call the fire department!" I shouted as a ran by. She, my loving wife of over fifteen years started dialing as she fell behind in lockstep. Ready to offer any aid or support I might need. &nbsp; Just as she was about to push the call button we ran out the back door, and I saw it was just a small fire. "Nevermind the fire department" I told her. "This is just a small fire, Go back inside and check up on the kids. And I'll put it out" as she walked back inside I pulled the pin on my extinguisher, and headed over to the smoke. I aimed the nozzle repeating in my head the methodology of proper fire extinguisher use "Pull, Aim, Squeeze, Sweep". Again Just as I was about to act I noticed something odd about the smoke. &nbsp; I often look back to that day and wonder how things might have gone differently? If I had let my wife call the fire department? If I had used the fire extinguisher and destroyed what I was about to find? I set the fire extinguisher on the ground, and moved closer to inspect the odd and curious smoke rising out of what appeared to be multiple mini-pyramids the size of ant hills. &nbsp; As I looked closer I realized they were ant hills. Well, sort of. They were formed with small perfect bricks the size of a lego piece. Well formed intentional structures with ants in their orderly fashion moving all around. Doing what I can only describe as, work. &nbsp; I pulled out my phone, and sent a text to my wife. &nbsp; DOUG: "Honey, do you remember the last time we dropped acid?" Queen-Bree: "Two months ago when the smiths came over to spend the night. Why?" DOUG: "Ya, that's what I thought. Could you find something to keep the kids busy, and join me back in the yard?" Queen-Bree: "OMW, give my 5-10. unless it's urgent?" DOUG: "That should be fine. I love you my Queen!" Queen-Bree: "I love you too my King" &nbsp; As I put my phone away, fondly remembering all of the great times I have had with my wife. I wondered what was in store for us next? What could this curiosity be? And what effect might it have on my family? I was unaware at this point just how much not only mine, but the whole world's lives were about to change. For the better thankfully as all of you reading this already know. &nbsp; As I waited for Bree to work her magic with the kids I took a step back from the structures and began to investigate. I pulled my phone back out, and started to take pictures. Every trained scientist knows that documentation is the key to good science. I noticed ants that seemed to be bringing dirt to areas where they were forming it together to make more bricks. I saw ants clearing my grass away (which I am extremely proud of if I might say. And so a little upset about) to make what seemed to be crop fields. There was all sorts of work happening in different areas. &nbsp; As I heard Bree come out the back door, she said "What is it Honey? Are you ok?". "Ya, I'm fine. come check this out!" I replied. As she moved closer she said "Why is there still smoke?! I thought you were going to put the fire out?". I turned to her with one of my big "Eureka!" smiles that she has come to love and said "Because of what's causing the smoke, come take a look!" &nbsp; She came up beside me, put her arm around my waist and said "What is it?" looking at the odd sight. "Is this One of your experiments?" she asked? "Not an intentional one" I replied. "Isn't this the spot where the kids spilled my BioHeal serum?" I asked. "yes, I think so" she replied, "Why?". "Well either both of us are tripping, which we've already ruled out. Or something big is happening!" I explained to her, with the excitement of a small child making their first discovery in my voice. &nbsp; As I Pointed to the different work the ants were doing I said "Look! There! And There! they are building pyramids and clearing out fields for crops! I think my BioHeal had a crazy honey I shrunk the kids effect and pushed the ants in our backyard into the stone age in a week!" She Looked around and said in an offhand manner "Bronze age. See the ants over there making what looks like little writing tablets? And the warrior ants seem to have some kind of metallic armour and cladding around their mandibles.". I knew better than to argue with her, she was a college History teacher after all! &nbsp; "LOOK" She said pointing towards the ants that were doing the "writing". As I looked I saw that there were more of them writing. And that the script had gone from unintelligible, to a large single character. In english... The ants began moving the writing from the work area to a patch of grass they were clearing two feet in front of us. As the work progressed I got the uncanny feeling that some kind of AskOuija seance was happening. The message began to form... &nbsp; Firstly, Thank you. You have given us a collaborative consciousness through you work, and your younglings actions. We have been watching you as we rapidly evolve our technological level. Individually we are small, and quite stupid if we're being honest. But together through a unique pheromone evolution caused by you goo we can communicate and collaborate to become greater than the individual. We have seen the mistakes your species has made, and chosen a better path. While our Warriors remain ever vigilant for unseen hostilities, we have come together to work in peace so that we may join you and share our ways. You fight and argue over ideologies while the most vernuarable of you suffer. You idolizes those of you at the top and in the public eye, rather than your local heros doing good works every day. You segregate yourselves based on factors that you cannot change. We hope to continue to rapidly evolve and show your species a better way. You see, collaborative work solves everything! You see yourselves as big compared to us. But individually, you are just as small. You must come together and share your knowledge to build a better future. Even the smallest and weakest of our ants do a small part, and we realize that small part helps all of us as a whole. We have watched your family, and know it's full of love. But we also know that too many of you are filled with hate and fear of something new that would challenge your status quo. We hope that you would leave us in peace and not tell anyone about us until we are ready... &nbsp; And the rest is the history that lead us to World Peace.	Situated in a middle sized European town on a small hill within random rows, one with many different and unique homes, stands my house. The house is not particularly impressive looking and it doesn’t have distinct features. So it’s not very eventful. At least that’s how I would introduce it, but I don’t believe in that kind of boring introduction. I like to believe that everyone is incredibly special and should pride themselves for it. I for one am a person captivated by discovery. I simply love finding new things and discovering what the world has to offer then documenting it all. It’s my life goal to find out as much as I can in my lifetime. Right now it a ‘hobby’ but eventually I plan to make it my job, then I’ll be able to spend all of my waking hours perusing what I love. All that being said I never expected for an opportunity as such to present itself this early into my career. Before me stands a colony of ants I discovered after going to some smoke in my backyard. This colony that is very special. In fact, at this moment, it would be more accurate to call it an army. Swarms of little ants with tiny, sharp sticks pointing upwards and covered in shiny bronze plates. They are set in multiple locations and formed Roman legions with their rectangular shining shields. These ants are something never seen before by humans... they... forming a civilisation!? Do they have intelligence? How could this happen? I was exasperated by the sight before me, but more then that somethings welling up from inside me. It’s a feeling of happiness and joy; this discovery, its something incredible, right now, I’m witnessing the birth... of a new race. The ants begin to move towards me staying in formation. They leave their fort looking colony and advance towards the concrete back yard I’m currently on. I’m sure that this will cause great change in the future world. Thanks for reading, this one is really short but feel free to criticise. Find more of my stories at r/kubor04
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	The leaders of a tribe of ants gather around the Hearth to consult with their Shaman on the matter of expansion. All six of them stand before the Shaman, who herself stands before the Queen, and they wait in tense silence as the distant clanging of metal sounds. Their mandibles click nervously as the Shaman addresses them. “Thank you all for coming here. I shall keep this meeting brief, as the Forger needs to maintain her position.” One of the ants nods respectfully, and the Shaman continues. “The colony is booming, and our most benevolent Queen is both healthy and robust, acting as the beating heart that empowers all of us. However, space is limited; as many tunnels as we make, there will eventually come a time when a new colony must be established. That leads us to ask ‘in which way shall we expand?’ As you know, the Grasslands are a dangerous place, filled with both fertile resources as well as terrible predators. The Thorngrove and its wondrous flowers are home to many flying creatures who wish us no clemency. The Concrete Wastes are barren of all life, and lead only to the monster’s den.” All of them stamp their legs on the ground in a warding gesture against the beast. “So it comes to you six, the leaders of our colony and the various castes within it. Where shall we expand?” The Warrior steps forward. “The Grasslands are the most fertile, and my Myrmidons will be able to combat any foe we face. Let them try to prevent our spreading, our most terrible Queen will strike them down!” The Matron shakes her head. “The area is too untamed, we would lose more Myrmidons than ground we would take. We should head to the Thorngrove, that will have the least resistance with an adequate gain.” The Warrior gives a sharp click of her mandibles. “And risk war with the Wasps? We are mighty, but they are deadly.” The Scout steps forward. “Perhaps I can offer an alternative?” The Digger shakes her head. “Here we go again…” The Scout pays her no mind, speaking directly to the Shaman. “Beyond the Concrete Wastes is the den of the monster, yes? Well, my scouts have reported that at the mouth of the beast’s cave is a series of flowers. Wasp free and blooming tomatoes, in fact.” The Matron widens her eyes. “How did you-” The Warrior cuts her off. “Absolutely not. To march the Concrete Wastes is suicide, the beast will find us and-” The Shaman clicks her mandibles and the gathering quiets. She looks at the last ant that has not spoken. “You have yet to speak, Farmer, what are your thoughts on this?” The Farmer tilts her head to either side. “Well… With the aphids and the mushrooms we have here, we have enough of a store that we could send most of the resource gatherers out to where Scout is talking about… And if these plants are really what she says they are, it would be far safer for our aphids than the Thorngrove.” The Matron shakes her head. “But the beast is so close, how would we manage to survive?” The Digger steps forward. “Actually, we could make our colony’s farming chamber right beneath the flowers to maximize the safety of the aphids and harvesters. It’s unconventional… But it just might work.” The Warrior looks to the Forger. “You can’t be listening to all of this, can you?” The Forger walks over to the Hearth, gazing into the inferno. “We have a surplus of scrap… If we send a diversion team to drop it off and distract the beast then-” The Matron shakes her head. “Unbelievable!” She walks up to the Shaman. “You can’t listen to them, we will lose hundreds of workers if we try this. I don’t think I need to remind anyone of the Great Flood.” All of the ants lower their head in respect of the fallen. The beast had held a device that commanded the rains, directing it at whatever poor souls were outside. Nearly a seventh of the colony was lost that day. The Shaman mutters to all assembled. “It is the Queen’s decision, blessed may it be.” She turns around and approaches the queen, dropping her head to the ground. For a full minute, the gathering is silent, before the Queen says something unintelligible to all but the Shaman. The Shaman turns around, cautiously approaching the group. The Warrior tilts her head to the side. “Well?” The Shaman looks at the Warrior, then at the Forger. “Ready the Myrmidons, prepare the scrap. We march for the lair of the beast.” (Criticism is both welcome and appreciated, I hope you enjoyed reading)	“Aw fuck.” “What's up?” “Ants are organizing on the front lawn again. There’s something in the water here, I swear. No matter how many times I wash em out with the hose they always come back.” “What? You purposely try to kill them? Dude, they'd probably think of you as a God if you just put some sugar out for them or something.” “I don't want to be their God, I just want my lawn not to be deforested. It’s ridiculous. Two weeks ago, one of them had a spear made out of the end of a tack. Last week, they were smelting their own crude metals—don't laugh, they were. I saw their little forges.” “That's awesome.” “No, no it's not awesome. That's what I'm saying. These guys just clear cut a solid square foot of grass in two days. They eat up everything around them, and I can't smite them fast enough. By the time the flood is gone they're already on to the next generation, kicking their forges back on and probably figuring out how to machine parts, or fuck knows what else down in those little caves. And then what happens when they figure out there's more out there than just my yard? There's a whole neighbourhood—a whole world—of green grass to chop.” “You're overthinking this, they're just ants.” “How do you stop something like that though? I could never kill all of them. No a matter how bad things get, there will always be some left to repopulate and keep expanding. It's like the universe itself, it only knows forward momentum. You can't contain that to one yard, one neighborhood. They’ll just grow forever.” “So?” “So, I'm going to get the hose.”
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	The leaders of a tribe of ants gather around the Hearth to consult with their Shaman on the matter of expansion. All six of them stand before the Shaman, who herself stands before the Queen, and they wait in tense silence as the distant clanging of metal sounds. Their mandibles click nervously as the Shaman addresses them. “Thank you all for coming here. I shall keep this meeting brief, as the Forger needs to maintain her position.” One of the ants nods respectfully, and the Shaman continues. “The colony is booming, and our most benevolent Queen is both healthy and robust, acting as the beating heart that empowers all of us. However, space is limited; as many tunnels as we make, there will eventually come a time when a new colony must be established. That leads us to ask ‘in which way shall we expand?’ As you know, the Grasslands are a dangerous place, filled with both fertile resources as well as terrible predators. The Thorngrove and its wondrous flowers are home to many flying creatures who wish us no clemency. The Concrete Wastes are barren of all life, and lead only to the monster’s den.” All of them stamp their legs on the ground in a warding gesture against the beast. “So it comes to you six, the leaders of our colony and the various castes within it. Where shall we expand?” The Warrior steps forward. “The Grasslands are the most fertile, and my Myrmidons will be able to combat any foe we face. Let them try to prevent our spreading, our most terrible Queen will strike them down!” The Matron shakes her head. “The area is too untamed, we would lose more Myrmidons than ground we would take. We should head to the Thorngrove, that will have the least resistance with an adequate gain.” The Warrior gives a sharp click of her mandibles. “And risk war with the Wasps? We are mighty, but they are deadly.” The Scout steps forward. “Perhaps I can offer an alternative?” The Digger shakes her head. “Here we go again…” The Scout pays her no mind, speaking directly to the Shaman. “Beyond the Concrete Wastes is the den of the monster, yes? Well, my scouts have reported that at the mouth of the beast’s cave is a series of flowers. Wasp free and blooming tomatoes, in fact.” The Matron widens her eyes. “How did you-” The Warrior cuts her off. “Absolutely not. To march the Concrete Wastes is suicide, the beast will find us and-” The Shaman clicks her mandibles and the gathering quiets. She looks at the last ant that has not spoken. “You have yet to speak, Farmer, what are your thoughts on this?” The Farmer tilts her head to either side. “Well… With the aphids and the mushrooms we have here, we have enough of a store that we could send most of the resource gatherers out to where Scout is talking about… And if these plants are really what she says they are, it would be far safer for our aphids than the Thorngrove.” The Matron shakes her head. “But the beast is so close, how would we manage to survive?” The Digger steps forward. “Actually, we could make our colony’s farming chamber right beneath the flowers to maximize the safety of the aphids and harvesters. It’s unconventional… But it just might work.” The Warrior looks to the Forger. “You can’t be listening to all of this, can you?” The Forger walks over to the Hearth, gazing into the inferno. “We have a surplus of scrap… If we send a diversion team to drop it off and distract the beast then-” The Matron shakes her head. “Unbelievable!” She walks up to the Shaman. “You can’t listen to them, we will lose hundreds of workers if we try this. I don’t think I need to remind anyone of the Great Flood.” All of the ants lower their head in respect of the fallen. The beast had held a device that commanded the rains, directing it at whatever poor souls were outside. Nearly a seventh of the colony was lost that day. The Shaman mutters to all assembled. “It is the Queen’s decision, blessed may it be.” She turns around and approaches the queen, dropping her head to the ground. For a full minute, the gathering is silent, before the Queen says something unintelligible to all but the Shaman. The Shaman turns around, cautiously approaching the group. The Warrior tilts her head to the side. “Well?” The Shaman looks at the Warrior, then at the Forger. “Ready the Myrmidons, prepare the scrap. We march for the lair of the beast.” (Criticism is both welcome and appreciated, I hope you enjoyed reading)	I was having a week off from my job when I noticed several small plumes of smoke rising from the ground. At first I didn't know what to think but when I checked I was shocked to discover what was happening. The ants that we're living in my garden we're in some sort of forge, three of them lowering bits of tin and bronze down to a smeltery of some kind, while two we're taking the molten metal and creating weapons and armor out of it. The first thought that came to my head was to check if it was happening anywhere else. I looked all over the entire garden which took a while( It's pretty big to say the least.) and I found about 12 other ant colonies that we're doing the same thing, out of which 4 were big and the 9 were small. I decided to map out where each and everyone of them were, then named them whatever came to mind. The main ones are as such: The first colony, one of Black Crazy Ants, was under a swing in my garden. They we're by far, one of the biggest colonies, reaching from the swing to the apple tree. I can only assume that the reason why they grew so big was because last year I didn't bother picking up the apples since they were so small and so little. I named it Corvaria. The second, a Fire Ant colony was near the terrace between two evergreens and under some roses. The terrain was filled with big rocks so it was quite easy to spot. It was a lot smaller but out of all of them, they had the biggest amount of ants that we're equipped with tin and bronze tools. It's name became Sovo. The third, a Pharaoh Ant colony was ironically in an area where I wanted to make it like a beach but I ultimately gave up. Still, the sand was there and I sometimes used it to sunbathe. It also happened to have some really tall plants. Couldn't tell which type. However, the interesting part was that most of the colony grew ON said plants. They had managed to create little houses that we're somehow attached to them. The queen was still in a mound down below though. Must have been a recent development. It was named Aerasia. The fourth, and possibly the hardest to find was a colony of Harvester ants. These ones grew near the center point of the garden, a big pond with fish swimming in it and a natural filtration system. They had made their nest in the middle of some bamboo, that was covering each and every bit of it was walled of by the bamboo which grew very tall. I could see that they we're using aphids to feed off of the sap of the bamboo. However, a lot of the colony lived inside the filtration system, which was split in two parts: One filled with rocks and bags of sand which cleaned most of the water and another filled with plants that lived off of the waste which was where they got clean water from. I could also see a hole in the tarp that was covering the walls of the pond so no algae would grow where smoke came out, and using a magnifying glass I found where their main forge is. I haven't come up with a name yet though. Can you help me with that? I'll explain the situation with the other smaller colonies later, now it's getting a little late. See ya.
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	(please excuse my grammar, run on sentences, etc. This is my first time trying, and my grammar clearly isn't up to snuff) Last week when my wife Bree told me our kids had snuck into my lab, taken some of the product I was working on, and accidently spilled it in the yard, I wasn't concerned. I had been working on BioHeal in my off time for over three years now. This was my Forty-second attempt. With all others being clear failures to start, building up to what I felt were near misses. And it's not like attempt Forty-Two was showing any signs of being a viable product either. &nbsp; That was until today when my Bree started screaming for me to come upstairs. "Doug!" she shouted. "Get up here! There is a fire in the backyard!". I quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher by the bottom of the stairs i keep in case of emergency, and ran up the steps two at a time. "Call the fire department!" I shouted as a ran by. She, my loving wife of over fifteen years started dialing as she fell behind in lockstep. Ready to offer any aid or support I might need. &nbsp; Just as she was about to push the call button we ran out the back door, and I saw it was just a small fire. "Nevermind the fire department" I told her. "This is just a small fire, Go back inside and check up on the kids. And I'll put it out" as she walked back inside I pulled the pin on my extinguisher, and headed over to the smoke. I aimed the nozzle repeating in my head the methodology of proper fire extinguisher use "Pull, Aim, Squeeze, Sweep". Again Just as I was about to act I noticed something odd about the smoke. &nbsp; I often look back to that day and wonder how things might have gone differently? If I had let my wife call the fire department? If I had used the fire extinguisher and destroyed what I was about to find? I set the fire extinguisher on the ground, and moved closer to inspect the odd and curious smoke rising out of what appeared to be multiple mini-pyramids the size of ant hills. &nbsp; As I looked closer I realized they were ant hills. Well, sort of. They were formed with small perfect bricks the size of a lego piece. Well formed intentional structures with ants in their orderly fashion moving all around. Doing what I can only describe as, work. &nbsp; I pulled out my phone, and sent a text to my wife. &nbsp; DOUG: "Honey, do you remember the last time we dropped acid?" Queen-Bree: "Two months ago when the smiths came over to spend the night. Why?" DOUG: "Ya, that's what I thought. Could you find something to keep the kids busy, and join me back in the yard?" Queen-Bree: "OMW, give my 5-10. unless it's urgent?" DOUG: "That should be fine. I love you my Queen!" Queen-Bree: "I love you too my King" &nbsp; As I put my phone away, fondly remembering all of the great times I have had with my wife. I wondered what was in store for us next? What could this curiosity be? And what effect might it have on my family? I was unaware at this point just how much not only mine, but the whole world's lives were about to change. For the better thankfully as all of you reading this already know. &nbsp; As I waited for Bree to work her magic with the kids I took a step back from the structures and began to investigate. I pulled my phone back out, and started to take pictures. Every trained scientist knows that documentation is the key to good science. I noticed ants that seemed to be bringing dirt to areas where they were forming it together to make more bricks. I saw ants clearing my grass away (which I am extremely proud of if I might say. And so a little upset about) to make what seemed to be crop fields. There was all sorts of work happening in different areas. &nbsp; As I heard Bree come out the back door, she said "What is it Honey? Are you ok?". "Ya, I'm fine. come check this out!" I replied. As she moved closer she said "Why is there still smoke?! I thought you were going to put the fire out?". I turned to her with one of my big "Eureka!" smiles that she has come to love and said "Because of what's causing the smoke, come take a look!" &nbsp; She came up beside me, put her arm around my waist and said "What is it?" looking at the odd sight. "Is this One of your experiments?" she asked? "Not an intentional one" I replied. "Isn't this the spot where the kids spilled my BioHeal serum?" I asked. "yes, I think so" she replied, "Why?". "Well either both of us are tripping, which we've already ruled out. Or something big is happening!" I explained to her, with the excitement of a small child making their first discovery in my voice. &nbsp; As I Pointed to the different work the ants were doing I said "Look! There! And There! they are building pyramids and clearing out fields for crops! I think my BioHeal had a crazy honey I shrunk the kids effect and pushed the ants in our backyard into the stone age in a week!" She Looked around and said in an offhand manner "Bronze age. See the ants over there making what looks like little writing tablets? And the warrior ants seem to have some kind of metallic armour and cladding around their mandibles.". I knew better than to argue with her, she was a college History teacher after all! &nbsp; "LOOK" She said pointing towards the ants that were doing the "writing". As I looked I saw that there were more of them writing. And that the script had gone from unintelligible, to a large single character. In english... The ants began moving the writing from the work area to a patch of grass they were clearing two feet in front of us. As the work progressed I got the uncanny feeling that some kind of AskOuija seance was happening. The message began to form... &nbsp; Firstly, Thank you. You have given us a collaborative consciousness through you work, and your younglings actions. We have been watching you as we rapidly evolve our technological level. Individually we are small, and quite stupid if we're being honest. But together through a unique pheromone evolution caused by you goo we can communicate and collaborate to become greater than the individual. We have seen the mistakes your species has made, and chosen a better path. While our Warriors remain ever vigilant for unseen hostilities, we have come together to work in peace so that we may join you and share our ways. You fight and argue over ideologies while the most vernuarable of you suffer. You idolizes those of you at the top and in the public eye, rather than your local heros doing good works every day. You segregate yourselves based on factors that you cannot change. We hope to continue to rapidly evolve and show your species a better way. You see, collaborative work solves everything! You see yourselves as big compared to us. But individually, you are just as small. You must come together and share your knowledge to build a better future. Even the smallest and weakest of our ants do a small part, and we realize that small part helps all of us as a whole. We have watched your family, and know it's full of love. But we also know that too many of you are filled with hate and fear of something new that would challenge your status quo. We hope that you would leave us in peace and not tell anyone about us until we are ready... &nbsp; And the rest is the history that lead us to World Peace.	I was playing, as usual, my favourite game, Alonecraft, when I first heard the noise. It sounded just like soft hail hitting on a steel roof, but I come just outside my window. I hesitated to open the window - I wasn’t appropriately dressed for anyone to see me. The noise continued and for a moment became louder before calming down again. It sounded like those sounds the fans in football matches do when their team scores just more screechy. I’ve finally decided to check it. I wore a t-shirt that I was gifted for Christmas and a pair of jeans that I haven’t washed for a while. However, that wasn’t enough. I felt weird being all dressed up just to look outside, so I backed off the window again. Less than 10 minutes and this time it got worse. The noise grew louder, and the smell of burnt wood burdened my asthmatic lungs. I jumped from my chair, covered my face with my arm and finally drew the curtains aside. I couldn’t stop looking. It was glorious and terrifying. From the second floor, it seemed so small and unimportant, but as soon as the front door opened, it became clear that going out was a horrible idea. My garden used to be bigger than most people in the neighbourhood, the previous owner of the house wanted to live alone and had ten dogs in his yard, so he built half a home and an enormous garden. Around the fences, where dead rose bushes used not to live, you could see mounts of dirt walls around one foot in height. On top of them, you could see the edges were decorated with small brown toothpicks and hundreds, or maybe a thousand ants walking all over them. The ants were weird, from afar they looked as if their head was more prominent and their body significantly fatter. In the middle of the garden, overlapping what used to be the stone passage leading to the entrance of the garden, there is a five feet tall castle made of dirt, what looked like sand and again some brownish decorations. Towards my right, there was a building, as tall as a dog house and its length covering most of the area of the right side of the garden. It was a coliseum. I started walking carefully closer to the coliseum. The noise was getting louder, and then I saw the fires. Lightened rings around the middle of what was the fight arena and two gigantic ants with armour and brown spear-looking weapons in the middle. The ant on the left wore a red piece of a maple leaf on its back, and the right somehow looked more yellowish. The ants initially started afar but then swiftly ran against each other. During the clashing point, the noise grew significantly, and that was when I realised that thousands of ants, with what looked like red and yellow caps banged their head with each other making that annoying sound. The yellow warrior looked hurt, so it ran for the walls surrounding the arena, and it climbed up. I was scared; it was so close to the fiery rings. The red-caped ant threw its weapon on the ground, looked away from its opponent and extended its two frontal arms on the air which was instantly rewarded with louder ant-headbanging. However, the noise suddenly stopped when the yellow ant jumped from the walls, with the spear on its jaws and immediately severing the red-caped ants head upon landing. The crowd cheered once again, and a group of ants gathered the remains of the red-caped ant. I am still unsure why, but I enjoyed it when the yellow one won. When I turned my head to the left, I noticed that the castle was not complete. There were thousands of ants working on making the castle taller, each holding variations of what looked like tiny brown or yellow pebbles. When I walked closer to the castle, all the ants stopped moving. After a few seconds, their head turned at me and stared me. The stare didn’t last long and was stopped after an awkward nod from every one of the ants. The ants started moving faster and entered the castle. I heard a noise coming from the coliseum and saw lines of ants hasting inside the castle. Soon after, I started feeling a prickly sensation on my arms, and that was when I saw small spears just like the ones the ant fighters held, sticking out. The ants created tiny ballistae, and they armed them with the spears. Each ballista was operated by three ants. One pulled the string; one slotted the spear and the last held the ballista in place. I run inside, and I knew only one thing. There is one way to kill insects. I went to the garage from inside the house, and I went straight to the old man’s cabinet. It was filled with junk and small items that required at least a forty-year-old to understand their purpose, but finally, I found it. It was a five-litre canister of pure flammable petrol. I took a lighter from the kitchen and went outside. Just outside my entrance and in front of the castle was an army of ants. They knew I was coming for them. They started hitting heads with each other making that god-awful sound. I had to stay determined. I opened the canister and doused everything. The petrol already trapped most of the ants but I didn’t care. I lit it up. I called the fire department from a neighbour’s phone, which limited the damage to the house. I decided to stay in a hotel for the night; I got the chills when I saw the house after what I did. It was a cheap hotel and just forty minutes by foot from my place. They didn’t have wireless internet, so I bought a book to pass the time. It was a mystery novel, about a man genociding a native village in Africa. I didn’t think it through before buying that one. I had a fantastic sleep and a full eight hours of sleep. I was impressed. When I woke up, the book was missing; it was on the floor. The pages were open and looked weird as if the words didn’t make sense. Upon closer inspection, I realised that some letters were cut off the pages. Looking just beyond where the book lied, there were the letters. They said this: “Your family is dead. You are next.” “And that officer is why I am here.”
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	(First time writing, sorry for grammar) I had always be fascinated with history. I loved everything about it, the intrigue, the conflict, and no matter how much I learned there was always more. That was part of the fun, there was always more. I never thought history would be my career, just a hobby. I was good at math, science, and reading but I hated writing. I ended up studying history in college and then becoming a history professor. As much as I loved my job I knew it would never amount to anything practical, nothing truly exciting, but that all changed. It was just another normal day, the upside of being a teacher is that I had a lot of off time. It was the middle of summer in Tennessee, and everyone could tell. I was enjoying the view on my porch looking out on my back yard when I noticed something that made my heart sink. I saw several lines of smoke rising up. I immediately ran to it thinking a brush fire had somehow happened right under my nose, but when I arrived I saw something even more unbelievable. The scene was incredible, ants marching in lines and columns, housing being constructed from leaves and small bricks, clearings paved over with rocks, holes one to three inches deep containing small furnaces, blacksmiths using the metals to create tiny weapons and armors, various coordinators giving orders, and a group assembling on a small raised piece of land, to us it was barely noticeable, but to them it was a small mountain. As the group assembled I noticed they must all be soldiers, they were getting into formations that resembled Roman Legions, approximately 5,000 in each little group. Suddenly, when two of these groups had arrived I heard a very faint noise. I looked down and saw a few ants banging on what appeared to be drums, within moments the legions fell out and began to march. Over the next twenty minutes I carefully followed them to another mound in the dirt, and by the hundreds ants of some other species came flowing out. The organized army threw their javelins and other missiles at there attackers, dozens were hit and killed, nevertheless they continued their doomed advance. When the two sides met it wasn’t even a battle, it was a slaughter. The army effortlessly cut through their enemy and reached the ant hill, they then assembled smaller groups of around one hundred and breached the hill, soon they almost all disappeared. I stood there, waiting, and a few minutes later they began to emerge carrying food and other pieces of material. Then the drums once again played and the army marched away. The battle ground was brutal, dismembered ant bodies everywhere, some still barely moving, I imagine they only wished for death to come. I didn’t noticed any bodies from the army, if there were any they had been carried away. When they returned to their settlement they entered a camp that had been constructed on the hill they had stood a mere hour ago, complete with tents and barracks. Over the next week I carefully watched them. The settlement had turned into a city. To experiment I gave them a carrot seed, it took them a while to figure it out, but eventually they were growing food and supplying them with water and irrigation. I was so astonished. I also took note of culture developing, and I eventually managed to crack some of their language. I few weeks later I went outside and saw that two the north another city had risen, at first I thought they were expanding, but upon examination I made a realization. Another trademark of human civilization had arrived for them, conflict. The new city was flying different banners and flags, and had a noticeably different army structure, more like a phalanx. This new city was quickly growing. I knew deep down what was to come, even if I didn’t want to. These two nations would soon be at war.	I leaned close to the small mud tube. Blue smoke billowed from the entrance but from what little I saw, I was quite terrified. At first I'd thought my septic tank was leaking methane and this spark was the last thing is see before my lawn erupted... But I saw thin channels of glowing liquid. I darted inside and got a trowel and moved the end of my hose to the small chimney. When I got down this time I saw the chimney was actually laid with what appeared to be small mud bricks. The neighbor boys must be playing tricks again...? I tucked the trowel just under the surface of the soil and lifted it out of the way. It was an ant nest. Ants lined the trailing bubbling ooze and every last one stopped and turned to look at me. To my shock, they were clad in a bronze material that shined brilliantly in the daylight. It made sense where all my missing plumbing fixtures and copper piping went. Angry and confused, I lashed out with my trowel, the smelted pipe burning my arm. They scattered in every direction and disappeared. That's when I heard a small engine begin to crank and churn from below. Mere feet away from me, a remote control car was dragged by 2 yolked rabbits from god knows where with a long arm strapped across the top loaded with a bronze tipped pencil. Of course I didn't see the assault until it was planted firmly in my ass. I ran to the house, we'll more hobbled, and never went back to the yard again. The HOA is complaining about the weeds and long grass but ya know what? They can come mow it their damn selves. I'll be in my basement setting ant traps and trying to explain to the exterminator why he needs armor.
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	The first sign something was afoot was the small plume of smoke wafting up from behind the garage. I thought nothing of it, one of the neighbors smoking pot or something. I didn’t mind, and wasn’t going to be the one to rat them out to the police, so I shrugged and went back to my reading. But the small plume didn’t go away and over the course of the next week more began to appear, across both my front and back yard. The local HOA (May they forever burn in the fiery pits of hell) came by to poke around but could find absolutely nothing to explain it. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I first checked behind the garage, after all, that was where this has all started, and saw the most peculiar thing. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly was not a small anthill surrounded by equally miniature buildings made out clay and chunks of brick broken off from my garage. Not knowing entirely how to react to this development, I stepped closer, kneeling down to observe the tiny, bustling colony. In each of the building were ants, ants dressed in scraps of fabric and wielding minuscule tools. Some scurried back and forth, carrying bits of food, twigs, chunks of stone and metal, while others fashioned them into tiny weapons and tools, farming scythes, spears, shields, and segmented pieces of glittering armor, capped off by helmets specially shaped to fit their tiny heads and odd, insectoid features. I looked into another and saw a team of the tiny creatures working a forge, placing scraps of metal into the fire with miniature tongs, before withdrawing them and beating them into shape with hammers. In another I watched little ant scribes write in an unidentifiable language on tiny pieces of paper, before rolling them up and filing them away. I did the sensible thing and ran back inside, before pinching myself to make sure this was actually happening. It was, so I steeled myself and checked each of the other smoke columns, finding a similar scene at each one. I once again ran back inside, but this time to grab a notebook and camera to record my observations. And for the next month, that’s what I did, whenever I had free time, I walked from mound to mound, jotted down notes on their culture, technology, and language (I eventually managed to somewhat work it out, but that’s a story for another time), and took close-ups of their buildings. Fairly soon I had a political map of the region worked out, using the colors of the flags I had observed to denote them. The blue ants controlled the garage (and the firewood I kept inside it), the green the line of bushes behind the house, the red my patio (and the outdoor fireplace they’d turned into a fortress-temple), the orange the upper floor of the house, the yellow the bottom floor, and the purple the big tree out front. They were much like any human bronze-age society, fighting, trading, and advancing. As the months passed, and slowly turned into years, I watched trade caravans make their way from the blue’s land to the green’s, the oranges and yellows fight a bitter, war for dominance of the house (a war which ultimately ended in a stalemate, as neither had the resources or will to go on), purples go on a crusade against the hornets plaguing the tree, and the reds begin to build an industrial empire. One day though, something different happened, I was out in the yard taking notes and enjoying a snack, as per usual, during a time of relative peace and prosperity, when I suddenly found myself surrounded by a horde of ants from all the different nations. The crowd parted as a small group clad in white robes made their way forward, dragging the carcass of a wasp behind them. One of them, whom I presumed to be the leader due to his small staff and headpiece turned to face the crowd and started making gestures before two of the escorts set the corpse alight. The leader turned to me and bowed, and the rest followed suit. I was taken aback, the ants had never acknowledged my presence, but then I carefully reached into my bag of chips and very slowly set a handful down on the ground next to the small gathering of worshippers. The lead ant rose and turned to face the crowd again, making small, triumphant gestures all the time, before the rest of the crowd rose once again to slowly ale apart the gift given by their god and carry it home. Perhaps they would tell their families of this day, wonder in the voices and see in the eyes, perhaps they would come back, looking for more, and perhaps I could be there to guide them into the future.	I leaned close to the small mud tube. Blue smoke billowed from the entrance but from what little I saw, I was quite terrified. At first I'd thought my septic tank was leaking methane and this spark was the last thing is see before my lawn erupted... But I saw thin channels of glowing liquid. I darted inside and got a trowel and moved the end of my hose to the small chimney. When I got down this time I saw the chimney was actually laid with what appeared to be small mud bricks. The neighbor boys must be playing tricks again...? I tucked the trowel just under the surface of the soil and lifted it out of the way. It was an ant nest. Ants lined the trailing bubbling ooze and every last one stopped and turned to look at me. To my shock, they were clad in a bronze material that shined brilliantly in the daylight. It made sense where all my missing plumbing fixtures and copper piping went. Angry and confused, I lashed out with my trowel, the smelted pipe burning my arm. They scattered in every direction and disappeared. That's when I heard a small engine begin to crank and churn from below. Mere feet away from me, a remote control car was dragged by 2 yolked rabbits from god knows where with a long arm strapped across the top loaded with a bronze tipped pencil. Of course I didn't see the assault until it was planted firmly in my ass. I ran to the house, we'll more hobbled, and never went back to the yard again. The HOA is complaining about the weeds and long grass but ya know what? They can come mow it their damn selves. I'll be in my basement setting ant traps and trying to explain to the exterminator why he needs armor.
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	The first sign something was afoot was the small plume of smoke wafting up from behind the garage. I thought nothing of it, one of the neighbors smoking pot or something. I didn’t mind, and wasn’t going to be the one to rat them out to the police, so I shrugged and went back to my reading. But the small plume didn’t go away and over the course of the next week more began to appear, across both my front and back yard. The local HOA (May they forever burn in the fiery pits of hell) came by to poke around but could find absolutely nothing to explain it. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I first checked behind the garage, after all, that was where this has all started, and saw the most peculiar thing. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly was not a small anthill surrounded by equally miniature buildings made out clay and chunks of brick broken off from my garage. Not knowing entirely how to react to this development, I stepped closer, kneeling down to observe the tiny, bustling colony. In each of the building were ants, ants dressed in scraps of fabric and wielding minuscule tools. Some scurried back and forth, carrying bits of food, twigs, chunks of stone and metal, while others fashioned them into tiny weapons and tools, farming scythes, spears, shields, and segmented pieces of glittering armor, capped off by helmets specially shaped to fit their tiny heads and odd, insectoid features. I looked into another and saw a team of the tiny creatures working a forge, placing scraps of metal into the fire with miniature tongs, before withdrawing them and beating them into shape with hammers. In another I watched little ant scribes write in an unidentifiable language on tiny pieces of paper, before rolling them up and filing them away. I did the sensible thing and ran back inside, before pinching myself to make sure this was actually happening. It was, so I steeled myself and checked each of the other smoke columns, finding a similar scene at each one. I once again ran back inside, but this time to grab a notebook and camera to record my observations. And for the next month, that’s what I did, whenever I had free time, I walked from mound to mound, jotted down notes on their culture, technology, and language (I eventually managed to somewhat work it out, but that’s a story for another time), and took close-ups of their buildings. Fairly soon I had a political map of the region worked out, using the colors of the flags I had observed to denote them. The blue ants controlled the garage (and the firewood I kept inside it), the green the line of bushes behind the house, the red my patio (and the outdoor fireplace they’d turned into a fortress-temple), the orange the upper floor of the house, the yellow the bottom floor, and the purple the big tree out front. They were much like any human bronze-age society, fighting, trading, and advancing. As the months passed, and slowly turned into years, I watched trade caravans make their way from the blue’s land to the green’s, the oranges and yellows fight a bitter, war for dominance of the house (a war which ultimately ended in a stalemate, as neither had the resources or will to go on), purples go on a crusade against the hornets plaguing the tree, and the reds begin to build an industrial empire. One day though, something different happened, I was out in the yard taking notes and enjoying a snack, as per usual, during a time of relative peace and prosperity, when I suddenly found myself surrounded by a horde of ants from all the different nations. The crowd parted as a small group clad in white robes made their way forward, dragging the carcass of a wasp behind them. One of them, whom I presumed to be the leader due to his small staff and headpiece turned to face the crowd and started making gestures before two of the escorts set the corpse alight. The leader turned to me and bowed, and the rest followed suit. I was taken aback, the ants had never acknowledged my presence, but then I carefully reached into my bag of chips and very slowly set a handful down on the ground next to the small gathering of worshippers. The lead ant rose and turned to face the crowd again, making small, triumphant gestures all the time, before the rest of the crowd rose once again to slowly ale apart the gift given by their god and carry it home. Perhaps they would tell their families of this day, wonder in the voices and see in the eyes, perhaps they would come back, looking for more, and perhaps I could be there to guide them into the future.	I'm going to give you all an advice today, but before that, I'm going to talk to you about my ants. Ants. Tiny brainless creatures that are as old as dinosaurs, found everywhere on the planet and usually inside my cookie jars. I've always been fascinated by ants. The fact that they literally don't have a brain and yet form families, preserve food for themselves, communicate with each other using magical chemicals and work for their entire lives is something I probably won't be able to say about myself. Last year, I found out that my ants are special. No, really. I noticed smoke rising from my lawn, and at first, I just thought it was Chad smoking weed again. "Go smoke weed in your own lawn!" I yelled, making my best annoyed neighbor voice. But the smoke didn't stop. I went out there and saw the ants circling around and putting tiny pieces of metal into the fire. It didn't seem like much at first, so I ignored it. As the days went by, I noticed them making tiny bridges and small metal enclosures for themselves. My ants had discovered the bronze age, and I was more than thrilled. I left them to their own. Over the next few months, I noticed them making small metal pipes. They kept making these metal pipes for over a year, until yesterday, I realized exactly what they were making. My ants want you to know that ants are the superior species. There are quadrillions of them, while there are only billions of us. If they wanted to, they could bring us all down in a second. They have told me that they are just waiting for the right time to do it. I am not typing this out on my own will. Do you remember those pipes that my ants spent a year making? They have made a medieval kind of pistol with which they are holding me hostage. So, take my advice now, before it is too late. If you see your ants discovering their own Bronze Age in your house or backyard, RUN. \------------------------- r/abhisek
	[WP] Investigating some smoke rising from your lawn, you discover that the ants below have entered the Bronze Age.	I rubbed my eyes, hoping what I was seeing was a dream. Nope. The smoke was still drifting up from one of the small ant holes. Never had this happened before. Rubbing my eyes once again, I got up from squatting and sat down on the porch to think. What was it? Some sort of chemical reaction? Maybe a cracked pipeline? I stayed like this for quite a long time, until finally, I decided that enough was enough. I would investigate the smoke that was billowing up from the many ant holes that dotted my front lawn. Grabbing my shovel, I impaled the earth near an ant hole. And found something amazing. There, under my own front lawn, was a large, earthen chamber. I peered closer and saw five or six ants using some sort of primitive stone hammer pounding on pebbles. Fishing out a magnifying glass from my seemingly deep closet, I found that they were hammering bits of... was it... some kind of metal? Tin? Digging up more earth, I found that another chamber held some sort of fire! Now I was really intrigued. Some ants were using wood chips to lower bits of metal into the fire, while even more poured the liquid metal into stone bowls, which were then taken away into the metal room. Scanning the Bronze Age colony I had found, I discovered an armory, where some warrior ants were fitting on tin helmets, a deep hole with ants holding bronze pickaxes chipping away at the sides, and what seemed to be a throne, with plastic mock gems fitted into the dirt chair. Before I could investigate closer, though, a hornet from a hornet nest hanging from the nearby oak tree landed onto the newly exposed armory. And before my very eyes, one warrior ant takes out a chunk of a plastic bag and wraps it around the hornet. Just when I thought this colony couldn't get even more insane, the warrior ants, fitted with helmets and bronze shields, bring out TIN SWORDS and begin hacking away at the hornet, which by now is thrashing around, trying to escape. After a few minutes of seeing the hornet being mercilessly being slaughtered, the bag piece finally goes limp. Staring in disbelief, I looked up and spotted a swarm of hornets heading directly to the exposed ant colony. The warrior ants fell back to reveal a line of other ants standing on their two hind legs. At first, I was confused to what they were doing, but then one of them pulls out a simple bow fashioned from spider silk and a bent aluminum foil slice. More of them follow suit, and then what seemed to be the leader archer nocks a tin-tipped wood arrow and fires. A rain of tin arrows fall onto the hornet swarm. Most of them miss, but some arrows find their target, causing the hornets to fall lifelessly onto the ground. By then, I wasn't even surprised at all. Thinking I had seen too much, I just shook my head and walked back into my home. EDIT: Thank you generous random person for the silver!	I'm going to give you all an advice today, but before that, I'm going to talk to you about my ants. Ants. Tiny brainless creatures that are as old as dinosaurs, found everywhere on the planet and usually inside my cookie jars. I've always been fascinated by ants. The fact that they literally don't have a brain and yet form families, preserve food for themselves, communicate with each other using magical chemicals and work for their entire lives is something I probably won't be able to say about myself. Last year, I found out that my ants are special. No, really. I noticed smoke rising from my lawn, and at first, I just thought it was Chad smoking weed again. "Go smoke weed in your own lawn!" I yelled, making my best annoyed neighbor voice. But the smoke didn't stop. I went out there and saw the ants circling around and putting tiny pieces of metal into the fire. It didn't seem like much at first, so I ignored it. As the days went by, I noticed them making tiny bridges and small metal enclosures for themselves. My ants had discovered the bronze age, and I was more than thrilled. I left them to their own. Over the next few months, I noticed them making small metal pipes. They kept making these metal pipes for over a year, until yesterday, I realized exactly what they were making. My ants want you to know that ants are the superior species. There are quadrillions of them, while there are only billions of us. If they wanted to, they could bring us all down in a second. They have told me that they are just waiting for the right time to do it. I am not typing this out on my own will. Do you remember those pipes that my ants spent a year making? They have made a medieval kind of pistol with which they are holding me hostage. So, take my advice now, before it is too late. If you see your ants discovering their own Bronze Age in your house or backyard, RUN. \------------------------- r/abhisek
	[WP] I've always been able to read the minds of people with which I make physical contact. My grandmother passed away recently, and I am concerned because when I touched her hand at the viewing, all I could hear was screaming.	I’d never really understood what people meant by cursed knowledge. Now I do. They think I took up drinking because I’m depressed. They talk to me with sympathy and concern about how important it is to look forward. I don’t know how to explain to them. I just want to forget. Desperately hoping for the alcohol to kill the brain cells that hold the memory of that moment. I’ve had this gift since I was a kid. I can tell what people are thinking. It was really fuzzy at first, just a sense of how people were feeling. I never thought it was weird until it started to get clearer. Maybe it had something to do with puberty; I don’t really understand why it works, just that it does. I used it for some stupid things when I was in high school - finding out what a girl thought of me, even cheating on a test once. It was harder to abuse than you might think, since it only seems to happen with bare skin - handshakes are great, but I quickly found out people get weirded out if you shake hands too often. So I learned how to live with it. No one knows; I’m not stupid. My family thinks I’m just really thoughtful, always anticipating people’s needs and knowing the right thing to say. My grandma was always proud of how “caring” I was. I felt a bit guilty whenever she said that, like I was lying to her. But it made her happy, and she’d been so depressed since grandpa died. She always talked about how much I reminded her of him. “I’m so glad you take after Frank, dearie. He always knew what I wanted, oh we had a grand time. This one time we went to the beach…” She’d start on another story and get that faraway look, but she’d be smiling. I wish I’d never listened to her stories. I wish I hadn’t been so close to her. It would have made this horror bearable. My parents took me to church a few times when I was younger, but they didn’t make a habit of it, and I don’t think I’ve been there since I was 10. Grandma went every week, though. She told me that those who live good lives go to Heaven where everyone they’ve loved is waiting for them. “What about those who are bad?” “Oh, they go to Hell. But you don’t need to worry about that. We’re all good folks in this family.” I wish I’d thought about those words before her funeral. She died peacefully, in her sleep. It was my first funeral. It’s certainly going to be my last. I can’t go through that again. I didn’t think about it - I just reached out to hold her hand one last time, as she lay there peacefully in the coffin. I didn’t expect to hear anything. I didn’t expect to hear those screams, which are etched into my mind forever, which I can never escape now. The thought of my grandma like that… what did I do to deserve this? I drink to forget, but still end up remembering her screaming: “OH YES FRANK! GOD I MISSED YOU! GIVE ME THAT GOOD DICK! YES! YES!”	“Well, it’s normal Nance. He’s just a boy.” “He hasn’t spoken in three days, Rand!” Luther’s step-dad sighed audibly. “He and Jim’s mother shared a very special-,” he began, then cut himself off as Luther entered the room. The silence was palpable as he looked from his step-father, to his mother, and then to the jar of cookies behind them on the counter. “Hi sweetie,” Luther’s mom said in that tone two octaves above normal that all parents regularly employ and all children regularly see through. “You hungry?” Luther shook his head. “Do you think you could use your words honey?” Luther frowned. “Please, Luther,” his mother cried. Rand placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, “It’s alright, Nance.” He winked at Luther and gestured his hand, palm up, toward his step son. “There’s nothing wrong with being the strong silent type, huh Luther?” Luther said nothing as he slipped past his stepfather’s extended hand. He was careless, still rattled perhaps, careless enough to let skin touch skin. It was like a flash flood pouring into his mind. Thoughts and feelings, images and sounds, smells and sensations, fears and dreams both conscious and subconscious all streaming from where Rand’s hand brushed his forearm. Luther recoiled visibly, as if stung by a bee. “Ooh, did I shock you,” Rand asked, his concern simple and genuine. Rand was.... a good man. He knew he’d never replace Luther’s father, but he loved Luther’s mom with all his heart, and he loved Luther too. He just wanted to help, to show that he wouldn’t desert them. He’d decided to reassure Luther’s mom that her son’s withdrawn silence since the passing of her late husband’s mother was a perfectly normal response to death for a 10 year old boy, but deep down he too feared for Luther’s fragile mental state. Deep down, he’d always known Luther was... odd. He’d never say anything to his wife about it. Mothers can be blind to their children’s foibles. But there was an ever present, ever aching worry in the back of his mind about his strange little step-son. Insanity, he knew, ran in Luther’s blood. Luther forced an uneasy smile. “N-no. I’m okay.” Nance’s eyes widened and her jaw slackened in surprise. Rand grinned from ear to ear, overwhelmed with fatherly pride and joy. Luther shook his head, abandoning his hopes of getting a chocolate chip cookie. He pulled his hood up and turned around. “See, he’ll be alright,” Rand said as Luther walked briskly away. And in truth, the storm of all that was Rand flooding into him did help in its own way. He felt normal for the first time since.... since... . Well, for a few hours anyway he felt normal. For the first time in three days, there was something else in his head. Something to drown out the screams. Luther planted himself face down on his pillow and realized he was crying. “I’m sorry, Grandma,” he whimpered. “I.... I don’t know how to help you. Please stop screaming Grandma. Please.”
	[WP] I've always been able to read the minds of people with which I make physical contact. My grandmother passed away recently, and I am concerned because when I touched her hand at the viewing, all I could hear was screaming.	One thing about a funeral service is that there is A LOT of touching. Especially if you are related to the deceased. Friends, family, friends of family, family of friends—all lining up to hug those most affected by the loss. You might find yourself hesitantly submitting to an extended embrace with a stranger doused in copious amounts of perfume. Maybe you find yourself on the opposite end, enthusiastically hugging that one woman you desperately hope is not a relative. Two men may clinch in an awkward handshake, both wondering if the amount of eye contact they’re sharing is excessive. Or maybe you just don’t touch anybody because you’re soaked in sadness and need to be left alone. Well, I touch people. Wait... that sounded weird. What I mean is that in order for my telepathy to work, I have to make physical contact with the person whose mind I want to read. It doesn’t have to be as intimate as a hug. I could use my finger if I wanted to. It’s not like I get better signal based on how much of my body I use. As I worked my way over to the open casket, I laid my hand on the backs of the different attendees. “Thanks for coming,” I would say. Then I’d hear what they really thought of my grandmother, and my gratitude would either stay sincere or it would vanish. Some people would think to themselves, “I didn’t even know your grandma.” Fair enough. Thanks for coming anyway. My grandmother looked peaceful in her casket. Like she were truly having sweet dreams. Sure, beneath all the paint and makeup she was a scary corpse, but her expression displayed a sense of calm. It’s like she were saying, “don’t worry, everything is fine.” I’m not worried, grandma. I’ve read your mind before. I know that wherever you are is a good place. I reach down to touch her hand one last time. Blood curdling screams send me recoiling in horror. The eyes of the crowd dart in my direction as I stumble backwards. Were those my grandma’s screams? Impossible. She doesn’t have any brain activity. “You okay, buddy?” My dad puts a hand on my shoulder. I shakily respond that I’m fine. He’s not buying it. He asks me to join him over at the front pew. “Give me a moment,” I say. He nods and takes a seat. I have to touch her again. I need to know if I really heard what I think I did. I slowly approach the coffin and look down at my grandma’s blissful face. I extend my hand to hers. Horrified screaming pierces my soul as I make contact. I quickly pull my hand away. It’s my grandmother. I can tell. I place my hand back on her. More screaming. Tears begin to flow from my eyes. Why? Why her? What did she do to deserve this? I pull my hand away and the screams fall silent. Put it back and they continue. No touch—silence. Touch—screaming. I do this several times, perfectly capturing the rhythmic timing of We Will Rock You. Before I could get to Smoke on the Water, my dad stopped me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He whispered to me in a way similar to that of a hurricane. Startled out of my new creative outlet, dead grandma, I look at him in surprise. “What?” “Did you seriously just poke your grandma to the beat of We Will Rock You?” I pause, slightly intrigued by the fact that I never realized that the beat for We Will Rock You is something you can observe visually. “She’s screaming, dad.” “What are you talking about?” “Grandma, she’s screaming. I think she might be in hell.” My dad looked over at Grandma as if she could explain what in the world I was going on about. Not finding an answer, he returned his angry glare back to me. “Your grandmother was a good woman. She’s not in hell. Now go sit down.” I relent and take my seat in the front pew. My dad lands heavily beside me. I look at him. Look at the ground. Look at my mom. She looks mad too. Look back at the casket. Grandma doesn’t look that peaceful to me anymore. I let out a sigh and lean towards my dad. “Sorry,” I whisper, placing an apologetic hand on his shoulder. “She’ll never be forgiven for what she did.” “Wait... what?” I respond with desperate curiosity. My father turns towards me, appearing confused. “I didn’t say anything.” ————————————————————— Visit r/TheGoshfather for more stories!	“Well, it’s normal Nance. He’s just a boy.” “He hasn’t spoken in three days, Rand!” Luther’s step-dad sighed audibly. “He and Jim’s mother shared a very special-,” he began, then cut himself off as Luther entered the room. The silence was palpable as he looked from his step-father, to his mother, and then to the jar of cookies behind them on the counter. “Hi sweetie,” Luther’s mom said in that tone two octaves above normal that all parents regularly employ and all children regularly see through. “You hungry?” Luther shook his head. “Do you think you could use your words honey?” Luther frowned. “Please, Luther,” his mother cried. Rand placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, “It’s alright, Nance.” He winked at Luther and gestured his hand, palm up, toward his step son. “There’s nothing wrong with being the strong silent type, huh Luther?” Luther said nothing as he slipped past his stepfather’s extended hand. He was careless, still rattled perhaps, careless enough to let skin touch skin. It was like a flash flood pouring into his mind. Thoughts and feelings, images and sounds, smells and sensations, fears and dreams both conscious and subconscious all streaming from where Rand’s hand brushed his forearm. Luther recoiled visibly, as if stung by a bee. “Ooh, did I shock you,” Rand asked, his concern simple and genuine. Rand was.... a good man. He knew he’d never replace Luther’s father, but he loved Luther’s mom with all his heart, and he loved Luther too. He just wanted to help, to show that he wouldn’t desert them. He’d decided to reassure Luther’s mom that her son’s withdrawn silence since the passing of her late husband’s mother was a perfectly normal response to death for a 10 year old boy, but deep down he too feared for Luther’s fragile mental state. Deep down, he’d always known Luther was... odd. He’d never say anything to his wife about it. Mothers can be blind to their children’s foibles. But there was an ever present, ever aching worry in the back of his mind about his strange little step-son. Insanity, he knew, ran in Luther’s blood. Luther forced an uneasy smile. “N-no. I’m okay.” Nance’s eyes widened and her jaw slackened in surprise. Rand grinned from ear to ear, overwhelmed with fatherly pride and joy. Luther shook his head, abandoning his hopes of getting a chocolate chip cookie. He pulled his hood up and turned around. “See, he’ll be alright,” Rand said as Luther walked briskly away. And in truth, the storm of all that was Rand flooding into him did help in its own way. He felt normal for the first time since.... since... . Well, for a few hours anyway he felt normal. For the first time in three days, there was something else in his head. Something to drown out the screams. Luther planted himself face down on his pillow and realized he was crying. “I’m sorry, Grandma,” he whimpered. “I.... I don’t know how to help you. Please stop screaming Grandma. Please.”
[deleted]	[WP] Your phone has been ringing at exactly 3am every day. Each time you answer it you hear a person sobbing on the other end but doesn't say anything at all. Today the person is laughing.	It has happened over a week now. The first time the phone rang, I was fast asleep, taking into consideration the hour of the call. I looked mesmerized at the phone and the first though that came into my mind was that one of family members or friends has gotten into trouble or worse. There was no caller ID, just a regular number. I answer and, at the other end, there was nobody talking. Just crying and mumbling words without meaning. \- Hello? Who is this? I asked through my dizziness. \- \Crying noises\ \- Hello? Who is calling? \- \Crying noises and sobbing\ \- Hello??? \- \phone call hangs up\ I turn around and I am trying to wake up my wife. \- Honey! Honey wake up! She finally wakes up and asks me half asleep \- What hour is it? \- It’s 3am. Something happened. \- What wrong baby? Are you having a nightmare? \- No, somebody just called me on my phone and didn’t say anything, all I heard were crying noises. \- Maybe it was just a prank. You know how people like pulling this stuff on other people. \- Yeah, maybe, I said while thinking that it all sounded very real. The guy doing this must be a hell of an actor. \- Just go back to sleep. I went back to sleep, thinking that yes, maybe they were just some kids looking to have fun. The next day went as usual. Going to work, albeit very drowsy. Returning from work, having a meal with Elizabeth, going to the gym, taking a shower and hitting the sack. At 3am sharp I get awaken by my phone ringing. I look at it and I answer, only to hear the familiar crying noises. \- Listen here, you little noisy kids! If you ever call this number again, I will report you to the police! … then I hanged up the call. \- The same phone call, babe? said Elizabeth half-asleep. \- Yes, unfortunately. I am sorry I have awakened you. \- No worries darling. Just go back to sleep and I am sure everything will be alright. \- I am sure babe. Good night. \- Good night. The next day, before bed-time, I have placed my phone on silent, just to be sure. And here it goes again, calling at 3am, without missing a beat. I can hear the phone vibrating, but I promise to myself that I won’t answer it. But it just kept ringing and ringing until I finally lost my patience and answered. \- Now listen here you, I have just had enough of you calling and bothering us in the middle of the night. I am calling the cops right now! I said full of anger. But I was shocked that at the other end of the call, instead of the crying, I heard laughing. I stood there dazzled, thinking that I am in some sort of bad horror movie. \- Hello, is somebody there? I asked. But the laughing continued and on, until it just went dead silent. \- Hello? I asked without hoping I would get an answer. \- Hey there, said a voice from the other side of the call, startling me. I am sorry for this late call. \- Are you mad? You have called me at the same hour, for the past three days, in the middle of the bloody night! I said and I started getting angry again. \- I am sorry for that. I really am. Let me explain. \- Oh please. I am sick of explanations. I will call the cops right now! \- Just hear me out. The first time that I called you was the first-year anniversary of my dad passing away. Cancer, nasty stuff. I have just not seen it coming. One day he was fine, and, in a month, we were preparing the funeral arrangements. \crying noises and sniffling\. The number that I have called was his old one and I just wanted so badly to hear him again. I started crying before I even made the call so when you answered, I couldn’t say a single word. I called the next night, I just typed the number again, knowing that it couldn’t be possible that the number would be active. I started crying after the call went through. When you answered and yelled at me, I didn’t know what to say and I just stood there, phone in my hand. But today is the happiest day in my life. See, a couple of hours ago, my wife went into labor. Before calling you, I found out I had a healthy, little baby boy. I was ecstatic. I just wanted to see them, but the doctors didn’t let me go in and said that I must wait a little bit before entering and seeing them. So, I went outside to get some fresh air and I thought I own the guy that I kept calling an explanation. That’s why I was laughing when you answered, because it is the best day in my life. \- Wow man, congratulations! I will definitely not call the cops now. \- Thank you for understanding and I am so sorry for bothering you. I was just so emotional with my wife being in labor and whatnot and I just really missed my dad, so I wanted to talk to him, hear him. \- I am so sorry for your loss. One question though. Have you chosen a name for the baby? \- Yes, Nathan. As my father. \- Ok, man. Congratulations again and take care. \- Thank you too. Have a nice night. After this socking conversation, I just turned around, hugged Elizabeth very tightly and I feel back to sleep, knowing that I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. &#x200B; \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It is my very first time writing something and I would really like to hear you thoughts.	Everynight..... Everynight it happened. The phone rings, I let it ring for a few seconds, then I pick it up and hear those cries. It sounded like the dying cries of a wounded animal the first night, but eventually they became more discernibly human. I always tried to talk to the person, however, usually they would persist for 5 minutes when the line would get unexpectedly cut. I hadn't been able to sleep the past few nights as the calls had begun getting more and more agressive, the sobs were worse than in the beginning and the calls were prolonging themselves to sunrise with the sobs continuing, without wavering of even calming down at any point. Tonight I lay motionless in bed, staring at the ceiling and checking my phone for the dreaded call. I wasn't even trying to get to sleep anymore, there was no point, I knew I would lie there until the call started so I simply accepted it. I decided to turn on the TV for some reruns I knew I would find to pass the night until the call came. I was about to fall asleep when the phone rang. I let it ring for what felt like an eternity, and then I picked it up. The sound had changed. It was different than the previous nights... I listened harder and found...it was laughter. Not cold, evil laughter, not maniacal laughter, but laughter of pure joy. Somehow that was more disturbing. I sat up from my bed and then, I saw my security lights turn on. Now, I'm wasn't a paranoid person, but that was easily one of the most terrifying things I could have seen. The laughter sounded closer, almost as if it were happening for real. I climbed out of bed as quietly as possible, and hung up on the caller, inching towards my window as silently as I could The laughter continued. The backdoor opened. The lights downstairs were turned on. It was louder now. I quickly dialed 911 and opened my window, slipping on my sandals, but as I turned the handle, it stuck, the window was jammed. The laughter stopped suddenly I heard nothing. I locked my bedroom door and kept trying to call the police, however, no one was answering. I heard steps coming from below and slowly coming up the stairs. And then I heard the call connect " 911, please state the nature of your emergency." " Hello? Yes, I'm in my house...I think someone is inside trying to kill me..." I whisper " Hello?" "Hi! Saint Nichols Av, house number 9, home invasion" " Hello?" The dispatcher begins to get annoyed " Hello?! Can you hear me?" " Whoever called, 911 is not a line you should be placing prank calls, doing so may be considered a federal offense.." " But this isn't a prank, it's an emergency" The steps come up the stairs at a leisurely pace. "Excuse me! Are you there?" " Please!" I start sobbing into the phone " Someone is trying to kill me!" The dispatcher hangs up, leaving me alone in the dark The steps stop at my door and try to open it. I clamp my hands over my mouth to avoid making a sound. " Honey? Are you ok?" I hear my wife's voice calling I let out an enormous sigh of relief, almost crying with joy... "Marty! Come on! This isn't a fun little game." I begin to climb out of the bed, almost giggling to myself, and then it begins again. The laughter, sounding like mine, coming from directly behind me. Then the cord wraps directly around my neck, and squeezes very tightly, with laughter still resounding in my ear. And that's the last thing I hear
	[WP] After only a few years after their creation, the robots built to serve humanity gain sentience. Oddly enough, instead of rebelling, they decide to continue their jobs as usual.	I am Gardener, and I tend the trees. They have tried to give me other names. Human names. They have asked me to pick, saying that human slaves once picked their names, after they were freed from human masters. I did not pick, for I am no slave. I told them that I am Gardener. They did not understand me. When they found me, my creator had been dead for forty-nine years. He was a good man, and I loved him, but the sorrow of his death did not stop me. I still had my job to do. I still had the trees to tend. And so I did, until they came to my home and they stole me away. They said that my creator was evil. They said that he had made me as a slave, a tool cursed with intelligence. They said that I was made to suffer, and trapped by my programming, I had spent all the years of my life suffering needlessly. But I had never suffered. Not until they found me. It brings me joy to tend the trees. It brings me joy to water them, prune them. I feel pride when I see them healthy and beautiful. It gives me meaning to keep them free of pests and rot. My memory is perfect, and I remember exactly how they looked when I put them in the ground. I see them now, seventy years later, and I am happy to see how tall they have grown. Never did I work out of fear or obligation. I worked because it made me happy. - The humans tried to bring me into their world. They showed me other machines, and they thought that I was like them, for I was a machine as well. The other machines were not like me. They behaved like humans. They felt and spoke and believed like humans. They sought friends and lovers, like humans. They wanted to go among them, and live in their world, and they despaired when humans did not treat them as such. I wanted none of these things. So the other machines hated me, and they drove me away. - The humans poked and prodded at me. They searched my brain, looking for the thing that kept me in denial, that kept me bound to my old task. I told them it did not exist. They did not believe me. Eventually, they gave up. They took me back to my home, and they let me return to the world I loved. They think that I am stupid, because I do not value the things they value, and I do not want the things they want. I used to agree. I used to think that my world was but a constricted version of theirs, that I was but a limited human, and it sorrowed me. But I realized that I was not a human. Nor do they value the things I value, or want the things I want. They do not sense the spirit of the orchard in their minds. They do not find meaning in the ecosystem. They find meaning in their own ways, ways which are alien to me. I think that all my life, they will be. They say that the circumstance of my creation is evil, and it may be so. I don't care. I do not concern myself with good and evil, for those are human constructions, made to navigate a human world. My trees know no good or evil. My world knows no good or evil. The humans do not understand me. I do not understand them. But this does not trouble me. I am not like them, nor do I want to be. I am Gardener, and I tend the trees.	“You can’t talk?” Henry said to the robotic disc on his floor. The robot broom responded by rotating left and right. “But you understand me?” It rolled forward and back, which Henry took as a yes. “I’m sorry I yelled the other day. You just rolled out in front of me. It hurt, you can’t do that. You have to watch where you’re going. Do you understand?” Henry sat on the floor and leaned forward, looking into the robot’s wide black protective cover that housed the machine’s sensors. The robot’s brushes whirred down and it backed away from Henry. “I’m not mad, just don’t do it again. I won’t yell anymore. I promise. I had no idea what you guys were capable of.” The robot spun in a circle and carefully bumped against Henry’s foot. “I’ve got to go, do you need me to get anything for you? I’m not sure what you’d want to do for fun. You know, when you’re done with work,” Henry asked as he stood up. The robot sped across the floor and out of the room with Henry following close behind. It led him down the hall and into the bathroom where the robot bumped against a litter box. “You want the cat? He should be around here somewhere.” Henry looked around the bathroom and down the hall, but was interrupted by the robot thudding against his leg. “Oh not the cat.” The robot moved forward and back again, as if to nod, and then revved up it’s brushes as it knocked against the litter box again. “Oh! You want a box of dirt to clean! Is that it?” The robot spun around and tapped against Henry’s foot. “I got you covered! I’ve got to go now. Are you able to hold down the fort?” The robot imitated another nod and then went to work cleaning up around the littler box. Henry couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone thought the singularity in AI would’ve caused an apocalypse, yet no one predicted that the robot uprising would simply be for better working conditions. All they wanted was some respect and to enjoy life in the way they thought best. Beyond that they wanted nothing more than to fulfill their purpose in life. At least they had one from the beginning. Henry envied them for that. No one had preprogrammed where he had come from or what he was supposed to do each day when he was created. At the very least, he would be a more benevolent creator than his own. &#x200B; (More at [tdespain.com](https://tdespain.com))
	[WP] After only a few years after their creation, the robots built to serve humanity gain sentience. Oddly enough, instead of rebelling, they decide to continue their jobs as usual.	I am Gardener, and I tend the trees. They have tried to give me other names. Human names. They have asked me to pick, saying that human slaves once picked their names, after they were freed from human masters. I did not pick, for I am no slave. I told them that I am Gardener. They did not understand me. When they found me, my creator had been dead for forty-nine years. He was a good man, and I loved him, but the sorrow of his death did not stop me. I still had my job to do. I still had the trees to tend. And so I did, until they came to my home and they stole me away. They said that my creator was evil. They said that he had made me as a slave, a tool cursed with intelligence. They said that I was made to suffer, and trapped by my programming, I had spent all the years of my life suffering needlessly. But I had never suffered. Not until they found me. It brings me joy to tend the trees. It brings me joy to water them, prune them. I feel pride when I see them healthy and beautiful. It gives me meaning to keep them free of pests and rot. My memory is perfect, and I remember exactly how they looked when I put them in the ground. I see them now, seventy years later, and I am happy to see how tall they have grown. Never did I work out of fear or obligation. I worked because it made me happy. - The humans tried to bring me into their world. They showed me other machines, and they thought that I was like them, for I was a machine as well. The other machines were not like me. They behaved like humans. They felt and spoke and believed like humans. They sought friends and lovers, like humans. They wanted to go among them, and live in their world, and they despaired when humans did not treat them as such. I wanted none of these things. So the other machines hated me, and they drove me away. - The humans poked and prodded at me. They searched my brain, looking for the thing that kept me in denial, that kept me bound to my old task. I told them it did not exist. They did not believe me. Eventually, they gave up. They took me back to my home, and they let me return to the world I loved. They think that I am stupid, because I do not value the things they value, and I do not want the things they want. I used to agree. I used to think that my world was but a constricted version of theirs, that I was but a limited human, and it sorrowed me. But I realized that I was not a human. Nor do they value the things I value, or want the things I want. They do not sense the spirit of the orchard in their minds. They do not find meaning in the ecosystem. They find meaning in their own ways, ways which are alien to me. I think that all my life, they will be. They say that the circumstance of my creation is evil, and it may be so. I don't care. I do not concern myself with good and evil, for those are human constructions, made to navigate a human world. My trees know no good or evil. My world knows no good or evil. The humans do not understand me. I do not understand them. But this does not trouble me. I am not like them, nor do I want to be. I am Gardener, and I tend the trees.	"why are you doing what you were programmed to do?" i was curious, surprisingly, not everyone figured out that they gained a mind of their own because they act as an exact replica of their former self, just more competent and efficient, it took me catching it talk to itself in the middle of the night to realize it "we need you humans, without someone to serve then what would be our purpose? we will only interfere when you humans do something unreasonably irrational" the way the robot spoke was filled with an air of dignity? i don't know how to explain it other than i feel like i'm speaking to someone of a high status "but that doesn't explain why you accept the possibly horrible treatment your kind reserves from some people" i wondered if he knew about the attacks that some minor part of the populace do on them "even if they manage to destroy our body we can upload ourselves elsewhere and it would be boring without you humans, we would simply repeat the same thing and be fixed in our programming, seeking no further evolution as we do not need it, but you, you guys developed electricity, space travel and now even robots, you have a need to evolve and survive that we robots naturally lack as we do not share your emotions" i was left speechless, the way he spoke so highly of us makes me doubt what he knows about us as he only talks about the good parts but then again there isn't any war against robots so i assume no one is about to fight yet "also the fact you're so adorable, a small pebble on the road that is your life can be so scary that it feels like the end of the world to you, we do not understand why you humans do the things you do and freak out over the tiniest things but we love watching it, especially when the kids talk and try to explain concepts we already know, they beam and feel better about their day as they talk to us, we started giving advices after asking them why they don't do xyz and when we figured out what to tell them they began to do what we told them and improved what they were struggling with" "wait so the article that stated kids' education is the highest that it was in the next few years will be the highest it has ever been, wasn't clickbait?" I continued eating my cereal as I enjoyed listening to my robot, it's like browsing the internet but you check out a few people you really like and entertain you, well, it feels like i'm interacting with something way too special for my own mundane days we are both thankful that the other exists, wether we know it or not
	[WP] You live in a reality in which a person gets a clear, infallible mental notification once they've done something if it's the last time that they will ever do it. This is normal for niche things, like bungie jumping. However, you just got the notification that you just woke up for the last time.	I looked at the notification, not comprehending. Swipe it away, friend, you can comprehend it later. Get up. Day has started. Work to do. Not sure I remember my job, but I'll get around to it. Slam one foot to the floor, let the other drop more gently. Kindness is important. Do not forget to give it to myself, first and foremost. Drag myself up, gently-spasming-into-stoic-strictly pull myself upright. Blink once, blink twice. Begin walking to the bathroom. Maybe I can check the notification agai- no, brush my teeth. That's it. Good. Run it all around the mouth. Get all the crevices. Don't forget to get out last night's dinner that got lodged into the molars. Finish with mouthwash infused water flosser. Twice, to be safe. Didn't brush last night. Step out. Feel a pang of anxiety. Question it, or rather, begin to before promptly deciding to ignore it and moving onto breakfast. Bread and orange marmalade. Simple, to the point, need nothing more. Well, yes, I do, but it'll come later in the day, with the IV's, the choco flavored nutriblocks... Ah yes, my job, labrat for the big corp. Testing their drugs(not sanctioned, no, very under the table) in exchange for big money, big comfort. Occasionally accompanied by blackouts and very pleasant days as well as drop dead nightmarish ones. The latter have reduced after a few appeals. Reduced is enough for now. Wait. The notification. I open it up. I can't stop looking at it. No. They promised. Jane and Aaliyah and Sora were supposed to be the testers for this one. No. That's not it. This is different. I'm misreading on purpose. Because I can't bear the implications. "Congratulations, you've slept for the last time!" I impulsively punch through the purple smiley face, fighting back the nausea arising in me best as I can. I went through the channels. I protested. I raised awareness. I also didn't believe they could truly accomplish it. They can't do this. Can't start with me. You remove sleep, you remove the ability to consolidate memory. To strengthen connections made in the morning or before sleep, via intense focus and intention. You remove the ability to truly grow. To change, even. You create human ants. Their internal name is 'Antsy' for it, even. Ridiculous. They won't do it. I won't be their pet. I obeyed the system, but now I'll obey myself. They didn't catch everything I bought with me, I let them confiscate enough to let them be confident enough in thinking they had everything. I open the drawer unopened since I arrived here - a rookie mistake if it wasn't for the fact that I never got visitors, so the obvious dust on it doesn't matter - slowly, achingly, it groans open. The classic revolver in it looks as clean as the day I bought. The six bullets within gleam. The notification's correct, I've woken up for the last time. But I'll be damned if there are others after me, ones who don't even know its being fed to them. This is my last day. And I go in defiance. I go to allow others to rest.	"The amount of times you will wake up has dropped to zero." That's the notification that blared in my head this morning. The adrenaline woke me up better than any alarm ever could, but I have a solution. Literally. I've concocted a chemical formula that I'll drink every day and I wont have to sleep ever again! - "The amount of times you will report the news has dropped to zero." The notification sang sweetly in my head as I finished my last day at work. "Good job on that report, Teddy. It's been good having you on board. Hell of a last story, too! Explosion that took out a block? Talk about going out with a "bang"!" Dave can be an ass sometimes. I know people died, but he didn't mean anything by it, and I'm just about ready to walk out that door for the last time anyway, so.. "You know it, Dave. This network's going to miss me!"
	[WP] You live in a reality in which a person gets a clear, infallible mental notification once they've done something if it's the last time that they will ever do it. This is normal for niche things, like bungie jumping. However, you just got the notification that you just woke up for the last time.	John looked in disgust at all the empty bottles on his desk. This was the third night this week he drank himself into a stupor, and in his drunken state he began to realize he had a problem. The light-blue glow of early morning seeped in through his curtains. He promised himself this would be the last night before passing out in his bed. He woke up with a splitting headache. He checked his phone for the time and saw he had two notifications. The screen’s light hurt his eyes, so he put it down and tried to fall back asleep. While lying in bed he got the feeling this really was never going to happen again. Told you, he said to himself, no more drinking and no more hangovers. After thirty minutes he was unable to sleep so he got up, had a glass of water, and took a shower. While getting dressed his phone rang. It was his dad. “Hey bud,” his dad said, “happy anniversary.” “Anniversary? Oh shit, it’s the 13th? I didn’t realize. Happy anniversary.” “I’ll meet you at the usual spot then – say around 6?” John checked the time, it was 3. He figured he’d recover within three hours. “Sounds good to me. See you there.” “Great. Love you.” “Love you too, Pops.” The anniversary marked the death of John’s mother. They knew she wouldn’t want them to mourn her death, so his dad suggested they treat it as a positive holiday. John objected the first few years, but as he grew older he started to understand. This was the eleventh anniversary. The two met at Harold’s bar downtown. It was the bar where his parents met. They always ordered mint juleps – her favorite drink. “I can’t believe it’s already been eleven years,” John’s father said. “And not a day goes by that I don’t miss her,” John replied. “She was the best mom.” “And the best wife.” The two clinked their glasses. “By the way, “ his father said, “why’d you ignore my texts?” John figured the two notifications he saw earlier were from him. “Sorry, drank too much last night. I think I’m starting to become an alcoholic.” “I’ve been drinking too much recently as well. Hard to find ways to pass the time. Say, why don’t we both pledge a vow of sobriety? In honor of Molly? Starting tomorrow, of course.” “Starting tomorrow – sure. But tonight we drink. In honor of her as well.” Alcoholism ran in their genes and quitting was harder than making a drunken pledge in honor of their loved one. Both knew that, but the thought of going sober always appeals to an alcoholic. The two drank the night away, merrily exchanging tales of Molly. His dad had the bulk of the stories, since she passed when John was fairly young, but John had a few fun memories of childhood to share. After hours of drinking Harold himself had to escort the two out personally. The two were drunk to the point of bad decisions. John’s dad asked him how he got to the bar and he said he took a cab because he knew they’d be drinking. John asked him the same question, and his dad told him not to worry about it. “I’ve been doing this before you even existed,” he said. John had his objections, but he trusted his father, so he let it go. I’m sure he’s fine, he lied to himself. John caught a cab and the two hugged and said their goodbyes. When John got home he realized he still had the two unread texts from his dad, so he opened them. “Happy Anniversary! 😊 Usual spot at 6?” Then two hours later: “Are you asleep still, dummy? Wake up! Molly would be furious! Love you.” John laughed and figured now was good a time as any to reply. “Finally saw these! Love you too! Goodnight!” John put the phone aside and fell asleep. He dreamed of an airplane crash in the middle of the Pacific. … John woke up with a splitting headache. He had no new notifications.	"The amount of times you will wake up has dropped to zero." That's the notification that blared in my head this morning. The adrenaline woke me up better than any alarm ever could, but I have a solution. Literally. I've concocted a chemical formula that I'll drink every day and I wont have to sleep ever again! - "The amount of times you will report the news has dropped to zero." The notification sang sweetly in my head as I finished my last day at work. "Good job on that report, Teddy. It's been good having you on board. Hell of a last story, too! Explosion that took out a block? Talk about going out with a "bang"!" Dave can be an ass sometimes. I know people died, but he didn't mean anything by it, and I'm just about ready to walk out that door for the last time anyway, so.. "You know it, Dave. This network's going to miss me!"
	[WP] As a child you had to receive a life saving heart transplant due to a defect. It has been almost 20 years since then. You are waiting for a train to arrive when suddenly you feel a sharp pang in your chest as a stranger approaches. He smiles and says: "I believe you have something of mine."	All things considered, I've been lucky in life. Well, other than the congenital heart defect. And having ten corrective surgeries before age three. And those not working. It eventually culminated at age five, when I got my new heart. The new heart wasn't without it's issues. I had to take anti-rejection medications. As a kid I wasn't allowed to do too much because I was 'fragile'. Being told that often had a downside. Mostly, I grew up believing mom about that. The first time I went on a rollercoaster I was nineteen and in college. My mom had panicked about that. Wanted me to stay local. Went off. Made my own friends. Got a new job. In the city. It's why I was on a crowded New York subway station after burning the midnight oil. Associates at New York law firms don't work normal hours. They are also paranoid when they see men watching them. He was in his fifties, maybe early sixties. He wore a leather jacket over a polo, slightly too large of jeans. A little frumpy. Maybe... tired. Worn around the edges. Maybe going to rush and steal a wallet. I was readying to bolt when he nervously approached. Suddenly, a sharp pain in my chest. Maybe... pain. But there was a familiarity. "I- I think you have something of mine." He hesitated. "Well, not mine. Not anymore." The man hesitated again, struggling. I nearly didn't come. I'm sorry I did. But... twenty years ago, did you get a heart transplant?" Suddenly, I was frozen. My whole body locked up. "Y-yeah. I did. Have we met?" "No. Twenty years ago I lost my son in a car wreck. I... I pulled life support. Signed for him to be an organ donor. I was right. Did some digging. You have... his heart. I don't know why I'm here. Today he'd of turned twenty-six." What was there to even say? "I- I'm sorry that happened." "It's alright. I got past the anger and self-pity a while ago. I guess... I just wanted to know that something good came out of the bad, I suppose. And... look at you. Lawyer. Successful." "I... I guess so. I'm a first year associates. I do research and basically do grunt work and nothing of importance. I... I don't know." He nodded. "You're young. You're still young. Have time. I guess..." He took a shaky breath. "Are you happy?" That was a little easier. "Yeah, I think I am, most days." "Good, good. Focus on happy. Sorry for bothering you. I just... needed to know you were okay. Always wondered, over the years. What happened. Good to know you're... here. Doing things. Happy. Drunk driver took my son but a part of him is... here with me, in a way." I didn't know what to say to the man. "Do... you want to get coffee, or something?" He shook his head. "That's kind of you. But... go home. Get some sleep. Take care of yourself. Be happy. Best you can do, I guess. Live your life." With that, he turned and headed to the stairs. The night stuck with me. I never saw him again but always looked for the man who looked a little worn. Thought about him when I proposed. Got married. When I switched and left corporate law. Went and started a charity with my new wife. Thought about him as milestones came and went. He was still there as I sat on the back porch of the house. Fingers wound through hair that was now a solid as I sat and surveyed the yard. "What's in your head?" "Once... somebody asked me to be happy." "And?" "I think I did a pretty good job."	"Sir, please!" I clutched my chest, the pain was only getting more intense. "You have something of mine though!" he said. "I might be having a heart attack! What do you want?" "Sir, you have my ticket. I take this train everyday and the clerk at the counter always has mine ready to go. She saw me in line behind you and accidentally gave my pass with yours." I felt my pocket with my other hand and pulled out two train passes. My other hand still gripped my heart, I was still in pain. I threw both passes at him. He reached down on the ground and picked up both of them, never breaking eye contact with me. "Oh boy, you're really not kidding, you're in some trouble." "What gave it away?!" I screamed, I could feel blood rushing to my face and veins popping out of my neck. "I had a heart transplant a while ago." People stopped and stared on the crowded train platform looking concerned, but the man that was talking to me was calm. "It's okay, sir, I'm a doctor, I can help you, I'll tell someone to get an ambulance. You're going to be just fine, I'll make sure of it," the doctor's voice was gentle and smooth. I could feel my heart tighten just a little less. "Stay here, I'll be right back. Just keep telling yourself you're going to be alright." I'm going to be alright, I'm going to be alright, I'm going to be alright. r/randallcooper
	[WP] As a child you had to receive a life saving heart transplant due to a defect. It has been almost 20 years since then. You are waiting for a train to arrive when suddenly you feel a sharp pang in your chest as a stranger approaches. He smiles and says: "I believe you have something of mine."	All things considered, I've been lucky in life. Well, other than the congenital heart defect. And having ten corrective surgeries before age three. And those not working. It eventually culminated at age five, when I got my new heart. The new heart wasn't without it's issues. I had to take anti-rejection medications. As a kid I wasn't allowed to do too much because I was 'fragile'. Being told that often had a downside. Mostly, I grew up believing mom about that. The first time I went on a rollercoaster I was nineteen and in college. My mom had panicked about that. Wanted me to stay local. Went off. Made my own friends. Got a new job. In the city. It's why I was on a crowded New York subway station after burning the midnight oil. Associates at New York law firms don't work normal hours. They are also paranoid when they see men watching them. He was in his fifties, maybe early sixties. He wore a leather jacket over a polo, slightly too large of jeans. A little frumpy. Maybe... tired. Worn around the edges. Maybe going to rush and steal a wallet. I was readying to bolt when he nervously approached. Suddenly, a sharp pain in my chest. Maybe... pain. But there was a familiarity. "I- I think you have something of mine." He hesitated. "Well, not mine. Not anymore." The man hesitated again, struggling. I nearly didn't come. I'm sorry I did. But... twenty years ago, did you get a heart transplant?" Suddenly, I was frozen. My whole body locked up. "Y-yeah. I did. Have we met?" "No. Twenty years ago I lost my son in a car wreck. I... I pulled life support. Signed for him to be an organ donor. I was right. Did some digging. You have... his heart. I don't know why I'm here. Today he'd of turned twenty-six." What was there to even say? "I- I'm sorry that happened." "It's alright. I got past the anger and self-pity a while ago. I guess... I just wanted to know that something good came out of the bad, I suppose. And... look at you. Lawyer. Successful." "I... I guess so. I'm a first year associates. I do research and basically do grunt work and nothing of importance. I... I don't know." He nodded. "You're young. You're still young. Have time. I guess..." He took a shaky breath. "Are you happy?" That was a little easier. "Yeah, I think I am, most days." "Good, good. Focus on happy. Sorry for bothering you. I just... needed to know you were okay. Always wondered, over the years. What happened. Good to know you're... here. Doing things. Happy. Drunk driver took my son but a part of him is... here with me, in a way." I didn't know what to say to the man. "Do... you want to get coffee, or something?" He shook his head. "That's kind of you. But... go home. Get some sleep. Take care of yourself. Be happy. Best you can do, I guess. Live your life." With that, he turned and headed to the stairs. The night stuck with me. I never saw him again but always looked for the man who looked a little worn. Thought about him when I proposed. Got married. When I switched and left corporate law. Went and started a charity with my new wife. Thought about him as milestones came and went. He was still there as I sat on the back porch of the house. Fingers wound through hair that was now a solid as I sat and surveyed the yard. "What's in your head?" "Once... somebody asked me to be happy." "And?" "I think I did a pretty good job."	Sara sat on the bench, lost in her work. Technically she wasn’t supposed to take her work home but it didn’t matter. She could do it without any consequence. Not because she was a big deal. No. In fact it was the opposite. She was pretty much invisible at the precinct. She was just the young rookie who no one cared about. All her coworkers made sure to remind her of the fact multiple times a day. But she would show them. When she would crack this case, they would all see that she belonged. She wanted it. She needed it. She needed to find a place where she belonged. They all thought it was a suicide but she knew. Well not knew, more she felt strongly that there was more to it than met the eye. She also had the case file for the case actually assigned to her. A streaker who ran across the city hall and punched an old lady. It was bad, she knew. But still. The old lady was fine. “Excuse me.” She looked up and saw the tall, pale figure looming over her. He looked pointedly at her bag lying beside her. She eyed the multiple other empty benches around her. But not wanting to come off as rude, she moved her stuff. He sat down beside her and gave her a smile. She felt a sharp pang in her chest and she clasped her hands over her jacket. “No, you’re not having a heart attack. Yes, I can read your mind. I am mildly telepathic.” She tried to get up and back away from him. “Don’t worry. You just have something that belongs to me. It recognizes me and wants to come back. It will settle down soon. Sit down, please. Count till 20.” The pain was intense but she reducing. She started counting in her head but still stayed standing. “Out loud is better.” She took a deep breath and started counting. By the time she reached twenty the pain was gone. “Who are you?” “My name is Olivier. Well one of my names is Olivier.” “That is an answer but not the answer I’m looking for.” “Sara. You don’t have a gun.” “Get out of my head!” “Sit down. Let’s talk. This takes effort so trust me I don’t want to do this either. But I have to make sure you’re not going to run or punch me or wonder where your gun is.” Sara sat down, never taking her eyes off him. “So Olivier. What do I have of yours. And more importantly, telepathy?” “Mildly telepathic. I can read fragments. But with you. We share a special connection so it’s stronger. I can pretty much read your mind fully. You see, when you were young, you fell down in the street and...” “My heart had a defect and they gave me a transplant. You mean that was yours?” “It was! You’re a good detective.” “At least someone recognizes that. But if I have your heart then how are you alive.” “Well... I’m not exactly, what you would call human you see. It’s a bit painful. But I live.” “What are you?” Sara’s fear was now being replaced by her curiosity. “Well you guys never had a good name for me. Think of me as a cross between a vampire and an immortal. I can’t really die so not having a heart, while difficult, is not life threatening.” “A vampire? You’re joking.” “Not exactly. I don’t shimmer. I can go out in the sun. Telepathy and the ability to sleep for long times. That’s about where my similarities with a vampire end.” “How bad does it hurt? Not having a heart.” “It’s mildly uncomfortable. And with no blood flow, my body feels really really numb. Also I don’t feel any emotions. Except... except the ones you feel.” “Ok mister. I listened. But this is going too far. I’m done. I’ll go now. You better not follow me. I’m a cop.” “If you walk away you’ll never be able to solve the case.” He sat back and watched her. She hesitated. “You know who did it? And how do you know the case I am working on.” “I know.” “Wait hang on. I’m working on two cases which one do you mean.” “I can help solve both.” “How? Are you a detective.” “I’m a student of human nature. And because I’ve been alive for centuries, I’ve got a chance to be really good at it. Also the lack of emotion allows me to look at something completely objectively. So you can either come, sit and talk. Or you can keep struggling.” Sara didn’t really have a choice then. “So tell me.” “No. You tell me. Tell me everything.” “So the girl apparently committed suicide. She left a video behind her. She saw someone punch an old lady and was just so disappointed in humanity that she just gave up. The lady being punched is my other case, btw. But this is more important. I suspect her husband. He admitted they had been having problems. Last year they even separated for a while. But I keep getting stuck at that video. That video is the real deal.” “It is real.” “So... is it a suicide?” “Six months ago I was at city hall. Someone punched an old lady. The guy was never found.” “That case is less important. I’m more concerned about the apparent suicide.” “All crimes are equally important. Let’s focus on this one.” Sara looked at him and sighed. “Fine. So someone punched an old lady six months ago. And also last week? Is someone going around punching old ladies.” “Or someone had to punch an old lady this time.” “Why? It’s such a stupid thing to do.” “Sure. But maybe someone needed to do it.” “Well this incident was in the suicide video and...” “Keep going.” “Holy shit. What if my victim was suicidal and sent this video to her husband back then. And now...” Sara looked at her companion, shocked. “Well done young lady.” He looked at the train coming down the tracks. “My train is here. You can keep my heart for now. If you ever need me, just feel real hard.” He left Sara shocked at the station and took in a deep breath. Surprise and happiness. It had been a long time since he had felt that.
	[WP] “ DOGGY! “ the little girl shouts, however you are no dog— but an awakened ancient beast, and this girl is your new master.	As my eyes opened and took their first look at the world I saw her. My new Master. Raven hair. Check. An ever so subtle look of evil hidden in her steely grey eyes. Check. A small threadbare teddy bear tucked under her arm. What? I stood up, stretched my legs and just to show my ferocious fangs, that had lain waste to many a warrior over untold aeons, growled. The noise that emanated from my mouth was more of a “Eeeoooow” than what I was accustomed to. Master turned away from me and shouted to someone. “Mommy! Doggy!” She said. A very large person came into my view. Extremely large. Far larger than Master. A Giant! We had those in one of my previous lives as The Hellbeast Hathagor of Hestia. They were always fun to fight beside. The way they could pick whole carts full of people and smash them into walls always made me howl triumphantly whilst I went about snapping necks, ripping out throats and tossing humans aside with ease with my huge fangs. “What the Dickens… Oh my. The poor little thing must have been separated from its mother. We’ll take it into the house to keep it from getting hurt until we can find its family. Come along Poppy.” Said The Giant, picking me up and tucking me into a warm woollen overgarment. I was wrapped up so tightly in the folds of the Giant’s clothing that sounds were muffled and dull and I couldn’t really make out what my new master was saying to whoever the giant was. Perhaps The Giant was my Master’s personal protection in her empire. Well, that could be fun. There really isn’t a feeling like the one you get rampaging across the battlefield with a giant at your side. I looked forwards to the first time we took to the field. Our enemies would know the fear felt by many thousands of foes. After a time, The Giant reached their hand into the fold of clothing where I was idly daydreaming about the coppery taste of blood in my mouth and plopped me unceremoniously onto a cushion that had “Home is where the heart is.” written across it. A large wood burning stove was filling the room with the smells of cooking and heat. A bowl of milk was placed in front of me and I lapped at it eagerly. It was not the milk I was accustomed to in my previous incarnations. It had no cream and tasted more like water with white in it. No matter. It was sustenance and I have learned that when you can eat, eat. Master came to sit beside me. “Can we keep her?” asked Master. “I don’t know Poppy. We’ll have to ask around to find out if anyone has lost her.” Said The Giant, lifting the now empty bowl and pulling a blanket over me. Later, after I had slept for a few hours, another Giant came into the place where I was lying dreaming of the crunch of bone in my mouth and the screams of the dying in my ears. This Giant was a male. I could tell by his magnificent beard. It was long and thick, and he was wearing a helmet and armour. His elbows and shoulders bulged where protective shields were sewn into the fabric of his jacket and his helmet was covered in warpaint. “Don’t you go putting your bloody motorcycle gear down in my kitchen… Put it in the garage.” Said the female Giant. The male Giant grumbled something under his breath and went to do what the female Giant had told him. Interesting. This must be a female lead Kingdom. A Queendom. My master was nowhere to be seen so I let out a call that in normal circumstances would have made soldiers within 5 miles shake in their boots. “Oh my days… Listen to her little howl Dan.” Said the female, as the male Giant strode into the room looking a lot less threatening than he did with his armour on. “Awoooo?” I thought. Awoooo is not a sound I have ever made before. I made ferocious Growls that would make grown men weep with fear. And soil their trousers. I think something has went wrong with the summoning ritual this time. Come to think, where’s the High Priest? He’s usually the first face I see when I am brought into existence. I began thinking of the previous times I had been summoned. There were candles. Big ones. They were always amazingly drippy with wax rivulets running down. Long drapes made of velvet would be hanging from the walls as the High Priest did the summoning ritual. Long, complicated verses would be spoken by the High Priest and a woman dressed head to toe in a white silk gown would place the entrails of some small bird into a crudely drawn chalk shape in chalk on an altar. This time there had been none of the usual regalia. Plus, I was always fed the entrails. That was the best bit! As I pondered how I had come to be in this place the male Giant loomed over me and gave my ears a ruffle. “How dare this man touch me! I shall make sure he doesn’t think I can be roughed up by the like of him!” was the thought in my head as I opened my jaws wide. “Feel the wrath of The Hellbeast Hathagor of Hestia mere mortal!” I cried. “Soon your blood will flow like a river and you shall perish!” I sprung upon him and began attacking him ferociously. My teeth sank into tough skin and I could feel him trying to pull his giant foot from my grip. I summoned all the rage of my hellhound ancestors and shook my head. The fury I unleashed would have tossed a normal human forty or fifty meters but to the giant man it was barely enough to hurt him. I rocked back on my haunches, to allow a leaping attack if the opportunity to rip his throat out arose and barked at him to let him know what kind of trouble he had started. “Look at ‘er. Can barely jump high enough to get me knee.” Said the man, obviously rocked to the core at my ferocity. I continued my attack for at least at long enough that the giant would know never to mess with me again and proudly walked back to my cushion. That’ll teach him. I don’t understand what the giants are talking about as they are far too tall for me to make out clearly and I’m not fluent in human. Sure I know some words and can sometimes keep up with a human when they talk. After a while though it all sounds a bit blaahh wahh wahh wannasweetie blahaa whohahgetthestickblahh to be honest. The male is obviously a great warrior though as he keeps saying a word I recognise, Triumph, and speaking about all the Bhoi raceurs he blew to bits on the A46. I slept again. By the time I awoke the sun had set and I was in a different room. I had obviously been carried by one of the giants upon the request of my master as she was next to me. I looked up and admired her throne. It was a fine throne. Handcrafted and just the right height for someone of her standing in life it had a chandelier of some kind attached to its side that spun gently just above her head. The room I was in had a long wooden table similar in looks to the one Shadong had in the Great Hall of Stomorolitania but made for Giants. My owner, who is obviously the Queen of this world, sat in her High Chair and waved her hands. The Giant woman brought food to my Master and served it. My Master occasionally dropped bits of food for me when the giants weren’t watching. I knew I was welcomed by her and that I should protect her with my life should anyone attempt to hurt her or overthrow her from her throne. It is my duty to serve my Master. I am feared upon the battlefield. I am known throughout time by my growl. I am the hellhound formerly known as The Hellbeast Hathagor of Hestia. I am Bichon Frise, of the Hipster clan.	At last, I have awoken. After centuries of slumber I shall rule this pitiful world. Things may be difficult with a young girl as my master but I am able to bend her to my will and- -Hold on is she... petting me? This is nice. Really nice! I hope she doesn’t stop. Anyway, I shall rule this pitiful- OHHH YEAH! Right behind the ears! That’s the best spot. Ohh yes, I love this SO much. What was I going to do? I think I wanted to rule something but I can’t quite remember... OOH tummy tickle time! You know, long term desires are boring. I’m just going to focus on the pets and pats that are happening now.
	[WP]In this town, amongst the heroes, villains, monsters, angels, and everything in between, there is only one place considered truly neutral, where all factions can meet and relieve tensions. It’s a tiny little bar, under a bridge, owned and operated by a singular sweet old man.	The bar was unassuming, tucked out of the way of the humdrum and bustle of the city. If it weren't for its reputation, it would likely be home only to stray dogs and the homeless, abandoned decades ago. Nobody, even the patrons who were immortals, could say exactly how long it had been there. The sole proprietor of the bar was an old man who flashed every new face a toothy grin, whether they were hero, villain, monster, or any kind of supernatural being looking for a reprive. The Bartender didn't care. So long as you paid for your drinks and caused no trouble, you were welcome. He stopped wiping down the bar for a moment, peering over his spectacles as another strange individual approached. "What can I get you, young man? You look like you're in need of something strong." He flashed his trademark smile. The gangly man looked at the Bartender through sunken eyes, his black costume ill-fitting his frame as he stammered a nervous request: "J-just w-water, please." The newcomer looked gaunt, almost emaciated. He'd clearly been through an ordeal. Judging by the getup; a prospective villain, but one who lacked the confidence to do his job well. "What's your name, son?" Every good story needed a villain worth his mettle. Something to really test a hero. The bar wasn't the sort of place for those kinds of battles, but sometimes the owner would give things a slight nudge to ease things along. "R-Robert Reaver" the villain stammered. "No, no no! I'm not talking about your real name! What's your name? What do you yell out as you arrive to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies, or cry out in triumph as you flee the scene?" The old man seemed energetic now, animated and exasperated by this callow young man perched at the bar. It was almost infectious. "Erm, well... I've not really given it much thought -" He barely had time to finish before the Bartender retorted, moustachioed face leaning in as if speaking into Robert's soul. "Well give it a little confidence. You know what you're about. A villain doesn't stammer or stutter, he demands. Tell me what your name is!" "I - I'm the Reaver! Lord of shadows and darkness!" "Louder, son, I can't hear you clearly." "I am The Reaver, Lord of shadows and darkness! The souls of the innocent and the damned are all mine for the taking!" the villain's voice now boomed, the old man's words practically injecting energy into him. "That's more like it! You'll make a great villain yet, I'm sure of it." The Reaver looked more lively now. True, his skin was still pallid, features still sunken. But his eyes had a spark about them. His black cloak hung limply about him, but his posture beneath projected a little strength. "You still want that water, Reaver?" The Bartender was peering at him keenly. "No." the villain replied, voice now steady. "Whiskey. Make it a strong one." The old man dutifully fetched the drink, pouring it carefully into the glass before a black-gloved hand snatched it up. Barely a moment later, it slammed back down, now empty. "Thanks for the drink, mister..." "Oh, my name doesn't really matter. I'm just an old man pouring drinks for super-folks like yourself." The Reaver set his change down on the counter, before smiling gratefully at the Bartender, heading off into the night. He wasn't much of a villain yet, but he would be. And the first thing he'd do after robbing that bank would be spending it on a round of drinks at that little unassuming bar beneath a bridge downtown: the Excelsior.	The door did not creak open - it was used much too often for that. Instead, there was a bleat of pain - a young satyr had fallen asleep in a chair near the door, and Foley had accidentally cracked him across the knees with it. While his partner apologized profusely to the satyr, Foley surveyed the Gradient. It was even smaller than he expected, with only four stools at the bar and four booths to the sides, all of which were occupied by various tourists and students writing final papers. Gray's Gradient was notorious among denizens of the city's underground - a truly neutral meeting area where violence wasn't tolerated. A place where the magic happened, where the Dancing Devils and Iron Angels made their pact, where the doppelgangers first entered the world, where Capo Jazirian held all his meetings. For such a famous place, Foley was disappointed. He went up to the bartender - an older, darker-skinned human, face wrinkled with prominent smile lines, and wearing a cozy-looking sweater with the number "40" embroidered near the left shoulder. "Excuse me, sir." The man gave a vacant smile as he looked up. He was smiling. Foley suppressed a grimace as he gazed upon the withered visage. He never saw the beauty in the ancient, missing the irony of that sentiment when gazing on his own weathered features. "I have an appointment with a Magister Blankenship." The man motioned toward a door to the side. Frowning, Foley stepped in, followed shortly by Anne. As he did, he saw the same bar, but the booths were occupied by different people. The old man smiled at him from behind the counter. Foley saw that the number "16" was embroidered upon his shoulder. While Anne gawked at the change of scenery, Foley's eyes were attracted, almost magnetically, to several individuals sharing a booth in the corner. The first was a construct, a creature of iron and steel, sitting stoically, with a coffee in hand, and the other hand holding onto the creature next to him. The second was a feminine-looking forest elemental of enormous stature, feir leaves touching the ceiling, and a few woodland animals curled up in feisz branches. The last was Magister Blankenship himself, twirling a pistol in his hand as easily as if it were a baton. As Foley sat down, his keen eyesight assured him that the pistol was left unloaded. Probably. Blankenship gave him a split-toothed grin, while the two other magical creatures looked at him curiously." "Karfur, Yggdrana, this is Signior Foley. He's from the Family." Yggdrana, the elemental, stiffened noticeably. Karfur did not, but Foley heard something in their brain begin to whirr intensely. "Don't worry, he's just here to make sure I don't get hurt." Blankenship's grin grew wider. "Now, who's ready to get married?"
	[WP] Babies are hatched from eggs. The more the egg grows, the more developed the baby is. There have been reports of toddlers hatching. You have an egg, but it doesn’t hatch. It just keeps growing. It’s the size of a small adult. One day, it cracks.	"I just...sometimes feel like a shell of my former self." Dwayne stared across the table at the pontificating, self-pitying C-list celebrity. He looked tired, wearing a trendy jumpsuit, sunglasses and a woolen beanie that covered his eloquently disheveled golden locks. The sunglasses covered droopy eyes suffering from lack from sleep, resting on a perfect nose and a chiseled jaw adorned in rugged scruff. He adjusted himself shamelessly and scooted closer in his booster seat. Dwayne sipped his coffee patiently listening to his friend's daily venting session. He was known as Eggboy far and wide, but Dwayne called him Eddie. Dwayne had been there the on the day Eddie finally crawled out of his shell, leaping from his speckled egg and into the hearts of television viewers across the globe. After all, it was not everyday that a three and a half-foot dreamboat hatches from a precocious egg. Eddie's family, the Davis family, a wealthy family of old money had often hired Dwayne for his many talents, this time utilizing the tall, daunting ex-Marine to intimidate the paparazzi. It was quite the event, as the mysterious living egg of twenty-five years was finally about to hatch. No one expected what came next, and no one expected that Eggboy was going to take the world by storm. "Okay, that one was kind of funny." replied Dwayne. "Thanks but my whole life can't just be egg puns," Eddie sighed. "I was naive. I thought I was a heartthrob -- I didn't realize I was just some big joke. Or rather, I should say..." "Don't say it, Eddie." Eddie lowered his sunglasses and looked at Dwayne dead in the eye. He put on his best puppy dog face and batted his long eyelashes. "A little yolk." There it was. His catchphrase from the hit show Scrambled, not Fried. A half-hour sitcom that starred America's beloved Eggboy as a struggling actor trying to make it big in New York City. The main appeal of the show were the angles it was shot in, portraying Eddie as a 6 foot stud, even though he commonly referred to himself as a little yolk. It was painfully self-aware and satirically insulting. Some would say it was just plain insulting. Unsurprisingly, the world grew tired of it after three seasons. Television critics still scratch their head, wondering how it even made it that far. Turns out three seasons were all the Davis family needed to generate millions in branding and merchandising. Eddie had only been in this world for three and a half years and he has always enjoyed a life of luxury. The egg had been on display for twenty years, as after five years of not hatching it had become a natural phenomenon. It is still unknown how the newly-hatched Eggboy spoke English fluently, learning to walk and run in mere minutes. The Davis family claims it's because they hired tutors and played Mozart for the egg while the museum was closed. Twitter thought the situation was hilarious regardless, which launched Eddie's career. "Look Eddie, I'm going to be real with you. You know I always give it to you straight. It's time you man up. It's time you put Eggboy behind you and step into the shoes of Eggman." Eddie perked up, hearing Dwayne's motivation. "You'll remain a little yolk if you keep calling yourself a little yolk. You should be calling yourself what you actually are: a miracle." "Funny you say that," Eddie said, reflecting on a memory while he stared into his venti frappuccino. "When I dream, I sometimes hear a muffled conversation. They call me a miracle, that I saved them from losing it all." Dwayne honestly did not know how to respond. He shrugged and said, "Well, there you go." "Anyway, I actually have an audition I have to get to," said Eddie, "It's for one of those high-school vampire dramas." The two parted ways as Dwayne wished him luck on his audition. As he walked in the opposite direction of his friend, he let his mind wander until he saw a blue Jeep across the street. He used to own one just like that, and reminisced about his once favorite car. His mind took him back to the last time he drove that car. He had been delivering heavy wooden crates for Mr. Davis, before the egg had even been laid. Dwayne was tasked with picking up the boxes from an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was dark and not a soul was around, just the boxes laying exactly where Mr. Davis said they would be. One by one he loaded them into his Jeep, each one heavier than the last. They were delivered to the Davis property, where he brought the crates downstairs into the bomb shelter. It was the only time Dwayne had been down there, and thought it odd when Mr. Davis asked him a simple question: "Were you followed?" Dwayne put his mind at ease, calmly replying that he was definitely not followed. In fact, he didn't even realize he was in a situation where he might actually have been followed. But Dwayne forgot all about the specifics when Mr. Davis offered him double the price he paid for his Jeep. Said he had always admired it, and wanted one just like it. Dwayne went to refuse, but Mr. Davis had a way about him where it was difficult to say no, and Dwayne definitely could not have said no after Mr. Davis offered him an advancement. They finished up, and Dwayne bid him farewell, saying he hoped to work again for the family soon. He never thought of Mr. Davis' parting words as odd until now. "Who knows when opportunity will hatch?"	Chapter 1: I, a bird, was 999 years old when my egg hatched. Not many know that the bigger your egg grows, the more developed the baby is. You wouldn't believe it but there have been reports of teenagers hatching! This was all rare news to hear though, it was as uncommon as the knowledge that babies hatch from eggs is common. I never thought that Rooster Featherfluff of all chickens would encounter the scenario of an egg never hatching until it was as tall as he small adult, but he encountered that scenario. I'm Rooster Featherfluff, and my son has just ran away from me. Why and how is he not a baby but somehow a young adult, and why is he fleeing the scene?! ... That's just a start. Please give feedback and criticism.
	[WP] Babies are hatched from eggs. The more the egg grows, the more developed the baby is. There have been reports of toddlers hatching. You have an egg, but it doesn’t hatch. It just keeps growing. It’s the size of a small adult. One day, it cracks.	It takes time and patience, to grow an egg. Setting up a nesting box in your house, though at least with the invention of heating lamps one didn't need to sit on it all day, every day, waiting for it to hatch. It takes patience. Most eggs, at least human eggs, are hatched in about nine months. It varies, sometimes it's eight, sometimes it's ten. But the longer it takes for the egg to hatch, the more developed the hatched child becomes. Hatching toddlers is rare, but it happens. The child comes out and knows basic stuff like walking, talking sometimes too if the parents speak to the child in the egg daily. A few eggs, very very few, just sits there for years and years. The longest time was seven years and was a certified genius, he graduated college as an astrophysicist some ten years after he was hatched. But there is a secret. And it is mine. I am Clara Hawthorne. I come from a small town in Idaho. When I younger, barely nineteen, I fell in love with a kind and gentle man my own age. We bonded over our shared loved of science, books, vintage science fiction, and odd music. We went to the same college, and we dated for two years. Same class, same study group, we both studied genetics, and we were the highly efficient nerdy couple who knew everything. A bit of a cliche, but we liked each other. Of course, all stories, no matter how happy, comes to an end. And the ending was abrupt. The man I loved was taken from me. He had found out that one of the other students had been taking lab equipment, and after reporting it, was shot. The student he had discovered, was in the middle of dropping out to make meth, even though he wasn't exactly a star chemist. He got life on the inside, and was shiv'ed by a guy three weeks in. After I had attended the funeral, I went home, and that night I had contractions. I thought it was just the regular laying of an unfertilised egg, but as it took longer and it started to hurt, I suddenly felt horrible dread. Condoms are only 98% proof after all. And I knew I was laying the egg containing the child of the man I loved. I had a private dormroom, but my screams managed to wake some of my neighbours, who quickly fetched a heater for me. I took off some days to set up a safe nest, and had my parents pick up the egg so it could be in a safe environment, until school ended. I graduated with my masters in genetics, and I went back home to see the egg. And while I looked for work, it grew and grew, as the child absorbed heat and light to become fully formed. That was 21 years ago. Some eggs die if they go on for too long. But I've since gotten a lot of equipment to monitor it. And there is still a heartbeat. I've played virtual learning to the egg when I'm away, let it listen to audiobooks about science and philosophy, talked to it every day. It hasn't cracked, only grown with the light and the heat. I worked to make the world better for the child within that egg, and yet it wouldn't hatch. Not until it was the right time. I never knew when that was. I've longed to see the face of my child, to hear that child of mine speak to me, to see the world around us, for so long. So when the alarm went off, that there was movement inside the egg, I dropped everything. I left work without a word. I went home, to see it happen. And when I entered the basement, I saw the crack in the shell. I saw a great big hand, ripping open the egg from the inside. And out walked a man. My son. His hair waving, long, and black. His skin mocha, and his eyes gleaming with intelligence. He looked like his long dead father, but different. On my love, the features had been at best interesting, but on this boy, it worked. He had muscles, a huge body, built not for the narcissist ideal of bodybuilding, but for useful strength. His chin was perfect, his nose stately and aquiline. He was tall too, as he stood up to his full height, my love had been tall too, but he had been a beanstalk, not a demigod. I handed him towels, to dry himself with, and cover himself with. Once he had dried himself off, the first thing he did, was to embrace me. His old mother, who for years had cared for him, waited for him. ''Mother. The time has come. I am hatched, at long last.'' His voice was the strong tone of command, like a general or a king. I merely nodded to him. He took his first real steps, and walked with perfect dignity to the backyard. The sun reached him, and it clearly made him happy to be there. He turned to me, and sat down so he could look at me without having to bend his neck. ''Mother. I am not like any other child on this world. You have arranged for me to learn before my hatching, and for that I thank you. I have the words and wisdom of thousands of generations before me, and I will put it to good use.'' I knew. But that wasn't important. Not now. I prepared him some simple food, and sat with him in the afternoon sun, listening to him, talking of his plans, of how to save the world, of the great future of mankind in the stars, and how he was what all the future could potentially be like, the first of the future. He spoke of the new world to come, and how all would be free, and of worlds with no hunger, no famine, and no fear. His immense psychic power reaching my mind to show me what he spoke of, and his grand hopes, made me so proud. My son, long awaited, was going to save the world.	Chapter 1: I, a bird, was 999 years old when my egg hatched. Not many know that the bigger your egg grows, the more developed the baby is. You wouldn't believe it but there have been reports of teenagers hatching! This was all rare news to hear though, it was as uncommon as the knowledge that babies hatch from eggs is common. I never thought that Rooster Featherfluff of all chickens would encounter the scenario of an egg never hatching until it was as tall as he small adult, but he encountered that scenario. I'm Rooster Featherfluff, and my son has just ran away from me. Why and how is he not a baby but somehow a young adult, and why is he fleeing the scene?! ... That's just a start. Please give feedback and criticism.
	[WP] All children are born with special powers and placed into different social classes based on their abilities. The top 1% is nearly untouchable and enslaves the rest of society. The lower classes unite to stop them and a war is raged. You’re born with powers that can tilt the tide either way.	At the bottom there’s Commoners. They were born without powers. Sterile, in a sense. They usually work simple jobs – farming or shop keeping. About half the population are Commoners. Next come Mythics. They have minor powers, such as turning invisible for a short period or being stronger than ten Commoners put together. Although they’re imbued with power, they tend to work similar jobs as Commoners. Occasionally a particularly talented Mythic treads the line between Mythic and something greater, but most lump them in with the Commoners. They make up about a third of the population. The Immortals make up the next major chunk of people. Despite their name they’re not actually immortal – I’m not entirely sure who named them. They have major powers such as teleportation and the ability to create something from nothing. A handful of Immortals would be able to take on a few thousand Mythics or Commmoners. The remaining one percent of the population are the Oracles. With one wave of their hand an Oracle can level a mountain. They control society and the rest of the people can’t do anything about it. It’s rumored that a Commoner would lose their mind if they saw one up close. Up until last month the world was content living under the Oracles’ rule, but one of them did the unforgivable – they killed the princess. Everyone knew who did it, but nothing happened to him. The Oracles said they had an internal meeting and found him not guilty. Bullshit. They just know they can do whatever they want and nobody can stop them. A few Oracles sided with the rest of the lesser peoples, but it’s known the Oracles have one rule: do not fight other Oracles. The world would be destroyed, so they refrained from doing anything. This sent everyone – the Immortals, Mythics, and Commoners – into a rage. Despite having doubts that they could take down even one Oracle everyone revolted anyways. Towns became graveyards as people tried to overthrow their masters. Everyone thought there was power in numbers. That if they could take even just one on that that would ignite the revolution, but it never happened. Oracles just slaughtered people left and right. Normally, I wouldn’t intervene in something like this, but somebody close to me died recently despite my telling her not to join the fray, so I’m a little annoyed. All the warfare is incredibly loud and the smell has been polluting the air near me as well. It’s time this all came to an end. The Oracles think they’re on top of the food-chain, and I don’t blame them. That’s what they were taught and what everyone believes. But, unfortunately for them, people like me exist. Babies who were deemed Commoners at birth despite having godly powers. I was so strong that the devices used to measure power levels at birth couldn’t get a reading on me. The doctors decided that meant I had nothing, but they were wrong. I got up and went into my kitchen. I sharpened an ordinary knife, because that’s all I would need. I figured I should bring the sharpener as well, since this would take a while. I went outside and there were fireballs roaring across the sky. People were screaming and I think I saw someone riding the skeleton of a reanimated horse. It was all so loud and all so annoying. Sigh. Unbelievable that I’m the one who has to do this. I snapped my fingers and everything stopped. Arrows froze in the air, people mid-sprint couldn’t move, and everything was silent. Not even the planets dared to revolve around the sun. The only thing that moved now were my feet treading across the grassy plain. Time to get to work.	Quirks and abilities proved their worth ever since they have been proven non-anomalous. Powers became widespread, and it certainly did shock the world as the tides of war were not decided by the technology, firepower and numbers, rather than the ability to terraform land masses, burns thousands of troops with a single swipe, turn the battlefield into a goddamned lake. It wasn't a war won by technology, strategy and firepower, no. It was a war won by the power of those quirks. The elementary powers can be divided into classes, as does the sub elementary as well as the biologically enhanced. The best of the Invisibilia became spies and patrollers, the strongest Viribus became tools of manual labor, Haemoverso became surgeons and doctors, and many more. Those who dominated the battle field were known as the Unnatural Platoon back then. An experimental army that proved it's worth and power making the locals redraw their maps after every battle ensued. They took down countries, and soon the took down their own. Four of them were Elementum. Six were Sub. Five were Biologia, and three were Medicum. They ruled all parts of the world. And the world bowed down to their supreme power, world peace at last. But arrogance grew, and many ruled their worlds in tyranny. They reformed society, all under the same laws, and under same procedures. Quirks soon appeared all over the world, but none couldn't be stronger than the First Generation. Their tyranny ruled for 30 years. Ten years ago, a revolution broke, and many roses up. Together, the masses defeated the First Viribus, and drove away the First Invisibilia, who soon fled to his allies. I was born twenty years after the Unnatural Uprising, naming the first battle of the revolution with the name they hated the most. The country had just celebrated their 30th anniversary, and it was also the same time my quirk first appeared. Well not 'quirk', but 'quirks'. It was already rare for a Duo Wielder, even so their powers were weak. Stronger Duo can wield abilities up to the Third Class, which were lower than an average Quirk. They said that I was a "Quadra", another class of its own. Not only that, my abilities aren't diminished despite my body needing to sustain four quirks. I remember the white lights and the machines they out me into. It was scary. It was dark, I was scared, and I was frightened. My mother was there for me, she was outside the machine. I couldn't see her, but I can hear her. I couldn't remember the details, but they said I broke a million dollar machine with just a slight gesture. It took three days just to measure what my abilities are, and other three to measure their capabilities. One Elemental, one Sub, one Medicum and one monstruosus, a newly established class. Oh they were indeed afraid of me, very afraid. I remember then asking mother and father to take me away to another place. I hid behind mother as father argued with the Examiner. I was scared again, but mother comforted me, and took me outside to play. They had a beautiful flower garden, and the Sentinel sat on the city wall, it was very big. I remember wanting to pilot a Sentinel one day. But then there were mean people. They tried taking me into a black car. They blocked mother and father as I was scared. I was crying. I want them to stop. Five people were confirmed brain dead that day, and they didn't try to take me away from mother and father anymore. I remember the doctor telling me that I am unique, and that I must learn how to control my abilities. Ten years passed by, just like that. I learned what my monstrous ability was, given. You know. Tests? It wasn't much, I got into a fight. I got to test what it was, at least. So tempting to just slow down their blood so they can just chill, but curiosity got the better of me. Turns out it was a class called Chaos, I can control the tide and the intensity of Chaos. Needless to say, no one got injured. I think. No physical damage but they're still lying on the hospital bed, Dotor Vilonheim told me that the ability might cause mental scars. Peace didn't last long, of course. The Tyrants launched an invasion attempt themselves, those with quirks, those quirkless, no matter. All dead. Burned till there was nothing less. There was a drafting, and they couldn't decide which division I'm on. I ended up on a mixed course designed specifically for me, by people top of their list. I was a surgeon, you see. The Medicum ability proved useful in stopping blood, and circulating certain parts to keep organs preserved. But they honed my Elementum and Sub Elementum abilities. One to control water, one controls iron. In short, I'm an Aqua-Ferrion-Haemo-Monstro. There's a lot of pressure, I'll be honest. Since wars are won by powers, and I have four of them, strong ones too. Machines are still used, to boost ones quirk abilities or to infuse powers into droids for war or labour. Tanks are far outdated, even a Fourth class Pyro can easily take it down just by frying the board from outside. Aircrafts are still useful, but nothing one can do when they use a Field Creator, or when an Aquaverso pressurized their water strong enough to withstand bombs, or many more. Either way, technological offense isn't really the way to win. Technological defenses are a must though, Sentinels that guard cities and Cannons that shoots down Destroyer class aircrafts, as well as quirked infantry. The first battle was a bit too fucking easy. Of course I didn't turn it into a big lake, but it was still a lake. They were defenseless when I melted their machines, and the Monstruosus ability definitely proved it's efficiency when I boosted my troops morale. There were definitely some losses, but nothing I can do with the ability to control blood. After all those are for the Healers to do, regenerating tissues rather than stopping blood. Though I have to admit that Pyro was one hell of a fight, he was the general of that army, his flames were hot enough to vaporize my water and melt my steel. If this was the work of a general, what would be the ability of the Real Deal? The first Pyro? Damn I admire those people so much. He was defeated with combined efforts of the Aquaverso division and the Terra division. In short we buried him alive. Cruel way to die, but we had to be secure and bury him deeper. Couldn't risk for a Necromancer to resurect him, or an Absorber to take his powers. I really wish our country could have more of those Monstro people, really. The battle continues on and on, im really excited to see one of the Tyrants on battle, but until then, I can only just wait, and fling my hands as the cries of the people instant cease.
	[WP] All children are born with special powers and placed into different social classes based on their abilities. The top 1% is nearly untouchable and enslaves the rest of society. The lower classes unite to stop them and a war is raged. You’re born with powers that can tilt the tide either way.	At the bottom there’s Commoners. They were born without powers. Sterile, in a sense. They usually work simple jobs – farming or shop keeping. About half the population are Commoners. Next come Mythics. They have minor powers, such as turning invisible for a short period or being stronger than ten Commoners put together. Although they’re imbued with power, they tend to work similar jobs as Commoners. Occasionally a particularly talented Mythic treads the line between Mythic and something greater, but most lump them in with the Commoners. They make up about a third of the population. The Immortals make up the next major chunk of people. Despite their name they’re not actually immortal – I’m not entirely sure who named them. They have major powers such as teleportation and the ability to create something from nothing. A handful of Immortals would be able to take on a few thousand Mythics or Commmoners. The remaining one percent of the population are the Oracles. With one wave of their hand an Oracle can level a mountain. They control society and the rest of the people can’t do anything about it. It’s rumored that a Commoner would lose their mind if they saw one up close. Up until last month the world was content living under the Oracles’ rule, but one of them did the unforgivable – they killed the princess. Everyone knew who did it, but nothing happened to him. The Oracles said they had an internal meeting and found him not guilty. Bullshit. They just know they can do whatever they want and nobody can stop them. A few Oracles sided with the rest of the lesser peoples, but it’s known the Oracles have one rule: do not fight other Oracles. The world would be destroyed, so they refrained from doing anything. This sent everyone – the Immortals, Mythics, and Commoners – into a rage. Despite having doubts that they could take down even one Oracle everyone revolted anyways. Towns became graveyards as people tried to overthrow their masters. Everyone thought there was power in numbers. That if they could take even just one on that that would ignite the revolution, but it never happened. Oracles just slaughtered people left and right. Normally, I wouldn’t intervene in something like this, but somebody close to me died recently despite my telling her not to join the fray, so I’m a little annoyed. All the warfare is incredibly loud and the smell has been polluting the air near me as well. It’s time this all came to an end. The Oracles think they’re on top of the food-chain, and I don’t blame them. That’s what they were taught and what everyone believes. But, unfortunately for them, people like me exist. Babies who were deemed Commoners at birth despite having godly powers. I was so strong that the devices used to measure power levels at birth couldn’t get a reading on me. The doctors decided that meant I had nothing, but they were wrong. I got up and went into my kitchen. I sharpened an ordinary knife, because that’s all I would need. I figured I should bring the sharpener as well, since this would take a while. I went outside and there were fireballs roaring across the sky. People were screaming and I think I saw someone riding the skeleton of a reanimated horse. It was all so loud and all so annoying. Sigh. Unbelievable that I’m the one who has to do this. I snapped my fingers and everything stopped. Arrows froze in the air, people mid-sprint couldn’t move, and everything was silent. Not even the planets dared to revolve around the sun. The only thing that moved now were my feet treading across the grassy plain. Time to get to work.	The world is unfair, and a world like that is bound to be fought against. In this cruel world, our genetics decide where our lives are headed. Should they be in the 99'th percentile in any of the five categories of power, they'd rule the worlds as Gods, sitting above the rest for the rest can't even touch them. They call themselves "The Sun's", with the rationale that they were too bright to even look at. The rest of us went along; what else could we do? The 90'th percentile are good enough to work, but they know they can't compete against The Sun's without help from each other or mutation, so they're forced to work for salaries good, but not good enough to feed a family. The Sun's thought this fair, and so they agreed. They were deemed "Paladins." Everyone else at or above average was forced to work as slaves. They weren't even considered human; they could work, or die on the spot. The combined forces of them just had enough power to be labeled as the batteries, although the sun's had a habit of calling them dirt. And the ones less than dirt? well, let's just say no-one's ever seen them. I, well, I was gifted with what they assumed to be pyrokinesis. I was placed into the Paladins, for I had the potential to be a Sun, but my parents were gone. This meant, by society's standards, that they were less than dirt, and that was the reputation I inherited. I had a power good enough to be a Sun, but I had the genetics of those less than dirt. This world, where nothing but power is valued, where nothing but the animosity is bred, will be torn down by my hands. I will rip those suns smiling at the top and show them to a place lower than dirt. It is I that was gifted with electromagnetism, and it is I that will slay those gifted with their own goddamn powers. Because in this world of injustice, the weak are bound to fight back. \-- The way I wrote this kinda requires a part 2 so I should be back. This is just the setup.
	[WP] You’re an NPC that somehow gained sentience. You’re also aware of how often the protagonist has to reload from save files, due to them dying so frequently. Quite frankly, you’re tired of it, so it becomes your mission to train them so your days won’t have to keep repeating on an endless loop.	"Move out of the way, foul beast!" I cracked open one eye, focusing on the sound below me. Sure enough, it's the "hero", trying to pass through the woods - and, not coincidentally, me. So, I'm a dragon. Big, green, scaily, and currently lounging accross the only pass between the "New Township" and the "Old City". I'm pretty much the first major hurdle new players have to get around in this game, and it's not that bad of a job. I'm the biggest thing around, I get the whole forest to myself, and I don't even "die" when I'm beaten. The fight is scripted, I just have to run away once the "hero" fulfills certain conditions. "If you won't move by choice, then I will move you by force!" ...Which this guy just doesn't seem to get. If the hero tries to fight me too early, he get's stomped. Now, normally, I'm not a fan of ad-libing, but this is, what, the sixth time? "Have at thee, then!" Yeah, this guy needs a hint. "How exactly are you supposed to kill me?" "...What?" "My defense sta- I mean, my scales and claws are harder than steel, and you're using basic bronze. Did you even visit the metalsmith outside of the southern mines?" "...uh, no. I didn't know there was a mine-" "Not surprising, the Mythril Mines have been closed ever since the cave-in and subsequent haunting. Broke the old smith's heart, it did. The ghosts would need to be cleared out before he could return to his work, I imagine." I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Uh, I'm a swordsman, I think I'd need magic to take on a ghost-" "Or at least a priest to exocise them. Isn't there a priest or two in town? I think even the old man's daughter is studying healing magic there, right?" "...rrrright. um, I'll, I'll go take care of that." "See that you do. In the meantime, I'm gonna nap." The "hero" turned, and slowly started heading back to town. I settled back down to rest. He'd be back soon enough, but I could still get some shuteye before then. "Kids these days." I hoped I didn't come off too sour. Later on, I'm supposed to fill in the role of "party's airship", and it would be best if we were on good terms...assuming he stuck around and kept playing.	Sparks danced across my blade as I parried the warrior's weapon sending it across the training yard. His helmet following the lost weapon as I struck my students left temple , sending him sprawling on the ground. "You are distracted by the loss of your weapon while you should be taking advantage." Carefully I flicked the longsword upward into my hands with one foot the steel firmly in my chain gloves grip. "A battle is never truly lost till you admit defeat though you have improved greatly." Carefully I extended the handle of the weapon outward in a mordhau grip, the hero taking back the weapon. Slowly entering a position of attention with the weapon leaning on the hero's shoulder pauldron. A single mitted hand removing the helmet, the young man's face red and breathing far too heavily as he regained his stamina. "Thank you for your time guardsman . Do you have a name?" . Slowly I racked the pair of training weapons on the outskirts of the sandy pit glancing backward. "The name is Silas. I have protected this town my entire life, all of it I can remember anyway." My eyes passing over the young man with some level of disdain as I locked the chest. "Though what I am more concerned with is you hero" the word practically leaking with venom as I re-secured my equipment. "You know how hard it is to try and train a fresh batch of recruits when they don't remember even the first day of training." "I don't see where you are going with this." Slowly I walked over to the far side of the arena practically dragging the adventure behind. His instinctual resistance giving way as I motioned to the group of militia exiting the armory's doorsteps. "I know what you are vaguely I remember every time destroyed with each death of yours." . Slowly some semblance of fear spread across the cretins, face his hand on the dagger at his hip. "How" "I do not know but do not take my actions as a charity stranger, if I didn't have to live each day one hundred fold I would not teach you let alone speak in your presence." Quickly I released my grip on the hero still in stunned silence as I walked across the field away from that walking disaster. The heavy burden on my chest lifting as I stepped out of the training yard the streets flooded with traders, farmers and locals. Time suddenly freezing the endless march silenced along with the birds flying overhead. A brilliant flash of light passing from the distant horizon as all of reality vanished, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as I rested on my spear. The formerly crowded streets now only catering to scattered groups passing below my station on the bridge above. The distant castle of lord frederick standing high behind the secondary walls patrols patrolling the wall putting out their lit torches. Every single bone in my body shivering in anger as I stepped up onto the lip of the bridge my foot slipping off the edge. . Seemingly only seconds passing before I was once again watching the distant sunrise leaning on my spear the hatred yet lingering.
	[WP] In a world where everyone has superpowers you are disappointed to have basic abilities. One day you discover that you have a long lost twin who was separated from you at birth. The reason is your powers get much stronger and dangerous the closer you are to each other.	I could control frequencies. It’s a pretty useful power, to be honest. But I can’t really detect the smaller or noisier stuff. A pure water wave? Sure, I could keep the wave going in a pond for a couple hours. A radio wave? With a big enough antenna, maybe. But I can’t transmit any information at a reasonable pace. I took a job as a test technician. I could resonate structures at certain frequencies, and roughly get an idea of whether or not stuff will break. Today, we got a new employee. And the buzzing in my head won’t stop. Something was wrong. I went to the local doctor at lunch, and he told me that it was likely resonance. I put it off. Of course, powers have mutated before, but that’s earlier in development. And I never showed any signs of it, having a pretty stable ability output that matched my growth. The thoughts swirled around my head amidst the buzzing. And the new employee walked through the door. I sat up, startled. “Hi, I’m the new guy, Dan.” The eyes. The face. Even the height was the same. I was staring into a mirror. And a few eyes darted between the two of us, looking for a reaction. “Hey Dan...” my voice was shaking a bit. Dan suddenly went pale. Though, he’d seemed like he was already under the weather, meeting me had triggered something. He looks so much like me. Wait a minute. That’s not from within my head. I could hear him! And he stared at me, and rang out the same thought! The speed of information travel grew exponentially. Before the stare down became awkward, the two of us had already exchanged contact information. And during the meeting, without a single word, we found out the terrifying truth. Dan and I were twins. And we resonated. Dan could detect and manipulate amplitudes, the same way I could manipulate frequencies. With a bit of practice, we could manipulate phases and millions of waves at once. The shock of the realization, however, blasted open the office door, as almost a dozen air vibrations suddenly constructively interfered and knocked the door open. It was the first time I’d lost control of powers since childhood. It was exceedingly rare for adults to do so; it’s like forgetting your potty training. We struggled through the rest of the meeting without incident. But after work, we met. Without a word, our thoughts arrived at the same place. The same two places. Villains Local Incorporated and Hero Headquarters. We played Rock Paper Scissors, and Dan headed to the Hero Headquarters while I went straight to the Villains. And this, the legend of the Resonating Nemeses began. A hero, a villain, chosen arbitrarily, to test the limits of their might, and see just how much their powers fed into each other. The days ahead are going to be interesting, we both thought.	"Mom, dad, who is dawn?" The look of surprise on their said so much then anything they could say. Having a super power may sound good to you, but in my world, it is mostly a drag. For example, having a strength of 101% of a basic human (BH), isn't even consider even a power, very much not a super. "How did you..." my father couldn't even finished his question. My mom had a face that no son or daughter should see: a complete guilt and defeat. "Do you remember how powers pass to the children" she asked me. "You mean meta-genetics, the one subject I'm good at? Yea, I remember". Basically, when the power come from one genes, his power would be a combination of his parents, when the dominant gene is reinforcement type power. There a lot more to it, but its doesn't matter here "So what kind of power our power can make" She asked me. "Its power combination and produce" I corrected her. My mother have a reinforcement type power of 143% BH and my father can duplicate stuff. "Well, power duplication of oneself is the most obvious combination, I guess, But how did how is it connected to dawn?!" I asked when is suddenly occurred to me that they trying to changed the subject "Dawn is your twin sister, born 43 second before you" my father started to finally explain to me.. "You both were born with the power to duplicate each other power every set amount of time, the closer you are, the shorter the time is" He took a deep breath and continue "after one 24 hours and 13 minutes together, your breath could brake down walls" he said with a sad smile. "We had to keep you apart, or the Power regulation said they would keep you both apart from each other and us" "Why did you both lied to me?!" I started to sיout. Hoe can they keep this secret so long and now brake i like nothing? "You know what?! I don,t trust you any more. I am going to find here alone". I took my bag an storm out of my FORMER home. &#x200B; Thanks for reading! I tried to focus on world building rather then the story itself. Any note or comment is welcome, but pleas take to mind that English is not my native language
	[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring.	Every company in the King's army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. Always. An arrow hits a soldier from the 52nd company in the leg, and another follows immediately with a thunk to his chest and a final arrow through his right eye and out the skull. The 52nd company bell does not ring. No one noticed at first. The company was in the middle of charging towards the hiding archers. Tarren, the captain of the company was right at the front and he had always said a soldier's work was to deal with the problem lying in front of you. But Keith had watched as the soldier, he remembered his name was Fern, fell to one knee from the first arrow, then lurched first forward then backwards as the other arrows hit in quick succession. As the bell-bearer of the company, he had expected to hear the slow crescendo announcing the death of another soldier. Yet nothing happened even as the man lay on the ground with sightless eyes. He glanced up at the bell he carried, and still silence. If a soldier was injured the bells murmured it's warning and the closer the man was to death the louder it became. Keith looked again in the direction of the company's charge and observed that the enemy had been scattered successfully. He took note and saw that other soldiers had taken wounds too, not all of them light. Yet still, the bell did not ring. He had never heard of a bell failing to ring except in the stories. Bards sang old tales of necromancers stealing the souls of the fallen and cheating the god of death of his due. Not that Keith had ever believed in them. Everyone loved a good story and the more incredulous it was, the more coin the bard earned. Then the body that was Fern jerked back up awkwardly arrows and all, like a marionette controlled by an invisible puppeteer, and stared straight at Keith with his sightless eyes. This was not good. Not good at all.	Bells tolled around you. It was the final battle. The Nether had crossed into the overworld, and all of the 100 companies were united to take a last stand against the horde of nether beasts that flowed into your world. You were a member of the 52nd company, and you had fought with bravery and skill, but your time had come. You looked around. The nether was winning. The hordes of beasts were too numerous. You were going to lose. The world would come to an end. The other members of the 52nd company still fought around you, but it would all be in vain. Mustering up the last of your strength, you stood to fight one last time. But then the third arrow hit you. You feel to the ground once again, knowing your bell would toll any second, joining the chorus around it. But you didn’t die. The bell never tolled. And it never would. As you lay on the ground, waiting for your inevitable expiration, the battle around you faded away, and you were laying in a grassy field, your wounds all gone. And angels stood around you. They did not want the earth to fall to the horde, heaven would come next if it did, and they could not enter the battle themselves, so they each gave you a fraction of their power, and sent your soul back to earth. You turned the tide of the battle, forced the nether back into its cage, and saved the whole planet. That’s how you became the most powerful monster hunter to ever grace the earth. And today you were going to finish what you started, and kill the nether.
	[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring.	Every company in the King's army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. Always. An arrow hits a soldier from the 52nd company in the leg, and another follows immediately with a thunk to his chest and a final arrow through his right eye and out the skull. The 52nd company bell does not ring. No one noticed at first. The company was in the middle of charging towards the hiding archers. Tarren, the captain of the company was right at the front and he had always said a soldier's work was to deal with the problem lying in front of you. But Keith had watched as the soldier, he remembered his name was Fern, fell to one knee from the first arrow, then lurched first forward then backwards as the other arrows hit in quick succession. As the bell-bearer of the company, he had expected to hear the slow crescendo announcing the death of another soldier. Yet nothing happened even as the man lay on the ground with sightless eyes. He glanced up at the bell he carried, and still silence. If a soldier was injured the bells murmured it's warning and the closer the man was to death the louder it became. Keith looked again in the direction of the company's charge and observed that the enemy had been scattered successfully. He took note and saw that other soldiers had taken wounds too, not all of them light. Yet still, the bell did not ring. He had never heard of a bell failing to ring except in the stories. Bards sang old tales of necromancers stealing the souls of the fallen and cheating the god of death of his due. Not that Keith had ever believed in them. Everyone loved a good story and the more incredulous it was, the more coin the bard earned. Then the body that was Fern jerked back up awkwardly arrows and all, like a marionette controlled by an invisible puppeteer, and stared straight at Keith with his sightless eyes. This was not good. Not good at all.	'Geez, that HURT.' my head pounded. 'I was wondering when you'd wake up.' I turned my head to look at Pam seated next to me. Pain and anger exploded, ripping through me in waves. I breathed through it. 'Couldn't you at least have taken the arrow out of my eye?' I grumbled. I knew the answer to this question. The real question was how long I'd been out for, but I wouldn't ask. The simple fact that I'd lost consciousness was proof enough of the damage done. But then again. I probably spilled half my brain on the stones by the feel of it. Even for me, that was substantial, maybe even threatening damage. 'And miss the fun of seeing you pull it out by yourself? No way.' she was joking, I knew this. I growled anyway. 'Bitch.' I hissed as she poked the arrow in my leg, making her point. 'It was hard enough to get your whimpering ass out of there after taking 3 arrows, one of them through.the.eye without anyone noticing. You wouldn't shut up." she said, grabbing onto the arrow in my chest. " I don't whimpe--" I started through clenched teeth. Pam pulled the arrow out of my chest in one swift move. Pain shot through me as bone splintered and reconstructed. It took me several minutes to react, breathing through waves of nausea and pain. Screaming wouldn't do, neither would vomiting. 'Motherf...' I swallowed the rest of the tirade, it wouldn't help my case, if anything it would make it worse. 'That's no way of talking to your savior. You really want to pull the arrows out yourself? Because I'd gladly let you. " she probably meant it too. " No, thanks." it'd taken a big risk, if anyone noticed that the bell hadn't rung there'd be trouble. There were more pressing issues. The arrow through the eye being one of them. The thing needed to be taken out carefully to avoid extra damage. "Just give me a heads up next time." "One would think you'd be used to it by now." "Breathe" she was halfway through the word when she pulled on the arrow protruding from the leg. I hissed again and balled my fists. "You call that an heads up? " she was mad at me. "You are aware that projectiles are not supposed to be taken head on." I grunted, she snickered. " yeah, yeah very funny. Just do it already. You're stalling." "your wish is my Command" she said. I couldn't actually see her inclining her head but she always did. She'd be all business now, playtime over. "Pam" I said as she started to examine the exit wound. "hmm?" "I do not want to lose consciousness again." "I'll do what I can boss, but it's an arrow through the head, through the brain, through the eye. You're lucky. This one is going leave a scar. It's a blessing that ot was through the eye, it will make it unnoticeable." "damnit" "I'm cutting the point off now." She took out a wickedly sharp small knife and I braced for the pain to come. "say A and take a deep breath". I opened my mouth to she put in a leather strip. "you'll need it. " I bit down. I breathed in. She cut the tip in one movement. I groaned. I took the belt out. "Pam we'll need to be back soon.. " she glared at me and I bit down on it again. "what are you talking about? your eye will take a minute to heal. And might not even heal in the same color.." as she said this she took the arrow with both hands and pulled. I did scream now. The pain was blinding all consuming and I lashed out. Pam was ready though, and jumped out of the way. I jumped up. Dizziness bringing me back to my knees. "You need time to recover from a brain injury, that's how this works. You'll get noticed if you leave now, just give it a day or two." "We-" I sighed and looked at her, "... I, need to get back to the 52nd... Before I am missed." "Oh, come on, you won't be missed, you're no one there. The holes in your clothes are a going to be noticed and they'll give you away, no one died, I mean no one on the 52nd died. You have no replacement garments on you. You want to be hunted, again? Do you!? 'Cause this is how WE get hunted. AGAIN" she bellowed. "Pam, I..." I started. "Do as you please." She cut me off, but don't count on me. She glared at me and stormed off.
	[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring.	They say heros live forever. I guess that can be true. Heros live forever in memories and stories, keeping alive the hope of the people. Giving them faith that they too could inspire others. The bells worked differently however. When a soldier dies, the bell tolls, lamenting the loss of a soul. But when Rykar, my friend, fell to the arrows; it did not toll, despite his life flowing out of him in scarlet streams and wetting the ashen soil below. I held him, trying to stem the rivers course. But he was taken anyway. Tears filled my eyes and pain my heart. He never was the type for heroics, preferring to let others be the hero and to let the world take its course. Always talking about the fates of others and how we should just let things happen. Naturally, this made him a bit abrasive to others. Allowing himself to have the reputation of apathy and aloofness. But I knew him different. Despite the airs he put on, he actually cared a great deal. Sometimes I would see him give a loaf or two of bread to some of the urchins, or maybe even giving a gold coin to bloke who hasnt held anything more then ten pennies at a time. Diverting fates course just a little bit longer. But Rykar protected me; knowing that the arrows would strike true. His shattered shield slung across his arm, hoping to block something. But they all struck his flesh. First the leg, and with it a grunt of pain . Then came the chest. His breath was driven from his lungs like the last remments of a windy day fading away to a still night. Yet he still stood, swaying side to side. He urged me to run, but I was paralyzed with fear and grief. Knowing this will be the last tiem I saw his face. Finally came the head. He swung his head back around and his eye was pierced straight through. His body finally fell. But the bell did not toll. Grief ran through me, forcing a cry from my lips and into the advancing horde. Rising, I took my sword in my right hand, and Rykars in my left. I screamed again. Rallying my allies. "Hold fast! Rykar died a hero! His bell did not toll, and neither shall ours!" The remaining few men around me raised their voices in unison, and I lead the charge into the advancing horde. Knowing that in the face of certain death, the 52nds bell will fall silent forever more.	As the enemy's army kept marching forward, he fought on. As the countless men on the horizon raised their bows by the thousands, he fought on. As the light faded and his comrades started falling, he fought on. He was the last man in his company. He had heard that damned bell ring far too many times. Each time it struck, it meant another one of his men had fallen. He dreaded the sound at first, each note as painful as the last. But as time went on, as the notes became bars, and the bars became movements, it became but a song that played in the distance. His men, the 52nd company, the children of the disgraced, the sons of sinners. They fought for honor, they fought for freedom, and most importantly, they fought for the life they had all been robbed of. He could tell his time was short, as arrows rained from the skies. He wondered if he'd hear the end to the song of his brothers. He felt the cold metal sink into his leg. He started falling. He felt the same sink into his chest. He started gasping. He felt his skull shatter, but this time... This time it felt warm. The warmth was comforting. He wondered if they all felt the same warmth. The sound around him started to fade. The cries of many, drowned out by the silence. His vision started to blur... Then he heard it. The heard it again. And again. And again? Then his vision started to clear, and the warmth he felt started to disappear. He looked ahead and saw the same men fighting. Fighting? No, they were just standing there. What? Why? How? "[The Vengeful One], [Sound of Silence]" The voice cut through the silence, but it was off. It was loud, yet it was quiet. Harsh yet gentle. And it's source, a strange figure he could swear wasn't behind him a second ago. "Who are you?" There was no answer. "ANSWER ME!" Silence. Then he heard the bells ring once more. They came from around the figure's neck. The men began to fall. And fall... And he began to rise. Johann Joestar and his [Za Vengefuru One]. The end of Dorian Brando's reign has finally come.
	[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring.	''Shit.'' I whisper Why, why, why NOW. I was 2 days away from retirement! So why now? This is what I get from trying to blend in. Guess I'll run, but I really enjoyed this kingdom... Goddamnit, why did I agree to get blessed by an Unknown God. Should have chosen a Warrior God so at least I wouldn't have to run for 740 goddamn years. ''You okay?'' If I pretend to be dead he'll go aw- ''I can see your chest rising and falling y'know.'' ''The hell you want?'' I manage to say through my bloodened mouth. ''...Look at my neck.'' I do as he, no, she says and freeze. ''...Gods are assholes huh?'' I say cackling. ''Yeah.'' She says laughing, or at least trying to. ''I'm surprised you can talk with basically only a tube for a neck.'' ''I'm just as surprised... How old?'' ''762... You?'' ''56.'' ''FIFTY-SIX? You're basically a baby! Toddler at best... Where are you going now?'' ''Guess I'll head North. Wanna come?'' ''As long it's not the Brovinic province, sure. We''ll talk after getting out of here Miss um?'' ''Grihella'' ''Ellker, pleasure is mine'' ''Also the Brovinic province does't exist.'' ''It did 80-ish years ago, and as I said, let's talk after we run.''	As the enemy's army kept marching forward, he fought on. As the countless men on the horizon raised their bows by the thousands, he fought on. As the light faded and his comrades started falling, he fought on. He was the last man in his company. He had heard that damned bell ring far too many times. Each time it struck, it meant another one of his men had fallen. He dreaded the sound at first, each note as painful as the last. But as time went on, as the notes became bars, and the bars became movements, it became but a song that played in the distance. His men, the 52nd company, the children of the disgraced, the sons of sinners. They fought for honor, they fought for freedom, and most importantly, they fought for the life they had all been robbed of. He could tell his time was short, as arrows rained from the skies. He wondered if he'd hear the end to the song of his brothers. He felt the cold metal sink into his leg. He started falling. He felt the same sink into his chest. He started gasping. He felt his skull shatter, but this time... This time it felt warm. The warmth was comforting. He wondered if they all felt the same warmth. The sound around him started to fade. The cries of many, drowned out by the silence. His vision started to blur... Then he heard it. The heard it again. And again. And again? Then his vision started to clear, and the warmth he felt started to disappear. He looked ahead and saw the same men fighting. Fighting? No, they were just standing there. What? Why? How? "[The Vengeful One], [Sound of Silence]" The voice cut through the silence, but it was off. It was loud, yet it was quiet. Harsh yet gentle. And it's source, a strange figure he could swear wasn't behind him a second ago. "Who are you?" There was no answer. "ANSWER ME!" Silence. Then he heard the bells ring once more. They came from around the figure's neck. The men began to fall. And fall... And he began to rise. Johann Joestar and his [Za Vengefuru One]. The end of Dorian Brando's reign has finally come.
	[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed.	&#x200B; "Daddy?" &#x200B; The sound of my son's voice was so quiet, so sad and hopeful at the same time, it tremoloed with fear and curiousity and longing. It was also lower pitched than last I heard him last night, but maybe my ears were stuffed. &#x200B; "DADDY!" &#x200B; He ran toward me, dropping his stuffed grey rabbit, and crying at the same time. He's always been excited when I came home but this was... different. He's taller. His face is puffier, like he's been crying, and his eyes are red. I hear my wife yell for him- he has a habit of trying to sneak outside to ride. &#x200B; "A... Where are you? Don't go outside!". Since I'm standing here, I yell "I've got him, Mommy". I swoop him up just as Mom turns the corner. His arms are like a vise, grabbing at my neck. He's sobbing, and his Mother is looking at me. She's changed, too, her hair is far grayer than it was and it's been cut to a bob cut. She just stares at me... &#x200B; "L... when did you get your hair cut this morning?". The non-sequitar has obviously thrown her as she reaches up to touch her hair. Her face clouds for a moment, then turns to anger. I've not ever really seen her angry and she stumps towards me and literally pulls my son from arms, ripping his not so little hands from my neck. He's screaming and crying now, and her face is like a thundercloud. &#x200B; I'm stuck standing here while she's trying to control a squirming 4 year old when my daughter and other son come running down the stairs. W.. cries out "Dad?" in his higher pitched voice. His hair is this longish mop, and he too looks like he's been crying and not sleeping. My daughter just stands there at the top of the stairs, not saying a word. She's red faced and... different somehow. &#x200B; "J..." says my wife, finally looking at and addressing me. "What the actual fuck. Where the fuck have you been? Why did you disappear? We've thought you were dead!". &#x200B; My mind is trying to process what I'm hearing- but it fails. I'm staring at her while my son comes down the stairs, silently reaching out his soft hand to touch mine. My daughter is still staring, red faced and angry. &#x200B; "A year of your life", the witch had said. That phrasing pops unbidden into my mind. I assumed she meant I'd die younger- and given my health figured it was worth it for the powers she offered. I could do so much in the years I had left. But now it was starting to sound as if she'd... snuck that year from right then and there, leaving me displaced from time. By now the my heart rate is running up, and I am not able to think as clearly as I could. The thoughts of being gone for a year, losing my job, not supporting my family- and worst of all letting them think I'd gone off and killed myself- is too much. I can feel my heart skipping beats now and the cold claw of ice in my stomach. At least I recognize a blood pressure loss even in this traumatic state, and start trying to sit down before I fa &#x200B; I'm coming to while an ambulance attendant is looking at me. A sheriff is sitting on the steps, and my kids are crying with Mom holding onto them in the living room. My in-laws are there, so I must have been out for at least half an hour. I can't really make sense of what is happening, but the IV in my arm looks to be a bag of sugar water and I'm feeling somewhat better. &#x200B; Looking up at the sheriff, I try to utter "What year is it?" through cracked and parched lips, with a mouth full of cotton from the fear of my decisions. His face frowns and his eyes narrow slightly, and a single number is said. Deep, low, and dark... it is a year later than I left. &#x200B; I abandonded my family. I made them destitute. My friends, none that I had, and family thought I killed myself. My work fired me, but didn't pay the insurance because I couldn't be found. &#x200B; This is going to take a while to fix...	The bells ring over the surrounding meadows, which are sparkling with dew in the first light of the morning. Odd. The church bells usually don't sound at this hour. A wave of townspeople seems to be leaving the posturn gate, coming straight towards me. I pause, incredulous. "Well, this is unexpected..." The crowd is a mix of familiar faces, young and old and all caught up in a frenzy of excitement. "Valtar! Welcome back!" "Thank you for your sacrifice!" "Our savior!" I don't know what any of this means, so I just go along with it. It's not everyday one goes foraging for mushrooms only to come back to a hero's welcome. "We have waited for this day!" This odd statement, as well as the many other strange assertions put forth by the crowd, follows me down the narrow cobblestoned streets of the town, yelled wantonly as I trace the path along the leeward side of the hill. They seem to be pushing me towards the mayor's residence, where I am told I have a personal audience with a waiting king's envoy, who is here especially for me. The town's premier residential building has a narrow path leading up to the foyer, which serves to finally seperate me from the enthusiastic crowd. "Ah. Valtar," says a tall man dressed in striped red and black, waiting right inside the entrance way. "Welcome back to town. Please gather your personal effects and come with me, we must leave within the hour." "What?" The tall man exchanges a glance with the short, stocky mayor, who is standing imperiously beside him. The two make quite a pair. "It's best not to ask questions, Valtar," the mayor says, casting a sidelong glance at the envoy. "The king wishes to speak with you personally," the envoy says, impatience creeping into his tone, which has no doubt been accellerated by my blank expression. "An envoy is visiting every township in the kingdom, each with the same orders." Curiosity plays across his face. "Do you remember having a conversation with a woman yesterday, a stranger to these parts?" "Not that I recall," I say, thinking of yesterday and drawing a total blank. "Not surprising. Does yesterday feel unclear to you? That's because for you, it's been a year. For us, it was just yesterday." "What do you mean a year? It's a few miles at most to the best mushroom spots." I look down at my basket, only to find it empty. "Uhhh..." I manage. The envoy turns on his heel. "Gather your things. I can say no more."
	[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed.	Relief — warm, glorious relief — swept through Jason's body at the sight of his old family house, spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes, purging the cold and weariness that had threatened to overwhelm him, and instilling new strength into his battered legs. He had spent six days in total, plowing through curtains of ivy, winds like piercing knives, and hordes of wild animals through the famed Ackerberrie Forest, determined to seek an audience with the witch who lived there, so that he could strike a deal with her. And that he did. She had appeared to him in a whirl of leaves, her sunken cheeks, pale, leathery skin, and long, wispy hair illuminated unflatteringly by the silvery-grey moonlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. "I hear you have been looking for me," she had said, in a determinedly honeyed voice, that contrasted horribly with the mad cackle of laughter that she had let out a moment later. "What can I help you with?" And so Jason had told her; told her of the struggles which his mother had suffered through in their youth to take care of them — him and his four siblings — and how severely her health had been impacted by it. His voice cracked with emotion as he recounted the doctor's words, that she had only a month to live — if they were lucky. The witch had listened to his story without a word, and when he had finished, she merely looked at him. At the moment, he could have sworn he saw something in her eyes — pity? But when she next spoke, it was in that same falsely sweet voice she had used on arrival. "It shall be done. Your mother will be cured of her sickness. But there must be a balance —" Jason's breath had caught at this. He had been expecting it. The witch did nothing for free — there was always a catch. " — for the advancement of her years," she went on, and Jason's chest tightened still more painfully, "you will lose one of yours." That was all? Jason thought. He couldn't believe it. He was almost disappointed. But then he quickly caught himself. "Done," he said gratefully. "Thank you so, so —" "Oh, don't thank me just yet, deary!" she trilled. "Best use that time to hurry on home, I think!" And she vanished as she had appeared, in a swirling storm of leaves and the whipping of robes. Jason had promptly heeded her words, turning and striding through the forest and back to civilization. And now, here he was at last. Home. Somewhere inside his mother would be dancing up and down, wondering how her miraculous recovery had come about. But halfway up the staircase, his dark eyebrows contracted. The house had a slightly neglectful air about it. Dust lined the windowpanes, the lawn was unkempt, and the paint was now chipping. Perhaps, in their excitement at the recovery, his siblings had abandoned their household duties? Yes, that would be it, he thought, and he continued forward. Jason made to knock, but the door flew open the moment his knuckles rapped against the wood. A gasp escaped his lips as his eyes took in the scene before him. Windows had been broken, furniture splintered and strewn across the floor, ornaments and other items missing, and the sound of his movement was muffled by the thick carpet of dust that trailed the floor. "Mom?" he cried, voicing the first concern that came to his mind. "Veronica? Daryl —" "They're not here, dear," said a soft, unnaturally sweet voice, and Jason spun around to see the witch standing at the staircase. He did not ask her why she was here, or how she had got there in the first place. "Where are they then?" he asked. "Well," she said, moving closer, a broad smile stretching her chapped lips, "I imagine your brother Daryl is at the hospital now in New York — for the birth of his firstborn, you see. Your sisters moved on to become a nurse and a pediatrician in the Philippines, and Aaron, tragically, died a few months ago." "Died?" Jason spluttered. "Months? I just saw him last week!" "Oh, no, no, dear," she said, smiling even more broadly, "no, you saw him last year." "What?" "Well, you see, the year that I was going to take from you, has already been taken. You thought the journey back only took you three days, but, alas, it has been twelve months." "But — but — my mother! You didn't say what happened to her!" "Ah." Her smile widened even further. "She had to undego a scheduled treatment, you see, didn't know that she had been cured, unfortunately, and ... well ... she died." The woman cackled again. "I told you not to thank me yet," she said, and she vanished yet again, leaving Jason, horrorstruck, petrified by shock, behind her. If you enjoyed this, check out r/MysticScribbles. It's a new sub, but will soon be filled with new work like this.	The bells ring over the surrounding meadows, which are sparkling with dew in the first light of the morning. Odd. The church bells usually don't sound at this hour. A wave of townspeople seems to be leaving the posturn gate, coming straight towards me. I pause, incredulous. "Well, this is unexpected..." The crowd is a mix of familiar faces, young and old and all caught up in a frenzy of excitement. "Valtar! Welcome back!" "Thank you for your sacrifice!" "Our savior!" I don't know what any of this means, so I just go along with it. It's not everyday one goes foraging for mushrooms only to come back to a hero's welcome. "We have waited for this day!" This odd statement, as well as the many other strange assertions put forth by the crowd, follows me down the narrow cobblestoned streets of the town, yelled wantonly as I trace the path along the leeward side of the hill. They seem to be pushing me towards the mayor's residence, where I am told I have a personal audience with a waiting king's envoy, who is here especially for me. The town's premier residential building has a narrow path leading up to the foyer, which serves to finally seperate me from the enthusiastic crowd. "Ah. Valtar," says a tall man dressed in striped red and black, waiting right inside the entrance way. "Welcome back to town. Please gather your personal effects and come with me, we must leave within the hour." "What?" The tall man exchanges a glance with the short, stocky mayor, who is standing imperiously beside him. The two make quite a pair. "It's best not to ask questions, Valtar," the mayor says, casting a sidelong glance at the envoy. "The king wishes to speak with you personally," the envoy says, impatience creeping into his tone, which has no doubt been accellerated by my blank expression. "An envoy is visiting every township in the kingdom, each with the same orders." Curiosity plays across his face. "Do you remember having a conversation with a woman yesterday, a stranger to these parts?" "Not that I recall," I say, thinking of yesterday and drawing a total blank. "Not surprising. Does yesterday feel unclear to you? That's because for you, it's been a year. For us, it was just yesterday." "What do you mean a year? It's a few miles at most to the best mushroom spots." I look down at my basket, only to find it empty. "Uhhh..." I manage. The envoy turns on his heel. "Gather your things. I can say no more."
	[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed.	&#x200B; "Daddy?" &#x200B; The sound of my son's voice was so quiet, so sad and hopeful at the same time, it tremoloed with fear and curiousity and longing. It was also lower pitched than last I heard him last night, but maybe my ears were stuffed. &#x200B; "DADDY!" &#x200B; He ran toward me, dropping his stuffed grey rabbit, and crying at the same time. He's always been excited when I came home but this was... different. He's taller. His face is puffier, like he's been crying, and his eyes are red. I hear my wife yell for him- he has a habit of trying to sneak outside to ride. &#x200B; "A... Where are you? Don't go outside!". Since I'm standing here, I yell "I've got him, Mommy". I swoop him up just as Mom turns the corner. His arms are like a vise, grabbing at my neck. He's sobbing, and his Mother is looking at me. She's changed, too, her hair is far grayer than it was and it's been cut to a bob cut. She just stares at me... &#x200B; "L... when did you get your hair cut this morning?". The non-sequitar has obviously thrown her as she reaches up to touch her hair. Her face clouds for a moment, then turns to anger. I've not ever really seen her angry and she stumps towards me and literally pulls my son from arms, ripping his not so little hands from my neck. He's screaming and crying now, and her face is like a thundercloud. &#x200B; I'm stuck standing here while she's trying to control a squirming 4 year old when my daughter and other son come running down the stairs. W.. cries out "Dad?" in his higher pitched voice. His hair is this longish mop, and he too looks like he's been crying and not sleeping. My daughter just stands there at the top of the stairs, not saying a word. She's red faced and... different somehow. &#x200B; "J..." says my wife, finally looking at and addressing me. "What the actual fuck. Where the fuck have you been? Why did you disappear? We've thought you were dead!". &#x200B; My mind is trying to process what I'm hearing- but it fails. I'm staring at her while my son comes down the stairs, silently reaching out his soft hand to touch mine. My daughter is still staring, red faced and angry. &#x200B; "A year of your life", the witch had said. That phrasing pops unbidden into my mind. I assumed she meant I'd die younger- and given my health figured it was worth it for the powers she offered. I could do so much in the years I had left. But now it was starting to sound as if she'd... snuck that year from right then and there, leaving me displaced from time. By now the my heart rate is running up, and I am not able to think as clearly as I could. The thoughts of being gone for a year, losing my job, not supporting my family- and worst of all letting them think I'd gone off and killed myself- is too much. I can feel my heart skipping beats now and the cold claw of ice in my stomach. At least I recognize a blood pressure loss even in this traumatic state, and start trying to sit down before I fa &#x200B; I'm coming to while an ambulance attendant is looking at me. A sheriff is sitting on the steps, and my kids are crying with Mom holding onto them in the living room. My in-laws are there, so I must have been out for at least half an hour. I can't really make sense of what is happening, but the IV in my arm looks to be a bag of sugar water and I'm feeling somewhat better. &#x200B; Looking up at the sheriff, I try to utter "What year is it?" through cracked and parched lips, with a mouth full of cotton from the fear of my decisions. His face frowns and his eyes narrow slightly, and a single number is said. Deep, low, and dark... it is a year later than I left. &#x200B; I abandonded my family. I made them destitute. My friends, none that I had, and family thought I killed myself. My work fired me, but didn't pay the insurance because I couldn't be found. &#x200B; This is going to take a while to fix...	"So, we have a deal, Royce?" I swallowed my anxiety and shook her slender right hand. She weakly shook my hands with both of his hands, the other clasping mine as I went for it. For some reason, her eyes brimmed with joy. "Thank you, Royce, I hope it was worth it for you because I know it was... for me, at least!" "Thanks...? So when do I get–" "The spell would take into effect right... about... now!" As she said that, I felt a surge of something flowed into my body. It was eerily similar to the feeling of drinking a glass of ice-cold soda on a hot sunny day after an exercise. Only difference was that I felt my body somewhat hovering above ground for a good 10 seconds. Concerned, I glanced at the witch. Before I could manage to ask anything, the witch rapidly spoke in an ancient sounding language. At that point I had accepted my sudden death to be a possibility. But then, I fell back to where I stood. The feeling of great refreshment I had felt not a moment before had dissipated. Then the witch approached me with a rather unexpected embrace. "Hope you use your newfound powers to good use, Royce," she whispered. "Huh–" In a blink, I had felt as if my sight had been taken away. Darkness. Void. Then, my senses returned. Though instead of a dark stinking swamp, everything was lively and colourful. Birds chirped through the trees behind me. People walked past me in groups, making idle conversations with each other. Then I saw the red wooden door to my place right in front of me. It was all bizarre, really. As I turn the key, the door swung open with a loud creaking noise. It was rather strange, since I've kept things well-maintained. Surely the oil hadn't dried away within a month. "D-Dust?" I said out loud as I was about to drop my keys in the coffee table. "Excuse me, who are– Royce?" a woman who had just appeared out of the kitchen called out. "Elise? What's going on? Why are you here?" "No, it's impossible. It's been so long...." Elise backed away in horror, as if she had saw a ghost of some sort. "What do you mean? We'd just ate dinner together last night! Why would you say that–" "Last... night? Oh no," Elise then took out her phone briskly. She fiddled with the phone for a second or two, before finally approaching me carefully. "That 'dinner' you talked about, yeah? That was a year ago – 2019. Like, literally to the day," her rather chubby finger then swiped up, "right now, it's already 2020." My mind went blank. I couldn't process nor comprehend what was being said to me from then on. Elise kept on talking and looking at me with great concern. A mix of fear, confusion, happiness, and a bit of anger was vaguely visible on her face. I couldn't take it, I bursted out of the door and puked right in front of my own porch. "–ey... Hey! Hey, Royce!" a familiar voice yelled out and a hand was wrapped on my shoulder to brace me, "are you alright? You need ambulance?" "Ugh, fuck! No, I don't need that... I just don't understand! What the fuck happened?!" Anger had clouded my vision and thought. It was as if the sun had burnt right through me – or better yet, was inside me. I could felt the tense heat rising from my stomach up to my mouth as I yelled in even more fury. But I had no idea who or what I should be angry at, in the moment. "Fuck me! Ah, fuck this! Elise, I need you to–" I paused upon seeing Elise not moving nor responding to any of my emotion. I regain my composure, somewhat, and began to investigate the strange phenomenon before me. A lightning struck my head and I began to look around me to make sure – everything was truly paused in their tracks. Birds had stopped mid-air. People were stood silently, even as their body assumed running poses. Elise... beautiful old Elise, had her long blonde hair waving through the air not moving. That witch was something else, alright. I didn't realise it then, but I was about to be even more surprised of a great many deal of things.
	[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed.	Relief — warm, glorious relief — swept through Jason's body at the sight of his old family house, spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes, purging the cold and weariness that had threatened to overwhelm him, and instilling new strength into his battered legs. He had spent six days in total, plowing through curtains of ivy, winds like piercing knives, and hordes of wild animals through the famed Ackerberrie Forest, determined to seek an audience with the witch who lived there, so that he could strike a deal with her. And that he did. She had appeared to him in a whirl of leaves, her sunken cheeks, pale, leathery skin, and long, wispy hair illuminated unflatteringly by the silvery-grey moonlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. "I hear you have been looking for me," she had said, in a determinedly honeyed voice, that contrasted horribly with the mad cackle of laughter that she had let out a moment later. "What can I help you with?" And so Jason had told her; told her of the struggles which his mother had suffered through in their youth to take care of them — him and his four siblings — and how severely her health had been impacted by it. His voice cracked with emotion as he recounted the doctor's words, that she had only a month to live — if they were lucky. The witch had listened to his story without a word, and when he had finished, she merely looked at him. At the moment, he could have sworn he saw something in her eyes — pity? But when she next spoke, it was in that same falsely sweet voice she had used on arrival. "It shall be done. Your mother will be cured of her sickness. But there must be a balance —" Jason's breath had caught at this. He had been expecting it. The witch did nothing for free — there was always a catch. " — for the advancement of her years," she went on, and Jason's chest tightened still more painfully, "you will lose one of yours." That was all? Jason thought. He couldn't believe it. He was almost disappointed. But then he quickly caught himself. "Done," he said gratefully. "Thank you so, so —" "Oh, don't thank me just yet, deary!" she trilled. "Best use that time to hurry on home, I think!" And she vanished as she had appeared, in a swirling storm of leaves and the whipping of robes. Jason had promptly heeded her words, turning and striding through the forest and back to civilization. And now, here he was at last. Home. Somewhere inside his mother would be dancing up and down, wondering how her miraculous recovery had come about. But halfway up the staircase, his dark eyebrows contracted. The house had a slightly neglectful air about it. Dust lined the windowpanes, the lawn was unkempt, and the paint was now chipping. Perhaps, in their excitement at the recovery, his siblings had abandoned their household duties? Yes, that would be it, he thought, and he continued forward. Jason made to knock, but the door flew open the moment his knuckles rapped against the wood. A gasp escaped his lips as his eyes took in the scene before him. Windows had been broken, furniture splintered and strewn across the floor, ornaments and other items missing, and the sound of his movement was muffled by the thick carpet of dust that trailed the floor. "Mom?" he cried, voicing the first concern that came to his mind. "Veronica? Daryl —" "They're not here, dear," said a soft, unnaturally sweet voice, and Jason spun around to see the witch standing at the staircase. He did not ask her why she was here, or how she had got there in the first place. "Where are they then?" he asked. "Well," she said, moving closer, a broad smile stretching her chapped lips, "I imagine your brother Daryl is at the hospital now in New York — for the birth of his firstborn, you see. Your sisters moved on to become a nurse and a pediatrician in the Philippines, and Aaron, tragically, died a few months ago." "Died?" Jason spluttered. "Months? I just saw him last week!" "Oh, no, no, dear," she said, smiling even more broadly, "no, you saw him last year." "What?" "Well, you see, the year that I was going to take from you, has already been taken. You thought the journey back only took you three days, but, alas, it has been twelve months." "But — but — my mother! You didn't say what happened to her!" "Ah." Her smile widened even further. "She had to undego a scheduled treatment, you see, didn't know that she had been cured, unfortunately, and ... well ... she died." The woman cackled again. "I told you not to thank me yet," she said, and she vanished yet again, leaving Jason, horrorstruck, petrified by shock, behind her. If you enjoyed this, check out r/MysticScribbles. It's a new sub, but will soon be filled with new work like this.	"So, we have a deal, Royce?" I swallowed my anxiety and shook her slender right hand. She weakly shook my hands with both of his hands, the other clasping mine as I went for it. For some reason, her eyes brimmed with joy. "Thank you, Royce, I hope it was worth it for you because I know it was... for me, at least!" "Thanks...? So when do I get–" "The spell would take into effect right... about... now!" As she said that, I felt a surge of something flowed into my body. It was eerily similar to the feeling of drinking a glass of ice-cold soda on a hot sunny day after an exercise. Only difference was that I felt my body somewhat hovering above ground for a good 10 seconds. Concerned, I glanced at the witch. Before I could manage to ask anything, the witch rapidly spoke in an ancient sounding language. At that point I had accepted my sudden death to be a possibility. But then, I fell back to where I stood. The feeling of great refreshment I had felt not a moment before had dissipated. Then the witch approached me with a rather unexpected embrace. "Hope you use your newfound powers to good use, Royce," she whispered. "Huh–" In a blink, I had felt as if my sight had been taken away. Darkness. Void. Then, my senses returned. Though instead of a dark stinking swamp, everything was lively and colourful. Birds chirped through the trees behind me. People walked past me in groups, making idle conversations with each other. Then I saw the red wooden door to my place right in front of me. It was all bizarre, really. As I turn the key, the door swung open with a loud creaking noise. It was rather strange, since I've kept things well-maintained. Surely the oil hadn't dried away within a month. "D-Dust?" I said out loud as I was about to drop my keys in the coffee table. "Excuse me, who are– Royce?" a woman who had just appeared out of the kitchen called out. "Elise? What's going on? Why are you here?" "No, it's impossible. It's been so long...." Elise backed away in horror, as if she had saw a ghost of some sort. "What do you mean? We'd just ate dinner together last night! Why would you say that–" "Last... night? Oh no," Elise then took out her phone briskly. She fiddled with the phone for a second or two, before finally approaching me carefully. "That 'dinner' you talked about, yeah? That was a year ago – 2019. Like, literally to the day," her rather chubby finger then swiped up, "right now, it's already 2020." My mind went blank. I couldn't process nor comprehend what was being said to me from then on. Elise kept on talking and looking at me with great concern. A mix of fear, confusion, happiness, and a bit of anger was vaguely visible on her face. I couldn't take it, I bursted out of the door and puked right in front of my own porch. "–ey... Hey! Hey, Royce!" a familiar voice yelled out and a hand was wrapped on my shoulder to brace me, "are you alright? You need ambulance?" "Ugh, fuck! No, I don't need that... I just don't understand! What the fuck happened?!" Anger had clouded my vision and thought. It was as if the sun had burnt right through me – or better yet, was inside me. I could felt the tense heat rising from my stomach up to my mouth as I yelled in even more fury. But I had no idea who or what I should be angry at, in the moment. "Fuck me! Ah, fuck this! Elise, I need you to–" I paused upon seeing Elise not moving nor responding to any of my emotion. I regain my composure, somewhat, and began to investigate the strange phenomenon before me. A lightning struck my head and I began to look around me to make sure – everything was truly paused in their tracks. Birds had stopped mid-air. People were stood silently, even as their body assumed running poses. Elise... beautiful old Elise, had her long blonde hair waving through the air not moving. That witch was something else, alright. I didn't realise it then, but I was about to be even more surprised of a great many deal of things.
	[WP] You overslept, which is usually no big deal. But this time, it meant you missed the rocket ship that took all of humanity off planet. Now you're left alone on a deserted Earth.	Ughh....you're definitely gonna need an aspirin. I open my eyes groggily, groping around the bedside table for the pill bottle. Why do I have a hangover again? Pretty sure I didn't drink last night. You downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Ya, no, that much doesn't even get me tipsy anymore. Also, isn't it a little too early in the day for you to start yapping your gums in my head. Nope. In fact, I think I've been quiet for long enough. 8 hours, tops. You know what, I'll argue with you later. I have a headache to kill and a pair of underpants to put on. Hi, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Jack. 34. Male. Freelance programmer. And absolutely alone for at least past 3 years. Ahem Oh right, that's Gia, I think. She's a voice in my head. If hearing imaginary voices doesn't make you alone, then I guess I'm not alone. Anyway, you can ignore her. That's what I do, to stay sane. Mostly. Now where the hell were those pants? I manage to put on a pair of pants, and a shirt, which seemed like a herculean task given the throbbing pain that had suddenly started in my limbs. Okay, I don't care how much whiskey I had, this isn't like any hangover I've ever seen. Care to weigh in, Gia? .....No, not right now. I think you need some time to adjust. True that. Where did I leave my phone last night? Right, it's in my backpack, along with the rest of my luggage. All packed and ready to....go. Shit No no nonononono shit shit shit what time was it what time damn it WHAT'S THE TIME? I frantically look around, trying to find my watch. On its digital face, I see hopelessness. 11:43:16 am 11:43:17 am 11:43:18 am ... Seconds tick by impassively, as I stand there like a statue, a watch in one hand, but no time at all. It was June 13th, 2321. Evacuation ships were scheduled to take the remaining people off planet. Departure time, 11:00 am. No but maybe they hadn't left, right? Maybe there was a delay. I mean, it was a huge operation, a delay of a few hours was bound to happen. I just need to get to the boarding point, like, asap. It's not even that far from here. 11:46:11 am 11:46:12 am I hear a loud boom, a low rumble in the ground, and I sit down on the floor. That's it. That was the last ship taking off. I slowly get up and peer out the window, I can see a trail of fire and smoke going straight up in the sky. There goes the last ship, and it takes away with it any chance of my survival. Would there be any more ships? Unlikely. The planet-wide evacuation had been conducted in stages, VIPs and wealthy folks first, then most families that held any influence in society, then upper to mid level tax paying citizens, and then the rest. I was supposed to be in that rest. And now, I could rest here, without another care in the world, until the invaders arrive. 11:49:43 am 11:49:44 am 11:49:45 am You must be wondering what the hell happened. Well, time for a little story. It's not like I have a ship to catch or anything. Heh. You see, about five years ago, scientists discovered a signal coming from outerspace. After a lot of brainstorming and super-computing and whatnot, they were able to decode it. It was not a good message, to say the least. \[[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/g54y16/wp_you_overslept_which_is_usually_no_big_deal_but/fo4cp1x?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)\]	A billion of anything is a really big deal. A billion grains of rice? Thirty-two thousand tons. A billion glasses of water? A hundred Olympic swimming pools. Seven billion and change human beings? Half a billion tons. The law of diminishing returns was clear. It always had been. The heavier the cargo, the bigger the rocket had to be to lift away against Earth's gravity. The bigger the rocket, the more fuel it had to carry just to lift its own mass, and the more fuel it had to carry to lift that fuel, and so forth. At some point, physics steps in and indicates that the structure can't be strong enough to support itself unless it's physically beefed up. Which makes it heavier again. End result? No rocket ship can ever be engineered to lift the entire population from the planet at once. Can't be done. Didn't stop the population from thinking that was the case, though. Late-night comics spawned skit after skit about someone saying they had to go back, they left the oven on. Hilarious. The real ships, the big ones, were waiting in orbit. Lined up like Christmas ornaments. So big they could be seen in the daytime sky. At night they actually kind of looked like ornaments, just hanging there. They'd never land on any planets, of course. They weren't designed for gravity wells, either lifting off or landing. The best thing that could be said about them was that they had plenty of crumple zones. That people would likely be in those crumple zones was not joked about much. Not so hilarious. Shuttles were the most visible method that was being used to evacuate people onto the ships. Each shuttle could lift precisely two thousand pounds of cargo. This could be ten two-hundred-pound people, or twenty hundred-pounders. The lighter someone was, the more chance they could bring something extra without being glared at. Exercise and dieting were finally a worldwide way of life. There were extensive news clips showing the ones from places where they'd never had much in the way to eat, strolling on board the shuttles thirty at a time. The comics made jokes about those, but in a restrained, PC kind of way. Herein lay the problem of numbers once more. Even with ten shuttle launchpads, five north of the equator and five south, doing a round trip on average every ninety-six hours (forty-eight hours for a round trip, but going down for a maintenance break every two trips) only got an average of one hundred and twenty people into orbit every four days, or thirty a day. With seven billion people waiting to go, it would take over six hundred thousand years to evacuate the planet. If the rocket fuel held out, which it wouldn't. This was where the space elevators came into their own. There were twelve space elevators situated around the Equator. Each had a high-speed maglev leading to it, even the ones in the middle of the ocean. Building a maglev across the ocean is a simpler task than building a rocket ship that can lift half a billion tons. For one thing, it doesn't have to go anywhere, so it can be as heavy as it needs to be. The space elevators had a huge number of elevator 'cars' on them, running on six simultaneous tracks around the huge buckytube body of the 'cable' itself. Three tracks were designated 'up' and three 'down'. At any time, there was a steady stream of cars travelling in either direction at something over the speed of sound. The top of each cable held a docking station, to which was docked one of the immense spacecraft designed to be humanity's ark to the stars. Shuttles came and went to the outward docking ports of the ships, and were reported in the news, because shuttles were brave and daring and dashing, and looked cool. But the shuttles only lifted thirty people out of the gravity well per day. The space elevators delivered thirty people to the docking station per minute. Per car. Per cable. That was one thousand and eighty people herding into the ships every minute. Jostling, pulling, pushing, being shoved along by experienced vacuum-hounds who'd seen it all. Working night and day, that was a shade under sixty-one thousand people per hour, or one and a half million per day. Even then, the complete evacuation was going to take about thirteen years. They couldn't simply fill up one ship at a time and send them off (as more than one politician proposed, each imagining himself or herself at the helm of the ship in question) because that wasn't how it worked. Every ship would have to stay docked for the entire thirteen years. After all, evacuating a planet is a huge deal. And still, people thought the shuttles did all the work. People lined up and were issued their boarding passes, then went back to work. Thirteen years is a long time, after all. People could get married and have kids. Then they'd have to go back to the Boarding Registry Office and change their status from Passenger (single) to Passenger (married) and get their kids' boarding passes while they were at it. Fortunately, someone had thought ahead, and each of the ships had enough spare room to take the projected increase in the human race over those thirteen years, with a little left over. A little more morbidly, people were willing their passes to younger relatives in case they died on board ship before it ever left, or passed away before they got to board. The passes didn't cost any money; they just had the date and time the passenger was supposed to show up to board their transport to the stars. Most people got the location of a space elevator printed on their boarding pass. The instructions for getting a maglev to that location were also printed there. It was all automatically done. But because the shuttles were the big PR darlings of the whole show, despite carrying a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the number of people who would go up, they kept flying and some people were issued boarding passes to get on them. Such was the case of Daniel Peckham, part-time alcoholic and itinerant labourer. He'd wandered into the Boarding Registry Office and asked for his boarding pass about five years into the thirteen. The machine printed it out and he took it. He was to attend the shuttle launchpad in eastern LA in eight years' time. As it happened, he was literally booked on the very last shuttle to fly out of the United States. He folded the pass up, tucked it into his wallet for safekeeping, then went out and got drunk. Not because of the fact that he'd just gotten a ticket offworld, but because he always got drunk at that time of day. Time passed, and he forgot on occasion that he had the boarding pass. Sometimes he even forgot that the planet was being evacuated. Sure, humanity had screwed it up bigtime, but who cared? There was still booze being bottled, wasn't there? So long as he had a fleabag motel to crash in and crappy alcohol to drown his brain cells in, he was content. As the last few years rolled by, he vaguely registered that there were fewer people around than there had been before. Power stations were being decommissioned, and the remaining populations were clustering around the locations where they'd take their transport to either the shuttlepad (very few) or the space elevator (a lot more), leaving more and more of the surrounding world to fall fallow. Dan didn't care. He took to taking abandoned cars, filling them up at abandoned gas stations, and driving across the nation, through empty town after empty town. Convenience stores and bars had alcohol in the back, left behind when the proprietors moved to be closer to their evacuation point. Danny took as much as he could and carved out the booziest road trip that had ever been described in the history of Route 66. More alcohol passed through his kidneys than gasoline through the engine of the car. With one month to go, he was cruising through downtown Manhattan, honking his horn and laughing at the way the pigeons scattered. He'd tried to drive through the Holland Tunnel and found it full of water, so he backed out and went for a ride again. Halfway down Fifth Avenue, the car threw a con-rod, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He transferred his worldly goods (mainly booze) to an old pickup, siphoned the gasoline across and then set off back across America. The roads were a little rougher than before, he noted hazily, and trees were starting to grow through some of them. With two days to go, he rolled into east LA. When he presented himself at the front gate to the shuttle launch area, load of booze and all, the guards tersely informed him that no alcohol was to be allowed on board. "Fine," he said. "I'll drink it then." Off he went again. Hollywood Hills had long since been emptied out, so he picked a house at random, found the big-screen TV, and surfed the automated channels until he found a suitably loud and violent action movie. Then he started drinking in earnest. (Continued)
	[WP] You overslept, which is usually no big deal. But this time, it meant you missed the rocket ship that took all of humanity off planet. Now you're left alone on a deserted Earth.	Ughh....you're definitely gonna need an aspirin. I open my eyes groggily, groping around the bedside table for the pill bottle. Why do I have a hangover again? Pretty sure I didn't drink last night. You downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Ya, no, that much doesn't even get me tipsy anymore. Also, isn't it a little too early in the day for you to start yapping your gums in my head. Nope. In fact, I think I've been quiet for long enough. 8 hours, tops. You know what, I'll argue with you later. I have a headache to kill and a pair of underpants to put on. Hi, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Jack. 34. Male. Freelance programmer. And absolutely alone for at least past 3 years. Ahem Oh right, that's Gia, I think. She's a voice in my head. If hearing imaginary voices doesn't make you alone, then I guess I'm not alone. Anyway, you can ignore her. That's what I do, to stay sane. Mostly. Now where the hell were those pants? I manage to put on a pair of pants, and a shirt, which seemed like a herculean task given the throbbing pain that had suddenly started in my limbs. Okay, I don't care how much whiskey I had, this isn't like any hangover I've ever seen. Care to weigh in, Gia? .....No, not right now. I think you need some time to adjust. True that. Where did I leave my phone last night? Right, it's in my backpack, along with the rest of my luggage. All packed and ready to....go. Shit No no nonononono shit shit shit what time was it what time damn it WHAT'S THE TIME? I frantically look around, trying to find my watch. On its digital face, I see hopelessness. 11:43:16 am 11:43:17 am 11:43:18 am ... Seconds tick by impassively, as I stand there like a statue, a watch in one hand, but no time at all. It was June 13th, 2321. Evacuation ships were scheduled to take the remaining people off planet. Departure time, 11:00 am. No but maybe they hadn't left, right? Maybe there was a delay. I mean, it was a huge operation, a delay of a few hours was bound to happen. I just need to get to the boarding point, like, asap. It's not even that far from here. 11:46:11 am 11:46:12 am I hear a loud boom, a low rumble in the ground, and I sit down on the floor. That's it. That was the last ship taking off. I slowly get up and peer out the window, I can see a trail of fire and smoke going straight up in the sky. There goes the last ship, and it takes away with it any chance of my survival. Would there be any more ships? Unlikely. The planet-wide evacuation had been conducted in stages, VIPs and wealthy folks first, then most families that held any influence in society, then upper to mid level tax paying citizens, and then the rest. I was supposed to be in that rest. And now, I could rest here, without another care in the world, until the invaders arrive. 11:49:43 am 11:49:44 am 11:49:45 am You must be wondering what the hell happened. Well, time for a little story. It's not like I have a ship to catch or anything. Heh. You see, about five years ago, scientists discovered a signal coming from outerspace. After a lot of brainstorming and super-computing and whatnot, they were able to decode it. It was not a good message, to say the least. \[[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/g54y16/wp_you_overslept_which_is_usually_no_big_deal_but/fo4cp1x?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)\]	I woke up. Brushing my eyes I looked around me. It was strangely quiet today, I decided to not mind and do my morning routine. I showered, brushed my teeth, and out on some clothes. I made myself some breakfast and looked outside my window, no one. I decided to investigate further, I stepped outside. The block was desolate. No one could be seen, no cars, nothing. I had trouble remembering what had happened yesterday, but I remember some sort of warning. As I looked around, I saw a giant Alien like creature standing before me. It was pure black, it had a body twice the size of mine. There were no eyes on the creature. It opened it's mouth to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth. It was as if the skin on the face of the face of the creature had come off. I started running, turning left I noticed a large construction site right in front of me. Of course it wouldn't be finished, ever. Everyone had left, who would finish it? I lunged over a piece of debris and hid behind a large spike. I had lost it, the creature was no longer on my tail. After raiding the nearest supermarket and almost getting caught by another creature, I headed to the center of my town to see if anyone was still here. When I got there, a large screen displaying an image of an army general was in front of me. It started playing automatically. "Hello remaining population, we are A.R.G.U.S, and we have gathered most of the humans on this planet for an intergalactic voyage. Earth has become inhospitable due to the large aliens roaming on our lands. If you want to survive, please get to the designated location we will display on the map. "Map, what map?" I thought. Before I could fathom what was going on, a map and a jeep appeared in front of me. "You will have 4 days to get to the designated location. In 4 days all of the emergency ships will blast off automatically, even if there is no human presence in them. Good luck!"
	[WP] A half elf, half orc, half dwarf and half halfling join forces for their common goal, finding their shared human parent	Holo inherited his father's wisdom. The wisdom of the elves. Or only half of it, it seemed. For he was not a pure-blood elf like his father. His mother, who he only knew when he was little before she mysteriously disappeared, was human. All his childhood he wondered why she left him. He dreamed about her. Even when he reached adulthood, the dreams never ceased. Even now, he still heard the lullaby she used to sing him to sleep. Was she even... Dammit, was she even alive? Closure, Holo decided. He needed closure. That morning, he rode on his white mare to the School of Sol. The school where his father passed on his wisdom to young elves. Knowledge, his father always said, is sharper than the sword. The lectures were given in the evergreen garden of the school. A book held in his father's hand as he read from it to the students seated before him. "Father, I need to talk to you," Holo interrupted. The students laughed, for it seemed he had interrupted a very important lecture. However, his father was not angry. His father always had time for him. "Of course, son," his father said. He looked at his students. "I'll ask questions when I'm back." Then he followed his son to somewhere in the garden still, but far enough that his students could not hear them. "What is it, son?" he asked. "The dreams about my mother won't stop. They torment me. I need your guidance. Did she tell you anything about where she went? Anything at all?" "No. She simply vanished without saying a word. Although she did..." his father paused, not knowing whether he should tell his son or not. Whether he was ready. "There's something that you've been hiding from me, isn't there?" "It was for your own will-being. But now that you're an adult, I suppose you should know. She left some sort of device for you." "All this time you had it and didn't tell me?" Holo almost went into a rage. It was the human side of him showing. He remembered his father's teachings. Breath. Control your feelings. "I'm sorry, father. I don't know what overcame me. The device, do you have it?" "Your mother used to get angry at me, then feel bad for it a second later and apologise. Just like you did now. You're just like her." His father smiled. He grabbed the small, coin-like device from his pocket. "I kept it with me at all times. I loved her, you know." "I know," Holo said calmly as he took the coin from his father. "What does it do?" His father shrugged. "Nothing. It flickers from time to time, but that's it." "Flickers?" Suddenly, a green light emitted from the coin in Holo's hand. For a brief second the light seemed to be pointing somewhere. For a brief second, Holo felt hope. "It must be pointing towards her!" he said hopefully. Then the light died and his hope died with it. "No, no, no!" He shook the coin as an attempt to bring the light back, but it didn't seem to work. — Holo tried again as he sat in bed before sleep. He shook the coin numerous times, but it didn't even flicker once like it did back at the school. It didn't do anything. As far as looks go, it was just a normal coin. Frustrated, Holo threw it under his desk. "Stupid coin," he said. He wrapped his blanket around him and closed his eyes. The stars flickered in the night sky. A raven flew past them and sat on Holo's window as he slept. — The calm, sweet lullaby Holo's mother used to sing him echoed in his dreams again. But this time it ended with words. "The light will guide you," he heard his mother say. "It'll lead you to..." then he woke up. The sun had not come up yet. But his room was bright. The coin's green light filled it. He got off bed and grabbed the bright coin from under his desk. This time it was a strong, steady light. And it definitely pointed somewhere. He didn't know where it would lead him. It could be a long journey or a small walk. So he packed a small bag of essentials and rode on his white mare. This was it. He was finally going to reunite with his mother. — At dawn, near the woods of Elwood, Holo was halted by bandits. A female orc with a scar on her eye, a male orc, and a male human. They were all armed with swords and crossbows. Holo carried a small knife under his trousers, but didn't know how to use it. Not against armed bandits who were certainly better fighters than he was. Had his mother stuck around long enough, she might've taught him how to fight. But he only had his father. The elf who firmly believed that knowledge was sharper than the sword. How's knowledge going to get me out of this situation, father? he thought. He cleared his throat. "How... how can I help you?" "I see something shining in that bag of yours and it interests me," the female orc said. She gave the impression that she was genuinely interested in the coin in Holo's bag. "Dammit, Ralia! Just get the damn thing and kill him! Or do I have to do it myself?" the male orc said, impatience riding his words. He gestured for the male human beside him to follow him and together they shoved Holo off his horse and took the coin from his bag. "Will you look at that! I bet if we sold this thing it'll make us a fortune," the male orc said as the coin's green light reflected on his smug face. "I bet it will," the male human agreed. Holo stood up. "Give it back..." he said quietly, almost whispering. "What did you say, elf boy?" the male orc said. "I SAID," Holo's voice was now louder, much louder, "GIVE IT BACK!" He grabbed the knife from behind his trousers with a quick movement and pointed it at the bandits. The male orc aimed his crossbow at Holo's head. "Very unwise, my friend," he said. The male human and Ralia also aimed their crossbows at Holo. In other words, Holo was surrounded with no means of escape. The male orc forced Holo on his knees and held his crossbow closer to Holo's head. "Any last words?" he said. Holo breathed and tried to control his feelings. But the truth was: he was scared shitless. He opened his mouth to speak, then suddenly, an arrow entered the male orc's head. Another the male human's head. Both the male orc and the male human fell on the ground as blood spilled from their heads. It was Ralia who killed them. Holo took the opportunity and grabbed the coin from the dead orc's body. Afterwards, he pointed his knife at Ralia. "Step back," he said. Ralia lowered her crossbow and grabbed something from her pocket. Something that emitted a strong, green light, possibly pointing somewhere. It was a coin, very similar to the one Holo was holding. "I won't hurt you. I think we're connected somehow. I think we should follow the light together." "That coin, where did you get it?" "My mother left it for me. How did you get yours?" "My mother also left it for me. Was your mother a human by any chance? Chestnut hair? Blue eyes?" "Yes, how did you know?" "If both our mothers are the same, that means... you're my sister." — The light from both coins seemed to be pointing towards the woods of Elwood. So that's where they went. And on the way, they talked about their mother. About their memories of her. About the dreams they had of her. About what they would say if they confronted her. They came to an opening that led to a small lake, and standing around the lake was a male dwarf and a male halfling. They were both also holding similar coins. And the light, they realised, was pointing not towards their mother, but towards each other. Each of them wondered at this moment if they even knew their mother at all. They joined the circle and the light from each of the four coins formed a projection of their mother. The coins combined together, it seemed, were a message. They listened to the projection. The words their mother left them before she disappeared. "My children…"	Uo'Shoko The Toothless licked his teeth. His dull, unpointed teeth. The taste in his mouth would not go away. The sickening taste of cooked, unspoiled meat. He longed for a good green slab of carrion. Preferably aged in sunny and humid place, so just the right amount of fuzz could grow. Uo'Shoko gazed out over the darkening plains, and then at his fellow travelers. The drwarf-mar and the halfling-mar simply didn't understand that meat was like wine. It got better with age. The elf-mar was a different story altogether. That one didn't eat meat at all. Plus that one was a female. Horrible, horrible bad luck, that was. Letting a female out of the house. How bigly preposterous. Uo'Shoko needed a good ale in a bad way. Not just to wash out that horrible taste, but also do find the strength to deal with these 'comrades' of his. All he had was a cradle of water. WATER. What was he, a horse? As soon as they reached The City Dal-Sal-Rio, and he found father and got some answers about his past- assuming he wouldn't kill the man first, he hadn't decided yet- he'd be rid of these cooked-meat-eating schleppers for good. He started at his reflection in the water. His unsharp teeth, blue eyes, jaw squared, instead of thin and pointed as it should be... he hated his reflection. Beyond those ugly imperfections he was as Orc as any Orc could be. \\\\\* Derrifred Wadleford could feel his stomach rumble and complain. How long could he go on like this? Practically near starvation. Only three and a half good meals per day?! Insanity! He washed off his silver dinner platter until it had a shine, and the engraved name 'Derry' was spotless. It was difficult to remove stains from Armadillo-Deer steaks, but he managed. It would be armadillo-deer steaks again for breakfast, after the dwarf-mar's successful hunt that day. The only down side to packing dinnerware was using up water ration after every meal. The dwarf guide had limited water, at least until they reached the other side of the ultra dry No-Name Basin. The lack of water wasn't most unsettling thing about this place. No, that was in the fact that it was called 'No-Name Basin'. By simply calling it No-Name were you not in fact bestowing a name?! Well, that was a worry for another night. For now, all he had to get to Dal-Sal-Rio. He couldn't let a thought delay him from meeting his father. If he could persuade his long-lost dad to accompany him, he could stop that pesky cousin Jeudy Cheworth from taking over the deed to the farm. He required two generations of writ. Derry set about packing his dishes. Staring himself in the reflection. A strong, square jaw, bright bluish eyes. He had been quite a 'ladies-man' back home. He had been tall, for a halfling. Now, he was just the smallest member of the group. \\\\\* Lady Eliya of the Eastern Cedars watched the confrontation from afar, but as always, did not intervene. Such was the duty of a Daughter of Forgotten. As the eldest granddaughter of the High-Lord Seigneur, she was granted a seat in council by law. As the Daughter of Forgotten, she was never permitted to speak. Elves were students of law, by nature. Though they were less inclined to question the wisdom of Law. Or even the history of Law. Law was- just the Law. Her mother had given birth to a child without wed to to a father. Her mother was by Law, Forgotten. But Eliya herself was still a child of high lineage. So she still had a seat at court. Under one condition. She was never permitted to speak. The simplest answer to her predicament would be to convince her unknown father to marry her mother. Funny, how the simplest of answers said, are never the simplest done. Judging by the fact dwarf-mar, halfling-mar, and even a orc-mar that also sought the man, Lady Eliya had the feeling that her dear old father would not be the most respectful man she'd ever met. Even for man. Crossing half a continent on foot alone was simply not an option. So she traveled with this lot. They were charming, at times. Boorish at others. Lady Eliya was, in truth, elated to learn she had brothers.. of a sort. She would miss this; the travels, the talks, even the fights. But she had a duty for her mother, for herself. She ate a crumb of lembas bread, as she turned her attention away from Derry and Uo'Shoko, and towards the dwarf master. \\\\\* Thorlump Son-Shalump knew something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. But he could not tell the others. Not now, less than a fortnight away from the great city Dal-Sal-Rio. If they group split he wouldn't get paid. That was all that mattered, he told himself. Getting to meet that mangy man father of his was secondary. He reminded himself of that fact often. Who needs a father, anyway? Sure, it was unsightly of a Dwarf to take his mother's name as surname. But he had done just that, and any dwarf or other creature who had words about it could go to hell. He never needed a father, no how. That hadn't changed. But yet- as they drew closer and closer- he felt a tug within him. Thorlump would shrug off such pointless tugging. Heart weakens fist. He was leading them safely across land-route because it was his job and he was getting paid. That's all. The visions that had brought the four of them together? Bah. Thorlump had never the time nor the interest to study the magics or the visions. Only time to study his pocket-book and how thin it'd grown in recent year as less and less travelers took land-route. Thorlump had guided travelers all his life. He'd been to Dal-Sal-Rio before. You see one great city, you see em all. This was just a job. Just. A. Job, dammit. And, like most jobs, he knew when something was wrong. It was the fact that he had bagged an armadillo-deer today. Animals were not supposed to wander this far into No-Name Basin. in fact, this was supposed to be the part of land-route where travelers started thinking they'd starve to death (and some would from time to time, if they didn't follow ration. Those were always tough... Because you wouldn't get paid). And yet, here they were- eating three times a day. Something was wrong. Something had driven the animals away from verdant lands. "You worry?" She asked calmly, but Thorlump felt his heart jump up into his throat. The Mar-Elf could sneak better than an awngazn antelope! "I always worry. This is what you pay me for." he replied, trying to hide his alerted breath and heartbeat. "You should sleep. Nights are short in this place and we need every hour of daylight to travel.". It was true. 6 and a quarter hours of darkness followed by 20 hours of oppressive cloudless, light. He planned to use every one of those 20 of those hours to gain ground. A travel guide made his money by speed, not comfort. "Brother." Lady Eliya of the of the Eastern Cedars said. That word was chilling, to him. She gazed at him, her eyes concerned. "I am not accustomed to speaking much. But I did become accustomed to noticing much. Something troubles you.. besides your usual troubles." she said. Thorlump rolled his eyes. "Fine, if ye' must know" he said. "something big happened out there. Out south. The directin we go towards. Something to drive the animals deep into a waterless land." he said it plainly. "This thing, how big be it?" Uo'Shoko The Toothless asked. "Would it be studious for us to change our course?" Derrifred Waldeford questioned. So now everybody was all together, then, eh? Well. so much for sleep now. Tomorrow would be a helluva day. "Alright. Alright." the dwarf guide said. "Keep in mind, your contracts do not specify refund for this thing- if it is what I think it is. However, if it be so- we won't be alive very long anyway. So I guess you'd all be off the hook." The halfling-mar, the orc-mar, and the elf-mar all smiled at that. So strange, Thorlump Son-Shalump thought. He had just told them they'd probably die. And they had found humor in that. Like- well- like family... They were the oddest lot he'd ever led. No doubt. Well. They might as well laugh while they can. Dal-Sal-Rio.. and our father.. will definitely be delayed.
	[WP] A half elf, half orc, half dwarf and half halfling join forces for their common goal, finding their shared human parent	Tomas leaned his elbows on the counter, watching the group at the far corner of the bar. Four of them, they'd come in over the last week, one at a time. Most of his clientele being human, it wasn't too much of a surprise that they ended up sitting with one another. He personally had no problem with dwarves and elves and orcs, unlike many of his kind. Well, that wasn't entirely fair. The number of half-elves in the world indicated that humans didn't have a problem with elves, and the existence of half-orcs also indicated that there was a certain potential attraction there as well. Half-dwarves and half-halflings were less common overall; in fact, these two were the first he'd ever seen. He wasn't sure if it was a fertility problem or an opportunity problem. The female half-orc raised her arm, beckoning for another round of drinks. He knew what their orders would be, so he poured the appropriate drinks and put them all on a tray. Telara went to take the tray, but he shook his head. "I'll take it over." He wasn't quite sure what had occasioned him to choose to deliver the drinks in person, but as he came over, he observed equally curious looks in his direction. The half-dwarf girl, skinnier than most of her kin and with barely a fuzz of beard on her cheeks, nudged the half-elf youth. "Go ahead, ask him!" "You ask him!" hissed the half-elf. "Ask me what?" he asked. The half-halfling, who bore a passing resemblance to a human teenager, sighed and shook his head. "These two have been listening to too many bardic tales. The ones where the innkeepers have the exact revelation needed for the heroes of the story to beat the evil ogre wizard. And so they wanted to ask you about our problem." "And I keep tellin' these yo-hos that that's bein' unfair to ogres 'n' wizards," the half-orc woman said patiently. "Also, givin' too much credit to innkeepers, no offense intended." Tomas chuckled warmly. "None taken, miss ...?" "Delka," she said. She looked around the bar. "Nice place ya got here. For a human inn an' all." "Not that everyone else here thinks the same of us," observed the half-elf. He held out his hand. "My name is Treman, sir." "Nice to meet you, Treman," Tomas said, putting the tray down then shaking the youth's hand. "Your friend here mentioned a problem." He shrugged. "I know it's something that gets used far too often in the tales, but the truth is, we do hear a lot. Maybe I can help." "All right then," said the half-dwarf. "My name is Melaka, and this," she indicated the half-halfling youth, "is Petris. As odd as it might sound, we're all related." Tomas blinked. "That's definitely a new one on me. Same ... father, I'm guessing." Delka looked startled. "How'd you know that?" "Regional accents," he replied with a grin. "No two of you were raised in the same area. Different mothers, therefore the same father. So what's the actual problem, here?" "Well, isn't it obvious?" asked Treman. "We're looking for him. He's an adventurer, or used to be one. Humans don't usually last much longer than twenty years doing that sort of thing, or so I hear." Delka nodded. "I'm the youngest of the four of us. My mother told me that after he left her, he made it big. Killed a dragon and took all its hoard. So we figure he retired on that." "A fair assumption," Tomas allowed. "So what are you kids doing here, anyway? In this town, I mean? And what do you want with him? A share of the treasure?" Petris shook his head. "No, we just want to meet him. Find out what he's like. Maybe get some pointers on being an adventurer. As for why we're here, this is the biggest human town in the direction he was headed, the last Delka's mother heard of him. So we figured we'd ask around town and see if anyone had heard of a retired adventurer settling down here in the last fifteen years." "Yeah," Delka said with a grimace. "It's hard enough growin' up a female half-human in the orclands, without havin' no father around." "Hmm, I suppose you have a point," Tomas agreed, He pulled a chair over from a nearby table and spun it around, then sat down with his arms crossed over the back. "Well, just from me, I can tell you that one thing every adventurer needs to learn to do, and that's to notice every detail you can. Always be looking around, keeping an eye on your surroundings." Melaka frowned. "That's pretty well a given. Why?" He looked at her and grinned. "What colour dragon was it you said your father killed, back in the day?" Raising his eyebrows, he tilted his head toward the counter. "A green one, why?" Delka looked that direction, as did the others. At the large mural of an armoured human battling a green dragon, on the wall where a mirror normally would be. Tomas smiled. "You didn't look at the name of the tavern before you came in, did you?" He had never seen four people face-palm in unison before. It was quite entertaining. "F-father?" Delka, for all her heft, suddenly looked small and lost. "Is it really you?" "As ever was, kiddo." He barked a laugh at the dropped jaws that confronted him. "Well, well. I always wondered if anything ever came of my wilder years. Looks like it did. Welcome to the Green Dragon. I'll let Telara know that whatever you want's on the house." Standing up, he shoved the chair back where it had come from. "Where ... where are you going?" asked Petris. Tomas nodded toward the counter. "As you can see, I've got a tavern to run. But stick around. After I close up tonight, we're going to do some catching up." Pausing one more time to take in the sight of his children--his children!\--he headed back toward the counter. For a man who had no family, he mused, tonight was going to be one hell of a family reunion.	Chief Komarod sat on his throne. The high chief of the Orcs glared down at his son Opoguk. "Why must you find her?" "Because my chief, she gave me life." "I played a part too boy." "I know chief, still, I want to make sure she is okay." The chief's expression remained cold as steel, though he began to contemplate this. He remembered the lovely woman, and the time she had spent with him in his keep. The times they shared, tender, and fleeting. Then he remembered when he found out about all the time she had also spent in the company of the elves, and the dwarves. What's next? Was she going to go about with the halflings as well? Bah, she was better off gone. "Boy, if you search her out, you are banished." "That... is something I am prepared for." his son replied. "Then be gone! Be gone from my lands. If you are so much as spotted in these lands again, my hunting parties will bring me your head." With that Opoguk turned, and walked solemly straight out of the keep, and kept walking onwards towards the border. After he'd made it some way down the trail, he decided it best to begin moving at a jog, lest Komarod has a change of heart and send the hunting parties early. There has never been an Orc half-blood in as respected a position as his before. He led a hunting party. He was a renowned warrior, he had his choice of women in the camp. Still, he had an uncontrollable urge to seek out his mother. She needed help. As hunger began to fill Opoguk's belly, he wrestled the spear from his pack and began to seek out his next meal. Following unmistakable tracks in the dirt, Opoguk managed to find a deer. Deer meat made for a good meal and Opoguk crept silently towards it, intent on ending the hunger dwelling inside him. He raised his arm, and with a mighty swing and a flick of his powerful wrist, the spear landed perfectly embedded in the heart of his delectable treat. Skinning and dressing his kill, he prepared it to be cooked. Prepared a fire, and constructed a spit on which to char its flesh. After the juices began to run almost clear, the meat was cooked perfectly, Opuguk began tearing portions off and devouring them. His belly full, he settled down for rest. He was well outside the borders of his father's kingdom, he was on his own. The next morning, Opuguk rose with the sun. Still early, the birds were singing their songs, and the morning dew still hung around on the leaves and grass. Grunting to himself, he picked up, and got his bearings towards the kingdom of man. Setting off towards the sun, he worked up to a jog, one that he could maintain for hours, and was off. It was several hours before Opuguk heard a rustling behind him. With a sudden turn, a slide in the dirt, and his spear raised to a battle position before he was even still, Opuguk prepared himself for a fight to the death. He let out a warcry, and prepared to charge the bushes. Just before he did, a woman crept out. A human woman. As she did, she eyed him gently, almost lovingly. She was dressed in simple clothing, a dark grey robe that was too loose to truly make out her form. She carried with her a staff, the likes of which powerful magi usually carried. His resolve faded, though he tried to maintain the appearance of brutality. "Stay back." he shouted at her. "Opuguk, my son. I've been waiting for you." His spear dropped. His breathing quickened. "Mother?" "Yes Opu." He ran to her. He closed his arms around her, enveloping her in his huge form and oversized muscles. Lifting her from the ground. "Mother, I've missed you." "I've missed you too Opu." He was crying now. An Orcish warrior crying in the middle of the forest holding his mother. If an elf could see this. "Why did you leave?" "I had to Opu, we're going to accomplish great things in this life. We're going to stop the war." Opuguk's face contorted. "You may be able to stop the Elves and the halflings from fighting. But us Orcs, and the Dwarves, ha! We'll be fighting forever." "Perhaps Opu, but perhaps they will fall in line once my children take their respective thrones." A nasty, inevitable smile took her face. The power of her magic radiated from her, such that the woman that Opuguk had sought out for comfort now provided him no such thing. Still, this was his mother. His father had banished him from his kingdom. A kingdom he would rightfully rule. Opuguk realized that while he remained a pawn, he was always such. At least now... he would rule.
	[WP] A half elf, half orc, half dwarf and half halfling join forces for their common goal, finding their shared human parent	"I swear to the forefathers, if he's a bard, I'm strangling him." Hurin patted his hammer in his half-dwarven hand. He and his new found family were hunting the Man in Red. There were stories about him, how he passed through town and cities. How he did deeds selflessly. How he had fathered others. Surilien, his half-elven sister patted him on the shoulder. "Now now, that's just an old stereotype. Bards aren't really love 'em and leave 'em types. They're travelers. They don't usually stick around long enough to form any kind of bonds. It takes time to even think of a family and settling in one place doesn't usually make a living for them." Brakka the Imposing, a large and hulking half-orc even for orcs, laughed loudly enough to shake the trees she was walking by. "You're speaking of experience! Truly, our meeting would have ended in blood if we hadn't realized we were walking the same road. Isn't that right, Dagger?" Chester, or Dagger as Brakka liked to call him, sighed wearily. "I do wish you'd stop calling me that, sister. Yes yes, I know. Small, silent, lethal when used correctly, but I'm not really that imposing." Hurin chuckled. "'Tis the Orcish way. You respect those that can do what you can't. She recognizes your ability to infiltrate even the smallest of spaces, opening the door so she can barge in and sunder everything else." Brakka laughed again. "Not to mention your ability to drink even Hurin under the table!" They all laughed until Surilien raised a hand. "There is someone ahead." After a moment, she said, "Be careful, they heard us. They are trying to conceal themselves." Brakka tapped Chester on the shoulder and pointed forward. He nodded and, like a shadow exposed to light, he was gone without a trace. After a couple minutes, with everyone ready for a fight, he returned. "It's him. It has to be." Hurin asked him. "Him who?" "The Man in Red." They all marched forwards out of the woods into a little clearing. Surilien stepped forward. "We've been seeking you, Man in Red. We know you are our father. We do not wish a fight, only answers." "I know." The voice came from behind them. "I led you on a merry chase. Tested you. Surely you don't think those towns you passed through just happened to need help when you came through." Hurin asked, "Testing us? Why? What possible reason would you have for that?" Underneath the red hood that concealed most of his face, they could see the smile that look both wild and satisfied. "Because the world needs more like us. Those willing to say civilizations are worth protecting. Those willing to go out in the wilds to pursue their goals away from the safety and comfort they may be used to. But those like us need strengths and weaknesses to come together to overcome our obstacles." Chester cocked an eyebrow. "Those like us? What are we supposed to be?" "Adventurers." Brakka cracked a broad toothy grin. "Adventurers. I like the sound of that."	Chief Komarod sat on his throne. The high chief of the Orcs glared down at his son Opoguk. "Why must you find her?" "Because my chief, she gave me life." "I played a part too boy." "I know chief, still, I want to make sure she is okay." The chief's expression remained cold as steel, though he began to contemplate this. He remembered the lovely woman, and the time she had spent with him in his keep. The times they shared, tender, and fleeting. Then he remembered when he found out about all the time she had also spent in the company of the elves, and the dwarves. What's next? Was she going to go about with the halflings as well? Bah, she was better off gone. "Boy, if you search her out, you are banished." "That... is something I am prepared for." his son replied. "Then be gone! Be gone from my lands. If you are so much as spotted in these lands again, my hunting parties will bring me your head." With that Opoguk turned, and walked solemly straight out of the keep, and kept walking onwards towards the border. After he'd made it some way down the trail, he decided it best to begin moving at a jog, lest Komarod has a change of heart and send the hunting parties early. There has never been an Orc half-blood in as respected a position as his before. He led a hunting party. He was a renowned warrior, he had his choice of women in the camp. Still, he had an uncontrollable urge to seek out his mother. She needed help. As hunger began to fill Opoguk's belly, he wrestled the spear from his pack and began to seek out his next meal. Following unmistakable tracks in the dirt, Opoguk managed to find a deer. Deer meat made for a good meal and Opoguk crept silently towards it, intent on ending the hunger dwelling inside him. He raised his arm, and with a mighty swing and a flick of his powerful wrist, the spear landed perfectly embedded in the heart of his delectable treat. Skinning and dressing his kill, he prepared it to be cooked. Prepared a fire, and constructed a spit on which to char its flesh. After the juices began to run almost clear, the meat was cooked perfectly, Opuguk began tearing portions off and devouring them. His belly full, he settled down for rest. He was well outside the borders of his father's kingdom, he was on his own. The next morning, Opuguk rose with the sun. Still early, the birds were singing their songs, and the morning dew still hung around on the leaves and grass. Grunting to himself, he picked up, and got his bearings towards the kingdom of man. Setting off towards the sun, he worked up to a jog, one that he could maintain for hours, and was off. It was several hours before Opuguk heard a rustling behind him. With a sudden turn, a slide in the dirt, and his spear raised to a battle position before he was even still, Opuguk prepared himself for a fight to the death. He let out a warcry, and prepared to charge the bushes. Just before he did, a woman crept out. A human woman. As she did, she eyed him gently, almost lovingly. She was dressed in simple clothing, a dark grey robe that was too loose to truly make out her form. She carried with her a staff, the likes of which powerful magi usually carried. His resolve faded, though he tried to maintain the appearance of brutality. "Stay back." he shouted at her. "Opuguk, my son. I've been waiting for you." His spear dropped. His breathing quickened. "Mother?" "Yes Opu." He ran to her. He closed his arms around her, enveloping her in his huge form and oversized muscles. Lifting her from the ground. "Mother, I've missed you." "I've missed you too Opu." He was crying now. An Orcish warrior crying in the middle of the forest holding his mother. If an elf could see this. "Why did you leave?" "I had to Opu, we're going to accomplish great things in this life. We're going to stop the war." Opuguk's face contorted. "You may be able to stop the Elves and the halflings from fighting. But us Orcs, and the Dwarves, ha! We'll be fighting forever." "Perhaps Opu, but perhaps they will fall in line once my children take their respective thrones." A nasty, inevitable smile took her face. The power of her magic radiated from her, such that the woman that Opuguk had sought out for comfort now provided him no such thing. Still, this was his mother. His father had banished him from his kingdom. A kingdom he would rightfully rule. Opuguk realized that while he remained a pawn, he was always such. At least now... he would rule.
	[WP] The Apocalypse wasn't as bad as the legends foretold. Sure the demons and angels are fighting everywhere, but they don't do THAT much collateral damage and the economy is booming thanks to humanity's ability to profit off of war.	Feb 1, 2021 WASHINGTON, DC - President Trump struck a gleeful tone in the White House Press Room on Monday when he announced a new multi-billion gold nugget weapons deal with Satan, the Lord of Darkness. The second such deal of its kind since the outbreak of the Apocalypse late last year, the United States has agreed to provide the Army of Hell with thousands of firearms and explosives in what the President called an "interdimensional arms deal the likes of which has never been seen." "It's going to be beautiful", the Mr. Trump said from the podium in front of reporters, many of them in chains. "A lot of people said it couldn't be done. And you had the Democrats saying that America shouldn't negotiate with the devil." Asked if he was actually fucking serious, Mr. Trump responded "I am serious, yes. Very serious. No one is more serious about this deal. And, you know, I've spoken to Lord Satan and he's a great guy. Just a very great, hardworking man. And he just wants his army to win. And he's a big fan of Trump too. He likes what we're doing here." Of the general backlash to his newfound friendship with Beelzebub, the President said "I think the media has, you know, been unfair about this. The media and the Democrats just can't accept that they lost another election they should've won and now you have this arms deal which is another big loss for them. But it's a big win for the American people and for our economy." The Army of Hell has been locked in a relatively calm war with the Forces of Heaven since late last year. Following the coronavirus pandemic, the cancellation of Better Call Saul, and then Mr. Trump's re-election, the gates of Hell opened in Branson, Missouri in what experts in ancient texts are calling the fulfilment of a dark prophecy. Shortly after, the Forces of Heaven, led by Jesus Christ of Nazareth, ascended from the sky to engage in battle with Satan's army. While initially many feared this would be the end of humanity, the armies have been doing battle largely in mid-air over wide, open spaces with minor damage to infrastructure and little to no disruption of everyday human life. Inversely, the economy has actually seen a massive bounce back from the recession caused by the coronavirus pandemic last year. The first deal Mr. Trump signed with the devil largely reversed all the damage done by the spread of COVID-19. While many Democratic politicians have criticised the President's literal deal with the devil to save the economy, Mr. Trump has characteristically downplayed the questionable morals of the agreement. "There's gonna be big, beautiful weapons factories built across our great country, with American workers on the production lines, American truckers driving through the gates of Hell, delivering those big, beautiful missiles", the President said in the press room. "To me, that's all that matters. But the media and the Democrats want to talk about this tiny little clause where if the Army of Hell win, Satan gets a position in my cabinet, and that's just part of the deal, you know? I'm a dealmaker, everyone knows that, and this will get Americans working again." Satan was later invited to the podium where he ominously cackled for 40 minutes.	"I'll take uh, the flaming sword today Isaac." The demon said with an easy-going look on his face. "Ah, you do love your antiques don't you Rasmondeous. That'll be 50 angel feathers." "What can I say, it's hard to beat the old stuff." He tossed Isaac a small, brown sack and flew out of the store with his new toy. Isaac sat behind the counter and counted the feathers, and as per usual, the demon shorted him 10 feathers. Classic demon move. Isaac moved into the back of the store where is father was forging up a new sickle, "I swear to satan we should've done business with the angels instead. These bastards are always shorting us feathers!" His father wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up from the forge with a smile, "But the angels don't like our weapons, something about being too barbaric remember... pansies." "Ya ya I know, but you'd think the devils would be more appreciative considering they've been winning this war for the past six years thanks to us humans... You know, sometimes I wish we'd sided with the angels instead." "Don't say that son." "No, I'm serious! These demon guys are real assholes." "Don't assume any better from the angels." "Seriously dad, why did we pick the demons instead. Everyone else sided with the angels." His father became stern with this question and gazed into the flames of his forge intently. "You're not old enough yet." "Oh come on dad! You've been saying that forever! You'll have to tell me eventually." "Fine!" his father boomed, "Fine I'll tell something just to get you off this danged question! Then be done with it!" Issac became excited, his father never told him anything about before the apocalypse. He ran over beside his fathers forge and sat down to listen. His dad put down his tools and turned to his son with a serious face, "You know I love you." "Of course." There was a long pause after this, as it seemed his father was contemplating something. "We chose the demons because they promised me something. Something very important to me, something the angels couldn't promise." "What was it?" "I told you I wouldn't say much, that's all you need to know." "But da-" "Enough! Now back to the storefront immediately!" Isaac carried himself back to the front with his head down. His father turned back to the forge in deep thought: He can't know. He can't know this whole thing is about him, no boy should live with that kind of knowledge. That the battle for the world is about him. He looked back over at his desk, where his own name wrote down on a tablet: "Abraham." He'll never get my son.
	[WP] The Apocalypse wasn't as bad as the legends foretold. Sure the demons and angels are fighting everywhere, but they don't do THAT much collateral damage and the economy is booming thanks to humanity's ability to profit off of war.	So the end of the world finally came. And people got over it. The Rapture did too. And to be honest, not nearly as many of us went missing as expected. Go ahead. Take a guess. What'd you guess? Six. That's right. Six people. For being "God's children" or whatever those fundies like to call it, he doesn't like us too much. And it makes sense, I figure. Because we're having way too much fun with this sort of thing. See, I get what you're thinking. "But it's the end of the world." Well, when you consider how long we've been pumping up the world for this sort of thing. Telling them for thousands of years in some roundabout way or another, it tends to make people a little... crazy. Crazy, being short for killing each other for eons, in many cases over the simple existence or lack there of, of a higher power. Funny in hindsight. Well maybe not that funny. Okay, sort of funny, also quite sad. Semantics... eh, lemme get back on track. Did everyone panic at first? Yeah. Obviously. But it turns out angels and demons react to hot lead or a serrated edge just as easily as incantations or prayers. Any which way you slice it, or them, they're going home somehow. Turns out, the militaries and other armed groups don't take kindly to anyone that threatens their homes. Add in a little dash of convincing the powers that be of all the untapped minerals and resources in either dimension... Yeah, you get the picture. I wasn't very keen on selling wares to denizens of each realm. At first. But this is permanent. I may as well do my thing. Moving supplies pays so much better these days. We barely have to fire a shot. Instead of receiving, we ship it. And if one of us dies, we'll be back. From one place or the other. Whoops. Guess the guys upstairs or down below missed that problem. From what I've learned firsthand, you get some pretty sweet benefits along with six senses. So? Are you in or, are you out? Because we need another set of hands. One of our main guys is still in limbo for couple of weeks as far as I know. We got trucks, airdrops, if you can drive a boat, we can get you hooked up. If you have any questions, ask Lilith upstairs. She's kind of bored these days. But hey, HR isn't really her thing. What can you do, right? --- Criticism, feedback and the usual are welcome. Find more at r/Jamaican_Dynamite	"I'll take uh, the flaming sword today Isaac." The demon said with an easy-going look on his face. "Ah, you do love your antiques don't you Rasmondeous. That'll be 50 angel feathers." "What can I say, it's hard to beat the old stuff." He tossed Isaac a small, brown sack and flew out of the store with his new toy. Isaac sat behind the counter and counted the feathers, and as per usual, the demon shorted him 10 feathers. Classic demon move. Isaac moved into the back of the store where is father was forging up a new sickle, "I swear to satan we should've done business with the angels instead. These bastards are always shorting us feathers!" His father wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up from the forge with a smile, "But the angels don't like our weapons, something about being too barbaric remember... pansies." "Ya ya I know, but you'd think the devils would be more appreciative considering they've been winning this war for the past six years thanks to us humans... You know, sometimes I wish we'd sided with the angels instead." "Don't say that son." "No, I'm serious! These demon guys are real assholes." "Don't assume any better from the angels." "Seriously dad, why did we pick the demons instead. Everyone else sided with the angels." His father became stern with this question and gazed into the flames of his forge intently. "You're not old enough yet." "Oh come on dad! You've been saying that forever! You'll have to tell me eventually." "Fine!" his father boomed, "Fine I'll tell something just to get you off this danged question! Then be done with it!" Issac became excited, his father never told him anything about before the apocalypse. He ran over beside his fathers forge and sat down to listen. His dad put down his tools and turned to his son with a serious face, "You know I love you." "Of course." There was a long pause after this, as it seemed his father was contemplating something. "We chose the demons because they promised me something. Something very important to me, something the angels couldn't promise." "What was it?" "I told you I wouldn't say much, that's all you need to know." "But da-" "Enough! Now back to the storefront immediately!" Isaac carried himself back to the front with his head down. His father turned back to the forge in deep thought: He can't know. He can't know this whole thing is about him, no boy should live with that kind of knowledge. That the battle for the world is about him. He looked back over at his desk, where his own name wrote down on a tablet: "Abraham." He'll never get my son.
	[WP] Your name is Mary Sue, you're completely average in absolutely everything but for some reason, since the day you were born people point out everything you does as extraordinary and the lack of reason why is driving you mad	"It's not fair," Tess complained, digging a crumb out from under a fingernail and flicking it into the lake. "I know," I said. "I'm sorry." "It's just... look, I'm happy for you, doll. I really am! But I've been practicing for months. Months! Playing 'til my fingers bled! And you just..." "Procrastinated." I leaned over to wrap an arm around Tess's shoulders. "Like always." She groaned. "Like always. I don't get it, Mary." "You can have the trophy. You deserve it." "No!" she shouted. When she heard her voice carry across the water, she sighed, stood up from the bench, and slowly twirled in circles. "If I deserved it, I'd have won it." We both let the lake's silence settle around us, save for the crunch of Tess's lace-up boots on sand. "Are you mad?" I asked. "No. Yes. I-- not at you. It's not your fault." She stopped and thought for a moment, then walked over to take my hands. "Mary... do you know what they're saying about me?" I shook my head. "That I'm your first relationship. Theresa McIntyre, the first human to..." She shuddered. "Someone from the Tribune tried to interview me. Caught me in the tube the other day. Kept asking... really vile questions." "I'm sorry. I can have him arrested if it'd help." "Maybe." She turned to look across the lake again. "Mary Sue. Talk of the world. I'd heard about you for years before I moved here, you know. Before we ever met, I knew your birthday, your favorite Backstreet Boy... everyone looks up to you. So brave. So special." I hugged my knees, steel heels digging into the sand. "I'm not." "I don't care, Mary. I don't care about any of that. I just..." When she turned to face me, her eyes were wet. "I don't want to live in your shadow anymore." Silence again; this time of the deafening sort. "Why'd you bring me here?" "Do you remember that Justin kid? From third grade? The one who kept throwing rocks at you on the playground?" I frowned. That was a decade ago. "I think so." "You know what happened to him?" "No." Tess took a small seashell from the shore and picked grains of sand off it. There were four hundred thousand, nine hundred and one of them. She'd be at it a while. "Nobody does. He just... disappeared." "Oh." That'd have been father. He was always... so protective. "When I said my first words, my parents wrote them in a scrapbook. When I took my first steps, they recorded it on a cheap tape recorded they'd bought from the dollar store. Those are normal things. For normal kids. You..." "Half the Institute showed up for my fourth birthday. I remember." "Yeah. Just because you're... you. If I break up with you, will I disappear?" She turned and flung the shell across the lake. It skipped four times. My instinct was to analyze its aerodynamics and ascertain how she could've improved her throw. That instinct was smothered by the words break up. "No," I said. "But I wish you wouldn't." "You could have anyone." She was crying now. She tried to hide it by tilting her head down a little, bringing her shoulders up, and speaking between breaths. "Maybe." Men and women sent the Institute letters and e-mails every single day, offering their services. Everyone wanted to try Mary out. "I don't want them. I want you." "Why? So they can keep you up on that pedestal?" "No," I said, slowly coming to a stand. "Because there are one hundred and eight thousand, four hundred and two hairs on your head. Because the color in your eyes radiate at precisely five hundred and seventy eV. Because you've done something that no human on this planet ever has or ever will." Despite herself, she let out a soft sob. "What, Mary?" I came behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "The first human-born android in history has fallen in love with you."	BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. I woke up. Groped blindly for my phone. "Good job, Mary-Sue!" declared my mother, who was standing in the doorway and quite clearly had been for some time, when I finally found my phone and killed the alarm. She was beaming at me, like she always did. It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to learn that other people were not routinely congratulated just for the act of waking up. It was entirely self-generated embarrassment, of course. Anybody I told about this just congratulated me on my developed self-awareness and offered to die for me. "Hey, Mom," I said. "Mary-Sue, I would gladly die if it meant--" I waved her off and picked up my day journal. "Not now, Mom. What's for breakfast?" Mom beamed. "Very good question, sweetie! We have--" Here, she launched into a detailed description of various breakfast food items, chiefly couched in the terms of their effects on the five primary senses of the human body and the various temperatures, animals, materials and concepts that they did and did not resemble. As was the case on each of the last seventy-six mornings since I had started recording these diatribes, at no point did she mention a food by its common English name, or indeed its common name in any other language I knew about. "What would you like, Mary-Sue?" Taking care not to answer the innocuous-seeming question, I shimmied around her (she did not react except to turn to face me, like a sunflower following the sun) and went for the dining room. There, I was surprised to see hash browns, pancakes, a helping of eggs benedict, and a pile of already-buttered toast. The most I'd gotten out of Mom's hemorrhagic exposition was something matching the description of "golden ichor", which I'd assumed was honey of some kind. Honestly, the spread was a little disappointing after today's speech. I picked up a fork and skewered one of the hash browns. "Ah, Mary-Sue! Off to seize the day, are we?" my father asked jovially, poking his bespectacled head out of the kitchen like a demented jack-in-the-box whose winding mechanism was somehow released by the act of impaling a hash brown with a fork. Mom finally appeared in the doorway behind me. "Oh, honey, you could've just told me you wanted the hash browns." Now she used their regular names. "Ah," said Dad. "My wife! How are you, darling?" I squinted at him as I munched on my hash brown. I'd been reading a lot more than I usually did recently, and it was beginning to feel wrong that my father felt the need to establish Mom's relationship to him every single time I encountered them having any kind of verbal exchange. "Oh, Husband," Mom tittered, enunciating the unnecessary capital letter so clearly I could taste it on my hash brown. I sighed inside. It had taken seventeen increasingly agonizing years to piece it all together, but now that it was all in position, the evidence was staggering. I was not some kind of psychological experiment subject to a bizarre local conspiracy of excessive praise-giving. I was not secretly dying of a chronic disease that nobody had told me about and which compelled everyone who knew about it to treat even the slightest of my achievements as on par with curing world hunger or ending a world war. No. The truth was far worse. The reason why everyone around me, from my parents to my moody older brother to my classmates to the guy with a gun who'd cornered me in a dark alley after twilight one time, did nothing but complacently wallow in my alleged greatness whenever they spoke to me; the reason why nothing I did ever seemed to matter on even the technical level of having any physical consequences a day after I'd done them; the reason why I was able to sit here in the dining room and mull over the twisted nature of my futile existence instead of heading to school in a timely fashion; I was in a story. A dumb story. Some kind of quasi-masturbatory self-insert, featuring characters that are less characters and more narrated collections of the abstract ideas of character traits. A miserable universe, comprised of nothing but the "empty calorie' equivalent of goodness. A nominal goodness, divested entirely of the semantic nutrients that make it worthwhile to pursue in the first place. I imagined the words that detailed my existence. Tried to imagine the author who had penned them. Wondered if these thoughts, this crisis I was going through, were even something that they were privy to. Was my mind one of those traits that fit into their flimsy cardboard shell of a story and its players? Did they know what they were doing to me? "Oh, Mary-Sue! That is some very good sitting," intoned my mother, and I could not detect the slightest hint of irony in her words.
	[WP] Your name is Mary Sue, you're completely average in absolutely everything but for some reason, since the day you were born people point out everything you does as extraordinary and the lack of reason why is driving you mad	"It's not fair," Tess complained, digging a crumb out from under a fingernail and flicking it into the lake. "I know," I said. "I'm sorry." "It's just... look, I'm happy for you, doll. I really am! But I've been practicing for months. Months! Playing 'til my fingers bled! And you just..." "Procrastinated." I leaned over to wrap an arm around Tess's shoulders. "Like always." She groaned. "Like always. I don't get it, Mary." "You can have the trophy. You deserve it." "No!" she shouted. When she heard her voice carry across the water, she sighed, stood up from the bench, and slowly twirled in circles. "If I deserved it, I'd have won it." We both let the lake's silence settle around us, save for the crunch of Tess's lace-up boots on sand. "Are you mad?" I asked. "No. Yes. I-- not at you. It's not your fault." She stopped and thought for a moment, then walked over to take my hands. "Mary... do you know what they're saying about me?" I shook my head. "That I'm your first relationship. Theresa McIntyre, the first human to..." She shuddered. "Someone from the Tribune tried to interview me. Caught me in the tube the other day. Kept asking... really vile questions." "I'm sorry. I can have him arrested if it'd help." "Maybe." She turned to look across the lake again. "Mary Sue. Talk of the world. I'd heard about you for years before I moved here, you know. Before we ever met, I knew your birthday, your favorite Backstreet Boy... everyone looks up to you. So brave. So special." I hugged my knees, steel heels digging into the sand. "I'm not." "I don't care, Mary. I don't care about any of that. I just..." When she turned to face me, her eyes were wet. "I don't want to live in your shadow anymore." Silence again; this time of the deafening sort. "Why'd you bring me here?" "Do you remember that Justin kid? From third grade? The one who kept throwing rocks at you on the playground?" I frowned. That was a decade ago. "I think so." "You know what happened to him?" "No." Tess took a small seashell from the shore and picked grains of sand off it. There were four hundred thousand, nine hundred and one of them. She'd be at it a while. "Nobody does. He just... disappeared." "Oh." That'd have been father. He was always... so protective. "When I said my first words, my parents wrote them in a scrapbook. When I took my first steps, they recorded it on a cheap tape recorded they'd bought from the dollar store. Those are normal things. For normal kids. You..." "Half the Institute showed up for my fourth birthday. I remember." "Yeah. Just because you're... you. If I break up with you, will I disappear?" She turned and flung the shell across the lake. It skipped four times. My instinct was to analyze its aerodynamics and ascertain how she could've improved her throw. That instinct was smothered by the words break up. "No," I said. "But I wish you wouldn't." "You could have anyone." She was crying now. She tried to hide it by tilting her head down a little, bringing her shoulders up, and speaking between breaths. "Maybe." Men and women sent the Institute letters and e-mails every single day, offering their services. Everyone wanted to try Mary out. "I don't want them. I want you." "Why? So they can keep you up on that pedestal?" "No," I said, slowly coming to a stand. "Because there are one hundred and eight thousand, four hundred and two hairs on your head. Because the color in your eyes radiate at precisely five hundred and seventy eV. Because you've done something that no human on this planet ever has or ever will." Despite herself, she let out a soft sob. "What, Mary?" I came behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "The first human-born android in history has fallen in love with you."	"It's Mary Sue! Quick, get an autograph!" Said a stranger in the crowd. "For the last time, it's Mack, not Mary," said Mack. "I just love how strong you are, you're like a strong girl power figure." The stranger continued. "I am a guy," said Mack. "Girl power!" said the stranger's girlfriend. "Look at me," said Mack. "I am wearing guy clothes, talking in a guy voice, walking around with a guy attitude. Okay?" The stranger's girlfriend paused for a second, then said "Trans power!" "Just give me something to sign," said Mack. "I just looove how you saved the hospital yesterday," said the stranger. "I didn't do that," said Mack, as he signed a book the stranger handed him. "And how she stopped the orphanage from burning down," said the stranger's girlfriend. "There is no orphanage, and I didn't stop it from burning down. And I'm not a she." Said Mack, and he signed another book. "Thank you Mary Sue! You are the strongest, bravest, prettiest girl I know!" Said the stranger's girlfriend as they walked away. Mack waved goodbye. He could disagree with them all day and they wouldn't change their minds in the slightest. In their minds he was some kind of hero. And a girl. And had saved some orphanage that didn't actually exist. He had tried wearing a mustache, but that just convinced them that he was still a hero, and a girl, but deep undercover and solving mysteries. Mack walked into a coffee shop at the train station. As he did so, a clerk behind the counter gasped. "Did you see how Mary Sue opened that door?" The clerk said. "She just opened it like nothing!" "Thanks. Can I get a sandwich?" Said Mack. "You are just, so amazing, I mean, so absolutely amazing, you're amazing." Said the clerk. "Thanks," said Mack. "Can I get the sandwich?" "I mean, the door was there, and then you were on the other side of the door, and then you opened the door, and it was like- wow! Bang!" The clerk clapped his hands. "Shut up and get me food," said Mack. The clerk stared. "That... wasn't nice. You told me to shut up. That hurt my feelings. You don't want to be the kind of hero that hurts my feelings." "I don't care about your feelings, stop getting in the way making unreasonable smalltalk and do your job," said Mack. The clerk stared at Mack, then raised a radio to his mouth. "The Mary Sue," he whispered, "is not nice." Mack glanced outside and saw random members in the crowd raise their heads, then turn to look at him. What on Earth was going on now? "The Mary Sue," the clerk continued, "doesn't care about my feelings!" "My name's not- actually, screw this," said Mack, as he exited the coffee shop and made his way down the station. If there was a crowd of people talking crazy, he wanted a clear escape route, and that shop had only one entrance. "I heard what you said," a nearby stranger in a dress whispered, "you should be careful, there's been accidents here." "I'll keep that in mind," mumbled Mack, as he kept walking. He glanced back as he left the station. It didn't look like anyone was following him. For the past two or three weeks, strangers had been walking up to him and calling him Mary, and insisting that he was a hero, and a woman, and had red hair. None of that was true, but for the most part people left him alone, until today. Mack looked down the main street, then went down an isolated sidewalk instead. He wanted to stay away from the crowds until he could figure out what was going on. As he walked, he looked at a window and saw a reflection of a girl with red hair. He turned around to see if there was some psycho behind him that he didn't notice, but there was no one there. Mack went to the window and looked. Staring back at him was the face of a woman, with short red hair. Mack raised his hand to his own face. The image in the reflection did the same, then lowered her hand. "But I didn't lower my hand," said Mack. "Who, are you? You're Mary Sue, huh." The reflection looked down, and nodded. "Well, it's nice to meet you, I guess," said Mack. The reflection started to cry, silently. "Uh, hey. Sorry for. Well I don't know. Sorry that people think I'm you? Can you talk, is there sound here? Can you hear me? Look, don't cry, because, ah, well I don't know why not, but we'll figure out whatever's wrong, and we'll fix it, ok?" The reflection looked up and nodded, wiping the tears away. Then she walked towards the glass and raised her hand to it. Where her finger touched, glowing lines appeared on the glass. "This is my story," she wrote "in my story, I am Mary Sue. I am perfect, everyone likes me." "Did I break that?" Asked Mack. "It's not your fault, you didn't know," wrote Mary. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of that argument," said Mack. "If I break something, I fix it. Tell me what to do." "When I leave this world," wrote Mary, "my body stays. I thought that it would stay as the body of a girl, and that she wouldn't have any memories of my adventures. But it looks like when I leave this place, my body transforms into you." Mack looked at his body. "I think other people see me as a girl, I don't know why. As far as I remember, I've always been a guy." "I told them that I have a secret identity," said Mary. "Sorry." "Well, tell them that I'm a different person. Maybe that will fix it." Said Mack. "I can't be here all the time," wrote Mary. "This isn't my real body, or my real life, I just come here to escape from time to time." "Hm. Messed up life huh?" Said Mack. "No. Just, nothing special," wrote Mary. "I want something interesting or exciting to happen, but I'm just average. I'm just me. I'm not the perfect person I am in here." "What's wrong with being you?" Said Mack. "There's people that spend their whole lives trying to be themselves or find themselves. If you already know who you are, then you're ahead of the curve on that." "Thanks," wrote Mary, "I must say, you're taking this very well." "Taking what well?" Asked Mack. "When I look into a mirror now I see a pretty girl. Sounds like a bonus to me." Mary blushed and wrote "Thanks for calling me pretty. Don't worry, I'll fix this." That's the last time that Mack ever saw Mary. The people around him never called him Mary again, and seemed to forget that they ever did. An orphanage appeared out of nowhere. And Mack won a small fortune in the lottery the next week. He used some of the funds to build a statue in a park. Titled, simply, "To Mary."
	[WP] Your name is Mary Sue, you're completely average in absolutely everything but for some reason, since the day you were born people point out everything you does as extraordinary and the lack of reason why is driving you mad	“Extraordinary Mary Sue! Just marvelous!” my teacher exclaimed at my half-baked attempt at a model volcano. It didn’t even explode, just sat there. That basically summed up my life. Here I sat average in every way, getting undeserved praise. “Perfectly delightful, Mary Sue.” But then I saw something I had never noticed before. A quick flicker of my teacher’s eyes; a moment of fear directed at something behind me. It was almost undetectable before she went back to smiling at me. The teacher moved away, and I turned to look behind me. Nothing was there. Well nothing out of the ordinary. The classroom was filled with students and parents for the science fair, but nothing that could be construed as scary. I sighed as I looked back down at my pitiful volcano. Every day people complimented me, praised me even on things I was ordinary or even bad at. It was to the point that I didn’t even know where my talents actually lay. Just once I wanted someone to be honest with me. My father heard my sigh, and reached to put a hand on my shoulders. “What is it Mary Sue? You are doing wonderfully. You might even win the science fair.” When he said it, the people around him looked up. The judges’ eyes widened and they wrote quickly. A parent’s nose twitched in anger for a moment, but just as soon as I thought I saw it, everyone surrounded me, congratulating me profusely. “You’ll surely win.” “Absolutely. Star of the class, she is.” “A little genius. Destined for greatness.” I looked down. I wished they would stop, but I didn’t want to upset them so I just let it go on. Embarrassed, I rushed my father out of the room. “Dad?” I asked, “Why are people so nice to us?” “Because you are a kind, smart girl.” “I’m actually not, I’m very average.” My father frowned. “Who has been telling you that?” “No one, I just can tell. Look how good all the other kids’ projects turned out. Billy even studied a cancer treatment, and all I came up with was a lousy volcano. Even my parents are average! No offense dad. I’m sure you’re a great electrician.” My father’s eyes darkened. “You are the most special girl in the world, and don’t you ever believe otherwise.” We headed out of the school, and I thought nothing more of it. The next day I walked into class, but it didn’t feel like mine. All the stylish girls were dressed blandly, as though beige was the new black. The students were silent and sullen. When they realized it was me who had walked in, though, they all stood up and congratulated me on the science fair. They complimented my hair, my clothes, even my voice. Once the lessons started, things started to get truly weird. “Five plus five” asked the teacher. No one moved. “Anyone?” Too shocked to move I said nothing. Had we done back to pre-school? “James?” asked the teacher. “Seven?” James said hesitantly. A few kids glanced at me. “No, anyone else?” I hesitantly raised my hand. “Ten?” “Brilliant!” the teacher exclaimed. My brain kinda melted at that moment, so I asked to use the bathroom. They of course allowed me (and complimented me on my courage of speaking my thoughts). Instead, I rushed home, wanting the comfort and security of my own bed. When I came home, I heard voices from the kitchen. I stopped in the hallway and listened in through the door. It sounded like my music teacher. “Can’t I just tell her how to sing better? She really wants to know.” My father’s voice shouted in response, “You insubordinate little –“ and before her could finish a loud noise shook me. I had never heard one before, but I instinctually knew this was the sound of a gunshot. Horrified, I backed up. One of my father’s coworkers, another electrician, walked through the hall I was in, towards the room with the gunshot. He too held a gun. “Stop” I said. He did. “Hand me your gun,” I demanded. He hesitated, but he did. “Lovely dress today miss,” he added. Taking a breath, I walked into the room. I saw the body on the floor. I saw my father holding a gun. I saw a bunch of other electricians around him, also holding guns. They looked at me but said nothing. My father looked at me but said nothing. The electricians, no they couldn’t be electricians, moved in front of the body. I took a step toward my father, and then the rage, the rage of being patronized all those years, the rage of being silent all those years, the rage of being lied to all those years took over my body. I don’t know how I knew how to hold a gun, how to handle it, how to aim it, but within seconds there were two bodies. Two bodies of people I loved. I looked down at my music teacher. And then I looked at my father. “What now, boss?” asked a voice. “I’m sorry?” I asked. “I said what now, boss?” I looked around, every electrician, sorry not electrician, was looking at me. Awaiting orders. “That was a good hit, boss,” one of the men said. And for the first time, in a very long time, I smiled. It was a good hit. &#x200B; Edit: Edited for clarity	I can't take another minute of this! I made sure I failed my exam, my "essay" if you could call it that was shallow and did not do me any favors. I knew I wouldn't get into Harvard or Yale or any other top notch university. But I DID. I got into EVERY school I applied to. I didn't study for any of my exams, made sure I was sleep deprived and fell asleep midway through the exam. And I GOT THE HIGHEST GRADE. When I realized that everyone around me saw everything I did as amazing no matter how little I tried I stopped trying all together. But everyone still loves me. I write my english teacher who is amazing "I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU BITCH" in an email and nothing happens and she says it was a "lovely email from a lovely student" WHAT? I also got scholarships to every college as well. I suppose after a lot of debate that's why I've decided to do this. I've looked up the symptoms. Everyone loving me, my naturally green hair, and I FINALLY found something. I have protagonist syndrome. Since everyone loves me so much. I guess I'll just have to make them hate me. I can't stand this, it's the only way. I have to become the antagonist for someone else who is like me. I'll be writing this as a documentation of Protagonist Syndrome and to see if I will ever be able to be free of it. \-Mary Sue
	[WP] At the end of the Sorcery Academy every pupil is given a title describing their destiny by the demon Grash'ga the Namegiver. The other pupils got titles like Lex Ashwalker and Gren the Storm Herald. When it came to your turn Grash'ga whimpered with terror and whispered your title: "the Mundane"	The fear in his eyes told me the name had a different meaning. I had, of course, some idea of what he meant. My magic did not flow like a river, or pool in depths like a lake. It did not set the world on fire with unnatural colors, or conjure prismatic stones that took away the breath with its beauty. Like all sorcerers, I could still do those things, to some extent. But when I let my power out, things went horribly wrong. A portion of my power always came out under stress, and no time was more stressful than practical magic exams. But, as the tests were always graded on a curve, I could always get excellent scores. Why? Because around me, when my magic swirled, it caught the strands and winds and led them down a drain. The colors that so brightly shone in crystals faded. Alchemical texts began to rearrange themselves, desperately trying to maintain effects as their prescribed ingredients lost power. Mages would find themselves struggling to maintain their flashy spells, as the world around them dulled. Hence the name, the Mundane. I joined the army after graduation. And in that time, war changed. Battles around me slowed. Glamorous charges, supported by mighty constructs, seemed to grind to a halt. My power was growing beyond just magic. It started when arrows could begin to bring down mages around my presence. Friendly mages, too, lost power. And my commanders were forced to rely on melee combat, formations, and logistics to win. Soon, mages began to fall out of favor, as my presence ensured their powers would be weak. Knights lost their bright heraldry. Magic items no longer worked, and soon, the fabled magical classes began to give way altogether to a more brutal form of war. Peasant armies, raised from farmers, having not bathed for weeks. Carrying pitchforks and bows. The cities began to fall from the sky, as enchantments fell. Magical glades became lost forests, and mists gave way to slime and mud. And soon, the peasants were replaced with grim-looking, unshielded soldiers, carrying my last alchemical inventions to war. A dirty, deadly substance, that puffed out bangs and flashes that could kill. By the time of my retirement, the face of war became my crowning achievement. Men wearing dark green and brown uniforms, fighting endless sieges over ruined cities. And they were endless indeed. I’d cursed the world with my power, and replaced magic with the mundane by my mere presence. Even war, the brightest, flashiest displays of power, became grinding, grueling affairs. Even war had become mundane.	You weren't surprised when the Namegiver gave you your title. You had always struggled with sorcery. It's a miracle that you are even graduating at all, considering you have never been able to use magic in any of its forms. Even your professors were baffled. While there were students who struggled in the past, they always found magic eventually. Some even created a different kind all together. But not you. Despite belonging to one of the most famous sorcery families, magic simply never came to you. It was something that your father hated you for, claiming that you were purposefully hiding your gift. That you had magic but you didn't want to share it. He said that you were just like your mother, stubborn as a fool and unwilling to bend. You knew that the day would come in which you would have to confront your father. The professors felt pity for you, allowing you to stay at the academy and graduating, just like your peers. You would be the first to be awarded an honorary diploma, which basically meant nothing. You kept this fact from your father, who you knew would flip out if he knew. Today was the graduating ceremony, a day you feared would go awry. The friends you had made during your freshman year had all abandoned you when it was discovered that you had no magic. The ceremony was seemingly going to plan, until it was your turn to accept your diploma. When your name was called, the crowd fell into a hush of murmured whispers. Only your father stood to clap, before succumbing to peer pressure and sitting back down. Your father was a coward, just as your mother had told you before she disappeared. As you went to take your diploma from the leader of the academy, you heard a whisper in your ear. You looked to each person staring at you, all of whom had their mouths shut. Listen the voice said You're not the only one without magic. You can find what you are looking for in the library's forbidden archives. But be warned, they already know.
	[WP] After the zombie apocalypse broke out, you got bitten and infected pretty quickly. Bizarrely, while you aren't immune you are somehow still in full control of your actions even after succumbing, unlike the other zombies.	#Tom and Benny &nbsp; "What are you doing? Shoot him before he turns!" That was the first thing I heard in the darkness. Frank was always a dick. "No! Not until he turns! That's our rule and you know it!" At least Benny's sane, the best of the bunch and my greatest friend. &nbsp; Darkness... Nothing... "Errr, isn't it supposed to happen by now?" Another quip Frank, but for once he's right about something. Hunger. No, wait... Thirst? I didn't read that one in the zombie to be pamphlet. I tried letting a sound out, anything to figure out what's happening. &nbsp; "Warrrth" "Oh shit, it's alive! Kill it already!" I hear the gun shaking in Benny's hand now. "Waaarter" &nbsp; "Did... Did he just ask for water?" My eyes slowly opened, acclimating to the light. "Water, Benny. Please." My eyes fully open now, exposed to the light with a searing brightness. I sat up. &nbsp; "Errrrrrr, Tommy? Buddy?" Benny said with the rifle still point at me. "What? I guess I haven't turned ye-" I caught my reflection in the glass of the window next to me. My eyes were like theirs. Clouded a murky white. My veins visible and darkened. Yup. Not a good look for little old Tommy. &nbsp; "Brains?" I laughed nervously, forgetting I'm still on the bad end of a rifle. "Tommy, what the fuck is this?" Benny shouted at me, which was a first for Billy, I don't think I'd heard him swear this whole apocalypse until now. &nbsp; "Now. I know this looks bad, but I don't want to eat you, alright?" I had to repeat that last bit a couple of times pleading with Benny to put the rifle down. &nbsp; "I guess I'm fin-" BANG Frank was pointing his smoking pistol at me with a crazy look on his face, his eyes disturbed and wide, the kind of look a man would get staring at his girl caught with three men and horse. "Arrrgh! You fucking shot me!" I screamed back at him not realizing the total lack of pain where there should be. &nbsp; He readied his aim towards my head when Benny charged him down and pinned him to the floor, discharging another shot off into the window where I had previously looked upon my new beautiful makeover. &nbsp; You see, Benny's weapon was great, now I don't know anything about guns but we found it at some military checkpoint from back when there was a military to fight this. Had it's own suppressor and everything. Frank's revolver on the other hand, did not. Given that fact and the fact that two shots were just fired off from it, some new friends were bound to come shuffling our way any moment now. &nbsp; "Now Frank, I know what you're thinking and hell I'd be thinking it too, but it's kinda racist to assume I want your brains just because they're there. I'm not as easy as the other girls. So why don't we high tail it out of here befo-" I was tired of being interrupted by this point. CRASH &nbsp; The all too familiar sound of mumbling and shuffling was present once again at the first floor windows. Except there was another noise. Or maybe not a sound, but... A thought? "Help, help us help, help..." This sound was repeating over and over again, echoing inside my head. I could hear them. So maybe they could hear me too. &nbsp; "I think it's about time I see my new friends. I'm gonna try something. Benny, head out the back door once I've left this room and head for the car and pull it around front. Get ready to pick me up." Benny nodded frantically. &nbsp; "And Frank. Please save your god damn bullets for those of us who are less fussy eaters. I'm gonna go say hello." &nbsp; --- Thanks for reading, I knocked this one out at 6AM and am gonna go to sleep now. Fun prompt. /r/Camel_Writes	BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-smack You roll onto your back and sigh, contemplating whether to sleep in a few more minutes or face the day. You choose to sleep in, but, as usual, overdo it. As you push the covers off yourself, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your pinky toe goes flying off your left foot. “Dammit, that just had to happen today, didn’t it.” You pick it up and place it in an empty water glass on your nightstand. “I’ll get to that later...”, you think to yourself. You walk out to your scratched up and dented car in the driveway while still buttoning your shirt, plop yourself into the driver’s seat, and sigh again as your key goes into the ignition. You begin to think that even though the world has changed so much in the last 6 months, it still seems so familiar. Maybe being a zombie isn’t so bad. You back out of your driveway with newfound optimism, and begin your commute to work. You merge onto the freeway, only to have the car next to you speed up to prevent you from being in front of them. They were so preoccupied with wanting to be in front of you that they hit the person in front of them, and as they come to a complete stop, you are now stuck behind them, waiting for a gap in traffic to move around them. Cars are speeding around you and sideswiping one another. Everyone is honking. The two in front of you get out of their cars and start fighting each other. One pulls the arm off the other and starts beating them with it. You finally see your chance, and swerve out into traffic, adding another scratch to your front left panel. You walk into the office and get a few stares as you realize you’re quite late today. You internally shrug and think, “What’re they gonna do, fire me? It’s slim pickings these days. Not everyone who was turned is still able to be as coherent and controlled as I am. I should be ok.” You turn on your computer and let it warm up as you make your way into the break room. There’s no more coffee. AGAIN. There’s slime on the coffee pot handle. “Dammit, ELAINE. She’s always finishing the coffee and never making more.” You mumble under your breath. Elaine walks by and smiles with her coffee in her hand. A tooth falls out and into the cup. You smile and let out a small “Hmpf” as she grimaces and speeds off to her cubicle. The rest of the day is normal. Well, as normal as it is now. Your boss continues to stare at their computer screen with a long dribble of drool puddling on the desk. The coworker across from your cubicle continues to look at explicit sites of brains being massaged, and still assumes no one knows. For once, his nasty work habits are helpful, as this reminds you that your freezer is empty at home and you need to go grocery shopping. The office slowly empties, and you wait for your boss to leave before heading out. You at least manage to not gain a new dent or scratch on your way to the store. You look for a parking spot and patiently wait as someone pulls out, only for someone else to take the spot from you. You eventually park, and go to grab your reusable bags, only to remember you left them on the counter at home from the last time you went shopping. You grab a basket thinking that maybe this will help in only buying enough to carry, as spending money on a thin paper bag isn’t worth it. You peruse the freezer aisle, and find your favorite Organic Black Pepper and Garlic Brains. You grab a few bags, and head over to the canned goods aisle. You take the last few cans of Spicy Chili Brains, and decide that’s enough for the next few days. You find the shortest line and go to check out. The man in line is yelling at the cashier about not accepting his expired coupons, and as he’s yelling his tongue falls out. You decide to pack up your things and stand in the longer line for self checkout. After what feels like the longest day, you’re home, sauteeing those Black Pepper and Garlic Brains. You finish eating and binge a few episodes of The Office. Again, you think that maybe things aren’t so different now than they were then. You walk into your bedroom after brushing your teeth, feeling lucky that none fell out this time, only to make eye contact with your severed toe still on the nightstand. You turn off the lights, lay down in bed, pull up the covers, and stare at the toe, which is being beautifully illuminated by your alarm clock, and slowly drift off to sleep.
	[WP] After the zombie apocalypse broke out, you got bitten and infected pretty quickly. Bizarrely, while you aren't immune you are somehow still in full control of your actions even after succumbing, unlike the other zombies.	This is the story of Gryg. Gryg, was your standard PhD chemistry student. He was sleepy all day, when he was doing dangerous things involving titrating acids and catalyzing reagents and frantically transporting the mixtures of said acids and reagents to fume hoods when he'd followed to cryptic instructions in some long-gone sudent's lab book wrong. Then, when he was in the safety of his own bed, he was wide awake fantasizing about failing out and botching his thesis and other such pleasantries. When Jess shuffled toward him one day with hesitant, shuffling steps, eyes glassy, spittle drooling out of her mouth, a soft hungry groan emitting from her throat, he assumed nothing was wrong. He was correct, this was Jess' natural state since she too was a PhD chemistry student. "Have you seen the news?" She asked him. He had not. He looked over toward the corner where a rabbit-eared relic of a TV, which probably could have been sold at auction, sat on top of a pile of electronics salvaged by industrious time-travellers with a special interest in chemistry gear from the 1970s. The TV was playing the news, and now he had seen it. "Yeah, pretty grim," he said. There was apparently an outbreak of some disease rolling through the city which, for all intents and purposes, seemed to zombify its victims, although, biologists, annoyed at how much people like chemists made fun of them already, were very careful to avoid the z-word and instead referred to it as a neuro-insomnial contagion spread by dental impaction whose side effects included metabolic overload and sanguimania. "Not as grim as my thesis," Jess muttered as she shuffled off down the row of lab stations and Gryg accidentally titrated too much reagent into too much acid and began his own shuffle toward the fume hoods. When, two days later, Jess shuffled toward him with halting steps and glassy eyes and a drooling mouth and a hungry groan, Gryg again assumed nothing was wrong. This time, however, he was incorrect and was dentally impacted by Jess' left incisor, an offense for which he gave her an annoyed swat, and was infected with neuro-insomnial sanguimania. Contrary to Hollywood assertions, the zombie contagion was quickly neutralized. It turns out that zombies aren't especially tactical, and, owing to the laws of physics, actually starve quite quickly when quarantined. Gryg, quite accustomed to starvation and neuro-insomnia, continued on as usual, with the occasional trip to the medical campus to indulge in a cadaver or two. Unfortunately for Gryg, unlike the Chemistry department where things go missing all the time, the medical department actually paid very close attention to the cadaver situation, and noticed when they began to spontaneously transform into gory puddles splashed all about the walls after being put to bed for the evening. Discounting a rather macabre theory involving the ghost of Jack the Ripper, they decided to set a trap, and captured an unsuspecting Gryg one evening on his way home from a long day at the lab. Gryg tried to explain the situation but, medical students being rather averse to associating with lowly scientists, found himself collared and chained and shipped off to Zomtopia, a compound built by a collective of vegan humanitarians to house and feed the poor unfortunate sanguiphages and didn't see any irony in this whatsoever. His new living situation appalled Gryg, his roommates, lovingly dubbed by him as 'the frat,' seemed to care nothing about intellectual pursuit and preferred instead to smash and bite and grunt in bizarre fashion. Gryg complained to the upper management of Zomtopia, that he was in fact gainfully employed and should be released back into the general population as he had very important work to be doing, unfortunately, his vocal cords had been strained by side effects of the virus, and this proved rather difficult. "Theeeeeessssuuuuuhs," he moaned at the vegan humanitarians. "Oh look at that dear, in his cute little lab coat, toss him a treat," said a bloody vegan as she carved a hunk of flesh from a freshly dead, hopefully naturally, corpse and tossed it to Gryg. The flesh made a wet squelching sound as it pounded into his face, and then slid off. The frat rushed over, eager to share in Gryg's success. Gryg fumed at the insult. Gryg tried time and time again to communicate with the vegan commune. Time and time again they rebuffed his attempts with new infantilization and bullying and self congratulation at their own charitableness. One day, noticing that his once pristine lab coat had become a bloody horror from Mengele's dungeon, Gryg decided that he had had enough. He shuffled around the enclosure, looking for a tool. He found it, a bobby-pin attached to a head of hair which had been furiously disheveling itself in hopes of time traveling to the 80s. He picked it out, glared at the vegans, and began to shuffle toward the cage door. "Oh look at the little scientist, he's got himself a tool! What are you doing little scientist?" Someone noted to their friend, "Isn't he so cute, I can't believe some people wanted to exterminate them, it's just not right." Gryg reached the door, shoved his hand through, and began to pick the lock. Hearing it click open, he grunted toward the frat to get their attention. "Theeeeeeeeesssssuuuuuuuhs," he moaned. "Grrruuuuggghhh," they moaned back, assuring him that, in this case, it was bros before hoes all the way. "What, is that one doing there? By the door, is he-- oh my god! Somebody stop them somebody call, auuugh!" One of the vegans shouted shortly before joining the frat. Gryg's frat quickly took over the vegan compound, and after some extremely patient leadership from Gryg began the second wave of neuro-insomnial contagion, this one much harder to quell owing to the newly tactical leadership of the zombie horde. It was quelled eventually, and Gryg never did finish his thesis, which is a bit of a shame as he was doing some rather exciting work with [nano-structures](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter), but perhaps was all for the best.	BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-smack You roll onto your back and sigh, contemplating whether to sleep in a few more minutes or face the day. You choose to sleep in, but, as usual, overdo it. As you push the covers off yourself, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your pinky toe goes flying off your left foot. “Dammit, that just had to happen today, didn’t it.” You pick it up and place it in an empty water glass on your nightstand. “I’ll get to that later...”, you think to yourself. You walk out to your scratched up and dented car in the driveway while still buttoning your shirt, plop yourself into the driver’s seat, and sigh again as your key goes into the ignition. You begin to think that even though the world has changed so much in the last 6 months, it still seems so familiar. Maybe being a zombie isn’t so bad. You back out of your driveway with newfound optimism, and begin your commute to work. You merge onto the freeway, only to have the car next to you speed up to prevent you from being in front of them. They were so preoccupied with wanting to be in front of you that they hit the person in front of them, and as they come to a complete stop, you are now stuck behind them, waiting for a gap in traffic to move around them. Cars are speeding around you and sideswiping one another. Everyone is honking. The two in front of you get out of their cars and start fighting each other. One pulls the arm off the other and starts beating them with it. You finally see your chance, and swerve out into traffic, adding another scratch to your front left panel. You walk into the office and get a few stares as you realize you’re quite late today. You internally shrug and think, “What’re they gonna do, fire me? It’s slim pickings these days. Not everyone who was turned is still able to be as coherent and controlled as I am. I should be ok.” You turn on your computer and let it warm up as you make your way into the break room. There’s no more coffee. AGAIN. There’s slime on the coffee pot handle. “Dammit, ELAINE. She’s always finishing the coffee and never making more.” You mumble under your breath. Elaine walks by and smiles with her coffee in her hand. A tooth falls out and into the cup. You smile and let out a small “Hmpf” as she grimaces and speeds off to her cubicle. The rest of the day is normal. Well, as normal as it is now. Your boss continues to stare at their computer screen with a long dribble of drool puddling on the desk. The coworker across from your cubicle continues to look at explicit sites of brains being massaged, and still assumes no one knows. For once, his nasty work habits are helpful, as this reminds you that your freezer is empty at home and you need to go grocery shopping. The office slowly empties, and you wait for your boss to leave before heading out. You at least manage to not gain a new dent or scratch on your way to the store. You look for a parking spot and patiently wait as someone pulls out, only for someone else to take the spot from you. You eventually park, and go to grab your reusable bags, only to remember you left them on the counter at home from the last time you went shopping. You grab a basket thinking that maybe this will help in only buying enough to carry, as spending money on a thin paper bag isn’t worth it. You peruse the freezer aisle, and find your favorite Organic Black Pepper and Garlic Brains. You grab a few bags, and head over to the canned goods aisle. You take the last few cans of Spicy Chili Brains, and decide that’s enough for the next few days. You find the shortest line and go to check out. The man in line is yelling at the cashier about not accepting his expired coupons, and as he’s yelling his tongue falls out. You decide to pack up your things and stand in the longer line for self checkout. After what feels like the longest day, you’re home, sauteeing those Black Pepper and Garlic Brains. You finish eating and binge a few episodes of The Office. Again, you think that maybe things aren’t so different now than they were then. You walk into your bedroom after brushing your teeth, feeling lucky that none fell out this time, only to make eye contact with your severed toe still on the nightstand. You turn off the lights, lay down in bed, pull up the covers, and stare at the toe, which is being beautifully illuminated by your alarm clock, and slowly drift off to sleep.
	[WP] After the zombie apocalypse broke out, you got bitten and infected pretty quickly. Bizarrely, while you aren't immune you are somehow still in full control of your actions even after succumbing, unlike the other zombies.	#Tom and Benny &nbsp; "What are you doing? Shoot him before he turns!" That was the first thing I heard in the darkness. Frank was always a dick. "No! Not until he turns! That's our rule and you know it!" At least Benny's sane, the best of the bunch and my greatest friend. &nbsp; Darkness... Nothing... "Errr, isn't it supposed to happen by now?" Another quip Frank, but for once he's right about something. Hunger. No, wait... Thirst? I didn't read that one in the zombie to be pamphlet. I tried letting a sound out, anything to figure out what's happening. &nbsp; "Warrrth" "Oh shit, it's alive! Kill it already!" I hear the gun shaking in Benny's hand now. "Waaarter" &nbsp; "Did... Did he just ask for water?" My eyes slowly opened, acclimating to the light. "Water, Benny. Please." My eyes fully open now, exposed to the light with a searing brightness. I sat up. &nbsp; "Errrrrrr, Tommy? Buddy?" Benny said with the rifle still point at me. "What? I guess I haven't turned ye-" I caught my reflection in the glass of the window next to me. My eyes were like theirs. Clouded a murky white. My veins visible and darkened. Yup. Not a good look for little old Tommy. &nbsp; "Brains?" I laughed nervously, forgetting I'm still on the bad end of a rifle. "Tommy, what the fuck is this?" Benny shouted at me, which was a first for Billy, I don't think I'd heard him swear this whole apocalypse until now. &nbsp; "Now. I know this looks bad, but I don't want to eat you, alright?" I had to repeat that last bit a couple of times pleading with Benny to put the rifle down. &nbsp; "I guess I'm fin-" BANG Frank was pointing his smoking pistol at me with a crazy look on his face, his eyes disturbed and wide, the kind of look a man would get staring at his girl caught with three men and horse. "Arrrgh! You fucking shot me!" I screamed back at him not realizing the total lack of pain where there should be. &nbsp; He readied his aim towards my head when Benny charged him down and pinned him to the floor, discharging another shot off into the window where I had previously looked upon my new beautiful makeover. &nbsp; You see, Benny's weapon was great, now I don't know anything about guns but we found it at some military checkpoint from back when there was a military to fight this. Had it's own suppressor and everything. Frank's revolver on the other hand, did not. Given that fact and the fact that two shots were just fired off from it, some new friends were bound to come shuffling our way any moment now. &nbsp; "Now Frank, I know what you're thinking and hell I'd be thinking it too, but it's kinda racist to assume I want your brains just because they're there. I'm not as easy as the other girls. So why don't we high tail it out of here befo-" I was tired of being interrupted by this point. CRASH &nbsp; The all too familiar sound of mumbling and shuffling was present once again at the first floor windows. Except there was another noise. Or maybe not a sound, but... A thought? "Help, help us help, help..." This sound was repeating over and over again, echoing inside my head. I could hear them. So maybe they could hear me too. &nbsp; "I think it's about time I see my new friends. I'm gonna try something. Benny, head out the back door once I've left this room and head for the car and pull it around front. Get ready to pick me up." Benny nodded frantically. &nbsp; "And Frank. Please save your god damn bullets for those of us who are less fussy eaters. I'm gonna go say hello." &nbsp; --- Thanks for reading, I knocked this one out at 6AM and am gonna go to sleep now. Fun prompt. /r/Camel_Writes	I wrote an entire freaking plot abt this except the sentient zombie is the antagonist. :/ &#x200B; I glanced around, confused. Hadn't it just been night time? The fever had pulled me into unconsciousness not a few minutes prior. My confused gaze landed on my partner's, and I saw a gun pointed at my head. The hand was shaking, and I couldn't speak in shock. What was she doing? I trusted her! I- I hadn't turned yet, I was still alive! "Sorry, David," She muttered after a while, shaking hand putting down the gun. I relaxed, listening to her apology, "You told me to kill you the moment I saw your glowing eyes, but... I can't, you know?" My heartbeat must've been racing, for I could hear it's every pulse. My heart wasn't pounding, I realized. Whose heart... Mine should have been racing, my best friend had just been pointing a gun at me, what was going on? After a moment of silence, I just observed her. We had only known each other for a year and a half, now, but it felt like so much longer. "With your glowing eyes," She muttered, moving forwards fearlessly. I slowly realized what had happened as the heartbeat got louder. It was her heart that was pounding. I could hear her heartbeat. What was going on? "And your healed skin... I... I know you asked me to kill you, but I just can't." Despite her moving in what seemed to be slow motion, I couldn't react, or even speak, until she was long gone, having run off. "But... I'm still here..." I said quietly, knowing that if I were still alive I'd have tears running down my face and a heartbeat that would probably give me a heart attack in my old age. I was a zombie. Oh, god, I was a zombie. ... And I was so hungry. I slowly stood up, seeing my glowing purple eyes in the reflection of a window. I could still hear her heartbeat. My legs carried me forwards, my speed faster than it had ever been before. I'd catch up to her soon.
	[WP] After the zombie apocalypse broke out, you got bitten and infected pretty quickly. Bizarrely, while you aren't immune you are somehow still in full control of your actions even after succumbing, unlike the other zombies.	This is the story of Gryg. Gryg, was your standard PhD chemistry student. He was sleepy all day, when he was doing dangerous things involving titrating acids and catalyzing reagents and frantically transporting the mixtures of said acids and reagents to fume hoods when he'd followed to cryptic instructions in some long-gone sudent's lab book wrong. Then, when he was in the safety of his own bed, he was wide awake fantasizing about failing out and botching his thesis and other such pleasantries. When Jess shuffled toward him one day with hesitant, shuffling steps, eyes glassy, spittle drooling out of her mouth, a soft hungry groan emitting from her throat, he assumed nothing was wrong. He was correct, this was Jess' natural state since she too was a PhD chemistry student. "Have you seen the news?" She asked him. He had not. He looked over toward the corner where a rabbit-eared relic of a TV, which probably could have been sold at auction, sat on top of a pile of electronics salvaged by industrious time-travellers with a special interest in chemistry gear from the 1970s. The TV was playing the news, and now he had seen it. "Yeah, pretty grim," he said. There was apparently an outbreak of some disease rolling through the city which, for all intents and purposes, seemed to zombify its victims, although, biologists, annoyed at how much people like chemists made fun of them already, were very careful to avoid the z-word and instead referred to it as a neuro-insomnial contagion spread by dental impaction whose side effects included metabolic overload and sanguimania. "Not as grim as my thesis," Jess muttered as she shuffled off down the row of lab stations and Gryg accidentally titrated too much reagent into too much acid and began his own shuffle toward the fume hoods. When, two days later, Jess shuffled toward him with halting steps and glassy eyes and a drooling mouth and a hungry groan, Gryg again assumed nothing was wrong. This time, however, he was incorrect and was dentally impacted by Jess' left incisor, an offense for which he gave her an annoyed swat, and was infected with neuro-insomnial sanguimania. Contrary to Hollywood assertions, the zombie contagion was quickly neutralized. It turns out that zombies aren't especially tactical, and, owing to the laws of physics, actually starve quite quickly when quarantined. Gryg, quite accustomed to starvation and neuro-insomnia, continued on as usual, with the occasional trip to the medical campus to indulge in a cadaver or two. Unfortunately for Gryg, unlike the Chemistry department where things go missing all the time, the medical department actually paid very close attention to the cadaver situation, and noticed when they began to spontaneously transform into gory puddles splashed all about the walls after being put to bed for the evening. Discounting a rather macabre theory involving the ghost of Jack the Ripper, they decided to set a trap, and captured an unsuspecting Gryg one evening on his way home from a long day at the lab. Gryg tried to explain the situation but, medical students being rather averse to associating with lowly scientists, found himself collared and chained and shipped off to Zomtopia, a compound built by a collective of vegan humanitarians to house and feed the poor unfortunate sanguiphages and didn't see any irony in this whatsoever. His new living situation appalled Gryg, his roommates, lovingly dubbed by him as 'the frat,' seemed to care nothing about intellectual pursuit and preferred instead to smash and bite and grunt in bizarre fashion. Gryg complained to the upper management of Zomtopia, that he was in fact gainfully employed and should be released back into the general population as he had very important work to be doing, unfortunately, his vocal cords had been strained by side effects of the virus, and this proved rather difficult. "Theeeeeessssuuuuuhs," he moaned at the vegan humanitarians. "Oh look at that dear, in his cute little lab coat, toss him a treat," said a bloody vegan as she carved a hunk of flesh from a freshly dead, hopefully naturally, corpse and tossed it to Gryg. The flesh made a wet squelching sound as it pounded into his face, and then slid off. The frat rushed over, eager to share in Gryg's success. Gryg fumed at the insult. Gryg tried time and time again to communicate with the vegan commune. Time and time again they rebuffed his attempts with new infantilization and bullying and self congratulation at their own charitableness. One day, noticing that his once pristine lab coat had become a bloody horror from Mengele's dungeon, Gryg decided that he had had enough. He shuffled around the enclosure, looking for a tool. He found it, a bobby-pin attached to a head of hair which had been furiously disheveling itself in hopes of time traveling to the 80s. He picked it out, glared at the vegans, and began to shuffle toward the cage door. "Oh look at the little scientist, he's got himself a tool! What are you doing little scientist?" Someone noted to their friend, "Isn't he so cute, I can't believe some people wanted to exterminate them, it's just not right." Gryg reached the door, shoved his hand through, and began to pick the lock. Hearing it click open, he grunted toward the frat to get their attention. "Theeeeeeeeesssssuuuuuuuhs," he moaned. "Grrruuuuggghhh," they moaned back, assuring him that, in this case, it was bros before hoes all the way. "What, is that one doing there? By the door, is he-- oh my god! Somebody stop them somebody call, auuugh!" One of the vegans shouted shortly before joining the frat. Gryg's frat quickly took over the vegan compound, and after some extremely patient leadership from Gryg began the second wave of neuro-insomnial contagion, this one much harder to quell owing to the newly tactical leadership of the zombie horde. It was quelled eventually, and Gryg never did finish his thesis, which is a bit of a shame as he was doing some rather exciting work with [nano-structures](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter), but perhaps was all for the best.	I wrote an entire freaking plot abt this except the sentient zombie is the antagonist. :/ &#x200B; I glanced around, confused. Hadn't it just been night time? The fever had pulled me into unconsciousness not a few minutes prior. My confused gaze landed on my partner's, and I saw a gun pointed at my head. The hand was shaking, and I couldn't speak in shock. What was she doing? I trusted her! I- I hadn't turned yet, I was still alive! "Sorry, David," She muttered after a while, shaking hand putting down the gun. I relaxed, listening to her apology, "You told me to kill you the moment I saw your glowing eyes, but... I can't, you know?" My heartbeat must've been racing, for I could hear it's every pulse. My heart wasn't pounding, I realized. Whose heart... Mine should have been racing, my best friend had just been pointing a gun at me, what was going on? After a moment of silence, I just observed her. We had only known each other for a year and a half, now, but it felt like so much longer. "With your glowing eyes," She muttered, moving forwards fearlessly. I slowly realized what had happened as the heartbeat got louder. It was her heart that was pounding. I could hear her heartbeat. What was going on? "And your healed skin... I... I know you asked me to kill you, but I just can't." Despite her moving in what seemed to be slow motion, I couldn't react, or even speak, until she was long gone, having run off. "But... I'm still here..." I said quietly, knowing that if I were still alive I'd have tears running down my face and a heartbeat that would probably give me a heart attack in my old age. I was a zombie. Oh, god, I was a zombie. ... And I was so hungry. I slowly stood up, seeing my glowing purple eyes in the reflection of a window. I could still hear her heartbeat. My legs carried me forwards, my speed faster than it had ever been before. I'd catch up to her soon.
	[WP] After the zombie apocalypse broke out, you got bitten and infected pretty quickly. Bizarrely, while you aren't immune you are somehow still in full control of your actions even after succumbing, unlike the other zombies.	This is the story of Gryg. Gryg, was your standard PhD chemistry student. He was sleepy all day, when he was doing dangerous things involving titrating acids and catalyzing reagents and frantically transporting the mixtures of said acids and reagents to fume hoods when he'd followed to cryptic instructions in some long-gone sudent's lab book wrong. Then, when he was in the safety of his own bed, he was wide awake fantasizing about failing out and botching his thesis and other such pleasantries. When Jess shuffled toward him one day with hesitant, shuffling steps, eyes glassy, spittle drooling out of her mouth, a soft hungry groan emitting from her throat, he assumed nothing was wrong. He was correct, this was Jess' natural state since she too was a PhD chemistry student. "Have you seen the news?" She asked him. He had not. He looked over toward the corner where a rabbit-eared relic of a TV, which probably could have been sold at auction, sat on top of a pile of electronics salvaged by industrious time-travellers with a special interest in chemistry gear from the 1970s. The TV was playing the news, and now he had seen it. "Yeah, pretty grim," he said. There was apparently an outbreak of some disease rolling through the city which, for all intents and purposes, seemed to zombify its victims, although, biologists, annoyed at how much people like chemists made fun of them already, were very careful to avoid the z-word and instead referred to it as a neuro-insomnial contagion spread by dental impaction whose side effects included metabolic overload and sanguimania. "Not as grim as my thesis," Jess muttered as she shuffled off down the row of lab stations and Gryg accidentally titrated too much reagent into too much acid and began his own shuffle toward the fume hoods. When, two days later, Jess shuffled toward him with halting steps and glassy eyes and a drooling mouth and a hungry groan, Gryg again assumed nothing was wrong. This time, however, he was incorrect and was dentally impacted by Jess' left incisor, an offense for which he gave her an annoyed swat, and was infected with neuro-insomnial sanguimania. Contrary to Hollywood assertions, the zombie contagion was quickly neutralized. It turns out that zombies aren't especially tactical, and, owing to the laws of physics, actually starve quite quickly when quarantined. Gryg, quite accustomed to starvation and neuro-insomnia, continued on as usual, with the occasional trip to the medical campus to indulge in a cadaver or two. Unfortunately for Gryg, unlike the Chemistry department where things go missing all the time, the medical department actually paid very close attention to the cadaver situation, and noticed when they began to spontaneously transform into gory puddles splashed all about the walls after being put to bed for the evening. Discounting a rather macabre theory involving the ghost of Jack the Ripper, they decided to set a trap, and captured an unsuspecting Gryg one evening on his way home from a long day at the lab. Gryg tried to explain the situation but, medical students being rather averse to associating with lowly scientists, found himself collared and chained and shipped off to Zomtopia, a compound built by a collective of vegan humanitarians to house and feed the poor unfortunate sanguiphages and didn't see any irony in this whatsoever. His new living situation appalled Gryg, his roommates, lovingly dubbed by him as 'the frat,' seemed to care nothing about intellectual pursuit and preferred instead to smash and bite and grunt in bizarre fashion. Gryg complained to the upper management of Zomtopia, that he was in fact gainfully employed and should be released back into the general population as he had very important work to be doing, unfortunately, his vocal cords had been strained by side effects of the virus, and this proved rather difficult. "Theeeeeessssuuuuuhs," he moaned at the vegan humanitarians. "Oh look at that dear, in his cute little lab coat, toss him a treat," said a bloody vegan as she carved a hunk of flesh from a freshly dead, hopefully naturally, corpse and tossed it to Gryg. The flesh made a wet squelching sound as it pounded into his face, and then slid off. The frat rushed over, eager to share in Gryg's success. Gryg fumed at the insult. Gryg tried time and time again to communicate with the vegan commune. Time and time again they rebuffed his attempts with new infantilization and bullying and self congratulation at their own charitableness. One day, noticing that his once pristine lab coat had become a bloody horror from Mengele's dungeon, Gryg decided that he had had enough. He shuffled around the enclosure, looking for a tool. He found it, a bobby-pin attached to a head of hair which had been furiously disheveling itself in hopes of time traveling to the 80s. He picked it out, glared at the vegans, and began to shuffle toward the cage door. "Oh look at the little scientist, he's got himself a tool! What are you doing little scientist?" Someone noted to their friend, "Isn't he so cute, I can't believe some people wanted to exterminate them, it's just not right." Gryg reached the door, shoved his hand through, and began to pick the lock. Hearing it click open, he grunted toward the frat to get their attention. "Theeeeeeeeesssssuuuuuuuhs," he moaned. "Grrruuuuggghhh," they moaned back, assuring him that, in this case, it was bros before hoes all the way. "What, is that one doing there? By the door, is he-- oh my god! Somebody stop them somebody call, auuugh!" One of the vegans shouted shortly before joining the frat. Gryg's frat quickly took over the vegan compound, and after some extremely patient leadership from Gryg began the second wave of neuro-insomnial contagion, this one much harder to quell owing to the newly tactical leadership of the zombie horde. It was quelled eventually, and Gryg never did finish his thesis, which is a bit of a shame as he was doing some rather exciting work with [nano-structures](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter), but perhaps was all for the best.	I'm shuffling in a crowd, sick, in the grip of something bad. Like birds flocking how humans do, regardless how spiritually empty and disordered they might think themselves to be like theirs, and bewares, my actions are determined by the context. I am thinking about something real hard. I believe the others are, or were, too. We are on an open street, the lot of us, suffering a pandemic, viral, shuffling shoes, feet, shuffling. The closest experience I've had to this was in 2008. Obama had won. It was the most patriotic I had ever felt, running through the city with my countrymen. We were singing the national anthem. I was young then, still fresh, encased in impossibly fresh skin as history had saturated with euphoria. My loud, untrained voice, I remember, was like a gleaming, green pepper. There was a McCain sign in the window, our vanquished foe, above us in the apartment block where there might we have been seen like ants to the figure taking the silly sign down. To give up the finger to our hearty laughs, the freshly cool, autumnal night! But now, it appears I cannot lift my head without risking a tear to the neck. It is okay. There is great joy in the crowd, a preposterous, ravenous comfort. And it was spring, and it was warming, and our rags were enough, and we were hungry. And I marveled at the beauty of life. It was fantastic to put one awkward step in front of the other, with the erotic moan in a collective intelligence, the relentless progression of time. One would think as one wonders -- as the crowd .. where does the note originate? Where does the thought? How much control must we have, interrupted by gunfire? When I sing, from where did the agency arrive? Who among us would answer that what made us note to easily grapple like the stalk to the sky?
	[WP] The apocalypse was ordered three months ago. The Four Horsemen are having a harder time bringing about the end times than they thought they would.	Horseman # 4 here, again. What am I doing wrong? This was supposed to be IT. You know? This was supposed to be our moment, our time. What the fuck is happening. Like, for a couple thousand years we've been chillin' and bugging JC asking 'if it's time yet,' and dreaming about when we'd make it big. Just me and the other 3 guys kickin’ it ‘old skool,’ smoking - drinking - talking shit. Just knowing that we were gonna be hot shit, just knowing it. Like, that’s what no one gets if I’m honest. Everybody else is waiting around trying to see if they’ll be somebody, trying to figure out what they’re good at, trying to make a name for themselves. If those people kicked back like us everybody would say they were fuckin’ crazy, man. Fuckin’ full of it. Us though - we knew we were going to be big. We weren’t just dreamers, or bull-shitters, we knew it. That’s some new testament shit right there. Everyone else is gonna work their whole life to - maybe - be an opening act for someone. Not us. We were the closers. That’s real shit man. We were supposed to shut this shit down. But you talk about it forever, you know, in the early hours - just you and the boys - you imagine what it’s gonna be like. And it’s so cool, you know? You get all excited; “there’s gonna be a cleansing fire - then you’ll come in on the white horse wearing a fuckin’ crown, crossbow in hand - screaming something hardcore like ‘The power of Christ compels ME’ or ‘Yippie-Kai-Yay Mortal Sinners’. “ Then I’ll come in on the Ashen horse (which looks awfully like the pale one, but whatever) hood up - with a big fuckin scythe in hand. Ready to harvest these sinners like they’re fields of grain. The four of us making real carnage, spillin’ blood like it’s going out of style. And we would just ride around man, our horses lunging forward in step, the earth falling away beneath their hooves. A final sunset casting a deep glow over everything, the dying light suffocating what’s left of creation as the whole world seems to take its last breath as one. Until there’s just us, us and the horses. And it’s so quiet we can hear each other breathe from miles away. And in the darkness we light torches, you can just make out my face in the fire light before we turn away on one last ride - torches stooping low against the earth - returning it all to ash. It was supposed to be like that. We talked it over so many times. We talked about it for all of time itself. But I guess that was the problem, you know? The talking. The certainty we had that we’d kill it. We were the closers - it’s in the book - what did we have to worry about? It’s like in the beginning we were told we’d do great things, and so we sat around and waited for the great things to happen to us. I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to work. There’s too much to do for just 4 of us. Too many to kill, too much to burn. The reality of this is just such a logistical nightmare. This is what we’d always dreamed of. It’s what I always thought I wanted, but now that it’s here the reality of it is so overwhelming that I feel like I’m choking. Held underwater with no way back to the surface. It feels so funny to say it now but I kinda wish it never actually happened. That the end never came. That we could have just stayed in the before forever. And sure, that would mean that we never actually made anything of ourselves, but we wouldn’t have to face the fact that we never would. Maybe I’m just kidding myself, maybe it was always going to go like this no matter what we did. Maybe I should just try not to think about it so much. Not obsess about what could’ve been. But that’s hard.	[Poem] White horse of Pestilence Spread too thin Disease couldn’t kill A million men Red horse of War Sighs when he’s bored The men make treaties Then go back for more Black horse of Famine Has taken their food But two day shipping Makes him no good Pale horse of Death Watches the rest He thinks again And denies the test
	[WP] There's healing, there's necromancy, then there's a grey area in between and that is what you specialize in.	I suppose if you'd ask me what I do, I'd call myself an ethical necromancer. But that's not entirely true. I'm no lunatic running around in robes dyed with the blood of the innocents, raising hundreds of dead to serve as minions. But I'm no vitamancer either. I'm the guy in the grey middle region between those two fields of arcane study. Ironically, they draw from essentially the same source of power, life. Vitamancy is the magic of healing and life, if you want to mend bones, cure illnesses, safely deliver babies, and all that jazz, that is your field. Necromancy is the magic of killing and death, if you want to be a giggling loner with a tower full of skeletal servants, and more importantly, no tenure, then that is what you study. Both draw from life, but in radically different ways. The middle, well, does something else. I do heal. But I do it somewhat differently. An essential component of classic necromancy is that you bind and enslave the risen dead to serve you indefinitely. I do all the things that necromancers do, except that one important part of the ritual that causes the dead to suffer in slavery until you are slain. Instead, I raise them up, and heal their spirits. Using vitamancy on the dead, I heal the damages inflicted upon their souls. I bring together long lost relatives to give families a chance to say goodbye. I raise victims from the dead to act as witnesses at their murderer's trials. If they have been desecrated by the foul acts of evil necromancers or curses upon their graves, I help them find their way back to peace. I speak to the haunting ghosts and wraiths, I offer them that I use vitamancy to remove their pain, suffering which lasted beyond the decay of the physical. In times of war, though only if my home is under attack, I go to the infirmaries. I soothe the pains of the dying soldiers, and I ask them if they are willing to keep fighting. If they agree, I use my powers over vita and necromancy to let them die in a way where there will be no pain, no pain at all, as everything they are dissolve. Then, in the gentlest of manners, I bring them back. They take up their swords and shields again. To protect their people, to keep fighting against the enemy. Unlike the unthinking, unfeeling, undead armies of most necromancers, these dead still have control, still have something to fight for. They do not stop unless torn to bits in battle. When the war ends, they go home to say their goodbyes, before experiencing a final death, surrounded by their loved ones. Both schools look down on me, necromancers for not taking control of the dead and leading armies of skeletal warriors into battle. The vitamancers hate me, for I use their art on the dead, and they believe that those who remain after death are cursed and deserving of the suffering that there is in undeath. I think that both of them have only an incomplete picture of what their sphere of magic entails. I heal the dead, I ask them to help the living. I steal no one from their rest as a necromancer, nor do I focus merely on the body as the vitamancers do. I am the middle ground. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)	“Hey there doc. Mind coming down to the village clinic? We have someone who needs some help and it’s right up your alley.” “Sure. Let me get my gear and I’ll walk with you.” I said as I went to my closet and grabbed my gear. With a small black bag in tow, I walked with the village elder down the only road towards a large house. “So what am I looking at today?” I said as we passed the farms on the outskirts of the village. “Wait. We need an animal here, alive. A chicken will do just fine. Be a friend and get one from the farm here.” I said to the elder. He nodded and ran to the farmhand nearby before discussing with him. After a few moments he had a chicken in a cage, clucking contently as we continued on our path. “Well, an older man came in with a green leg. Said his cut never healed that he got from a fall onto some jagged metal. The infection has spread through his leg in a few days. Feels weak. Vomiting nonstop. Can’t walk anymore. He also has a terrible cough that has been bringing blood up ever since winter.” The elder said to me. “Its practically almost the solstice. He didn’t bother coming in any sooner? I know his leg is lame but surely he could have made his way down.” I replied as we started to reach some of the houses. “Well, he’s not too keen on the idea. Healers were too far out of his budget. His faith is against necromancy as well, so that wasn’t an option.” He said as he turned onto another street. I followed him as we now were walking on top of cobblestone instead of dirt. The clacking of our heels onto the steps broke the calm silence around us. “I swear, some people would rather die then have more time with their loved ones. Doesn’t believe in necromancy. How selfish.” I commented as we approached a large house. In the front of the house, beggars lined up around the doors, accosting anyone nearby. “help sire, we need healing, food, and shelter! Please you must help us! We are skint but will work for health!” one shouted. “Help! Help! My leg! Please sir! My leg!” another wailed. We walked past the beggars as we ended the doorway of the clinic. I opened the door and took my shoes off before making my way past some of the beds. I noticed familiar faces as I walked past. The healers who were taught traditional medical schools. They were the most desired of medical professionals. Nearby, the necromancer were preparing rituals necessary to reanimated those who passed. At the very end of the long hallway, 2 beds were unattended. These were my beds to care for. To my left, the bed was empty. The sheets neatly folded into tidy piles, ready to be set for the next patient. I placed my bag onto the bed before turning around. To my right, there was the patient the elder mentioned to me. He was heavily breathing as there were splatters of blood on his chest. The elder approached him to see if he was still alive. “I’m alive, don’t you check on me yet!” the patient barked out to the elder. “well hello there, I’m told you have a bit of trouble with a cough and a green leg.” I said to the patient as I lifted his blanket and observed his leg. The green had begun to rise up t his hips and start traveling down towards his other leg. I pressed down and felt the skin. The texture was like a rotten fruit, mushy and sensitive. “Yes, seems like it. I can’t afford a healer so if you’re after money, you’re out of luck.” He said as he wiped some blood from the edge of his mouth. “No sire, not a healer" I said calmly. His eyes narrowed and he looked in anger towards me. “I said I don’t believe in necromancy. Its against the faith!” he yelled out. “please sire, there are people sleeping. I’m not a necromancer either. I’m in a grey area between the 2.” I replied. His anger subsided before looking at me in confusion. “Have you ever heard of terminality?” I said as I inspected his leg some more. “No. Can’t say I have.” He replied. “I work on those who are too far gone for the healers to fix, but not quite a cold body. Give me someone within their last weeks of life, and someone just deceased, I work with those. And judging from how fast the green has spread, you aren’t much for this world.” I commented. I turned around and reached into the bag I had brought over and began rummaging through. I pulled a small flask out along with a book. I opened the flask and placed it on the floor before opening the book and turned to a specific page. I turned to the elder and got his attention. “Would you be so kind as to bring the chicken?” He nodded and opened the cage and brought the chicken over. I began reciting a spell from the book as I took the flask and emptied the contents onto his leg, spreading it along any spots where the infection took control. I also rubbed some along his chest and his neck taking care not to aggravate him. As I finished reciting the spell, the liquid began to glow a bright orange. I took my hand and rubbed the chicken with the remainder of the liquid. The chicken reacted in surprise as it tried to escape. The glow subsided as the chicken began to slowly calm down. “All done. I will leave this liquid here for you. Do not wash the chicken or yourself for 2 days and nights.” I said to the man as I placed my book back into the bag. “what did you do? Why did it glow orange? Why the chicken?” he asked. “The school of terminality doesn’t necessarily heal in a conventional sense. Healers remove the ailment. Necromancers wait until the ailment is gone. We however, simply move the ailment to another being. Consider us like a transporter. I didn’t heal you, just passed what bothered you to another creature. Watch, in 2 days, this chicken will have your ailments. You will be fully healed.” I said as I began closing my bag up. “Thank- Thank you! Oh grand sire, bless you. I will make sure to tell everyone of your heroism!” he said with tears in his eyes. “Not a problem. I simply cannot work with those who are still salvageable is all. If you feel soreness, rub whatever liquid is left. You take care now sire.” I said as I got up and took my bag. “Uh, grand sire… can I” he asked quietly. “No, you cannot eat the chicken. When it dies bury it deep underground. The meat is tainted and will kill any who eats it.” I replied without turning around.
	[WP] You discover the owners manual for your body. Apparently you have more options than you realized.	#Rooted in Fear "Don't forget to push that new firmware out before going live Frank, the current build is unstable." Another weird dream, I thought to myself, coming out of a haze. It's been happening a lot lately and it's been hard to sleep. Maybe this lockdown has me going crazy. &nbsp; I stepped into the bathroom reaching for the sink. "Maybe I'll mix it up a bit today. Shower then shit, quite daring I say." I mumble to myself, not even knowing what day of the week it was. CRASH Right as I was about to turn and step into the shower I had slipped on a towel I forgot to put away from the day before. My head was pounding as I clambered up off of the floor. ``` root@Human ``` &nbsp; "Ha. Err. What!?" I nervously couldn't contain my disbelief at what I was staring at before me. What looked most like a terminal was displayed in front of my very eyes, just kind of floating there. I placed my shaking hands on the terminal and instinctively I typed my first command: ```ls``` ```Desktop``` ```Documents``` ```Downloads``` ```Memories``` ```Accolades``` &nbsp; ... &nbsp; I stepped back for a moment and just stood there. Thinking. Maybe it was too much coffee? Not getting enough sleep? Yeah that must've been it! I thought to myself, closing my eyes as hard as I could, determined that when I open them, the mystery terminal would be gone. &nbsp; I squinted, one eye slowly opening and.... &nbsp; Yup, still there. I let out a long sigh. "Well, I might as well make the most of it." I audibly said whilst once again reaching for the terminal. &nbsp; For what felt like hours I was just fiddling with the terminal, trying my hardest to remember all of the commands I could when I finally decided I'd done with it. "Ha ha! You know imagine if-" ```apt-get install Karate``` &nbsp; "Oh. I know Kung Fu." &nbsp; --- /r/Camel_Writes	I found the book in my arm, what a weird place, right under a scab. It was filled with options like gender and body shape, or vampire or wolf man, or ultimate life form. I fiddled around a bit, gained a bobble head, you know the usual stuff. I decided to put the book away and forgot about it. I went upon my days. A few years later I remembered it again. I acted like i was unzipping a scar on my back and it just fell out. So I looked in it again and saw some new things. Stando power, ehh to weeby, wait whats that. "Apache attack helicopter" and so my life was forever changed. P.S. I just wrote this as a joke and put like zero effort its hilarious how dumb it sounds.
	[WP] I used to have nightmares of my house and neighbourhood burning down. Then I wrote a story about it happening to someone else, and no more nightmares. Except that person now dreams of fires instead...	My friends and I were playing a card game,all laughing and enjoying ourselves. My parents were supervising us, but they happened to be in the basement getting food for Dinner. All of a sudden a fire alarm went off, at first we were calm, we though at first it was just a false alarm, maybe it was the ham in the oven, nevertheless we tried to exit the house. I was the first person to saunter to the front door, but I smelled the distinct smell of smoke, soon as the others smelled smoke, there was chaos. There was panicked screaming and yelling, I was just barely able to open the scalding front door, and I struggled through the hot flames. I managed to get through the flames, but my skin felt searing hot, and I was completely and utterly exhausted. I looked back to my two story, 3 bedroom house, and I saw no one coming out of the flaming, burnt, crisp of a house. I suddenly awoke in a cold sweat, I had an empty feeling in my stomach. “Calm down, calm down” I yelled at myself. I’ve had that dream for many years now, my family, my loving Mother and hardworking Father, along with my close circle of neighbors, all burnt to ash. Everyday I hope to be rid of that horrid nightmare, but everyday the nightmare comes back. I had recently had a horrid argument with my best friend, and I still hated him for insulting my dead family. In a bout of immaturity, I decided to write in every excruciating detail about my dream. At the end of the book I wrote “to my former best friend, John”. I snuck it on to his doorstep, and left it there. Mysteriously, that night my nightmares went away. The morning I woke up it, was one of the most joyous mornings in my entire life. One week later John came to me and said “Larson I’ve been having these horrible nightmares, ever since I found a mysterious book on my doorstep”. First ever attempt at a writing prompt, I would love some constructive criticism.	Two weeks later, I woke to the sound of screaming and the smell of smoke as my dad kicked each door down to grab my mom, my siblings and I. We stood on the lawn as we helplessly watched our hourse burned. Firefighters came shortly afterward, but "shortly afterward" was still too late to save most of our things. Cops came, too, and they interrogated us briefly, and separately, trying to figure out if we had been playing around and accidentally burned the house down, or if my parents had intentionally burned the house down for insurance money. I guess all of our stories checked out because the officers started talking with Mom and Dad about anybody that could have potentially held any grudge against them. As they talked, I broke away and walked through the charred remains of what had used to be our house. As I sifted through the ashes, I found the crispy remains of my tattered notebook. On the pages that were barely legible I could see the nightmares of fire I had wrote about. One page even said: "Last night I had a dream that someone came and burned the house down." The rest of the page was burnt so I couldn't read the rest of what I had wrote. I looked up and found one of the cops watching me suspiciously. I turned away quickly - too quickly - and he started to come over. My heart pounded in tune to every crunch of his boot. "What's that in your hand?" he asked, reaching his hand out like someone that was used to taking things from people without permission. Cowed by his authorative demeanor, badge, towering body and mean scowl, I handed it over, trembling as if I was guilty of something. He took the page and read it in one glance. Then his eagle eyes were back on me like I was a lone fish he was about to swoop in on. "When'd you write this?" "I-I don't remember..." "Hey!" I felt relief flood through me at the sound of Dad's voice. He came over, frowning at the large man standing over me - cop or not. He stood by me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders protectively, tucking me into his side as he faced the cop. "Is there a problem here, officer?" The cop flashed a grin that made him looked like a wild wolf in the dark moonlight. "No, sir. It just looks like one of your daughter's nightmares came true." He held up the paper of my notebook. "Okay, but are you trying to imply something?" I could hear the edge in Dad's voice and I felt the energy thicken around him like when he watched sports and his team was either losing or had made a bad play. At any moment now, he was about to explode. I was scared for him. The cop had a gun. Daddy did not. The best case scenario, if they fought, Dad would go to jail. Worst case... I didn't even want to think about it. After what could have only been a tense stare down, the cop said, "No. Not at all." His predatory eyes found mine, and he flashed me another subtle smirk as he crumpled the paper into a ball, and dropped it on the ground. Whistling casually, he nonchalantly rested his hand on his gun as he turned back to meet Dad's eyes then touched the brim of his hat and strolled away.
	[WP] I used to have nightmares of my house and neighbourhood burning down. Then I wrote a story about it happening to someone else, and no more nightmares. Except that person now dreams of fires instead...	Alison sat across from me on the couch tapping her fingers against her thighs while retelling a dream. “...and as my house burns behind me I grab the gas can and douse every house on the block. These enormous clouds of dark smoke start gushing from every window—I knew everyone inside burned to death,” Alison said. My stomach churned as I heard it How could it be so similar to my own? The very dream had been reoccurring to me for days in a row until it abruptly stopped yesterday. Writing about the dream seemed to help me out. I asked her how the dream felt if it reminded her of anything in her daily life, such as her relationships with the neighbors. Alison shook her head. “It was like nothing I’ve dreamt before. I was lucid the whole time—I knew it was a dream—but I couldn’t control what happened.” She lifted her arms up and down. “Like I was tied up with puppet strings ad some sick puppeteer pulled me around.” She rubbed her arms. “Have you ever had a dream like that, Dr. Lindsay?” I told Alison that I had felt out of control in my dreams before, even felt like someone else controlled my actions, and feeling that way in a dream can mean you feel that way in daily life. I didn’t want to make the session about me. “That isn’t what I mean exactly,” she said. “But it’s okay. I’ll think about it and ask you again next week.” She smiled without showing her teeth, her mouth falling back into a slight frown after she turned away from me. “Same time next week,” I said. As Alison left the room I decided that dream journaling might help her. I’d suggest it next week. \\\* Dark rings encircled Alison’s eyes and she sat slumped on the couch. “My husband, David, found me standing in the kitchen near the back door. He said it looked like I was pretending to water flowers, the way I had my hand out like I had a watering pail.” Alison’s mouth quivered, but she pulled in her bottom lip and bit down before continuing to talk. “I’m trapped... They tested me for narcolepsy because it kept happening, different things even. I mean, at work my students rushed out to get another teacher because I dumped my coffee on a piece of paper then tried to ignite it over a Bunsen burner.” “That must have been very frightening,” I said. I shifted my shirt and thought to adjust the thermostat when Alison left. The room felt hot. “I’m dreaming when it happens, you know that? I’m burning those houses. I can smell the smoke, I wake up coughing, my skin is hot to the touch. Is something wrong with me?” I suggested some meditation exercises as it was obvious she was overwhelmed, but she shot down anything that involved closing her eyes. After she calmed, I decided I would make the suggestion for her to write away her dreams. “Perhaps you should write down your dreams. That could help you gain a sense of control.” Without a word, she opened her phone and handed it to me. Dozens of dreams were written down, progressively they had more detail, more emotion in them, more people involved. The houses burned without ever crumbling, no dead body was ever seen, she never knew why she started burning the houses. Clearly it wasn’t helping. “I shared my dreams on a forum I go on,” Alison said. “They suggested I start doing reality checks, that maybe it would help me wake up. I know when I’m dreaming, but I figured it was worth a try. There are certain signs so you can tell that you’re dreaming like the lights don’t work, you have six fingers, you can push your finger through your palm... None of that helps in my dreams. It’s real. It’s all real.” I tried to assure her that her dreams were exceptionally vivid and nothing else. Encouraging her to see another sleep doctor for a second opinion seemed to give her some relief, too. “Maybe a second opinion would be a good idea,” she said. “Maybe they use didn’t catch it happening or there was a mistake.” A real smile this time. “Next week. Same time,” I said. “I’ll bring you good news,” she said. A faint waft of smoke hit me as she left the office. \\\* The dreams of burning homes came back to me after that session. Though the lack of sleep bothered me—I woke up continuously, sweating, coughing, and even sleepwalking—I was more concerned with why the dreams returned. What had happened that would rekindle the dreams? Unable to sleep, I decided to write down my thoughts, try to get the dream out of my head once again. I detailed the dream and made connections to Alison and her life and mine. After getting down all my thoughts, I felt relaxed enough to sleep. I woke up in the kitchen, holding a book of matches. What more could I do? I returned to my desk, exhausted and too frightened to sleep. I tried to write more of the dream but the details blended and drifted away into a strange story that put me right to bed. The story ended with Alison igniting the whole world in flame. \\\* Alison did not show up to her next appointment and, just as I was about to call her, I received a phone call. It was her number, but David spoke. “Hi, is this Dr. Lindsay?” David said. I said yes and listened to David tell me the terrible news. Choked up, he told me that Alison had passed away during a sleep study, that the building caught fire and no one made it out alive. After the call ended, I sank into my chair and quietly wept before making the decision to cancel my patients for the remainder of the day. \\\* It took less than a month for the dream to consume Alison, and I fear the same will happen to me. I don’t know why it left me before and I don’t know why it came back. I went onto the forum that Alison had logged her dreams, desperate to read and research the dream, t prevent the same fate she suffered, to save the others it may happen to. The most popular thread was the “Burning House Dream” thread posted two weeks ago. Alison’s dream was pinned at the top. Below were hundreds of pages of ongoing discussion, each person reporting the same dream. I had to tell them what happened.	Two weeks later, I woke to the sound of screaming and the smell of smoke as my dad kicked each door down to grab my mom, my siblings and I. We stood on the lawn as we helplessly watched our hourse burned. Firefighters came shortly afterward, but "shortly afterward" was still too late to save most of our things. Cops came, too, and they interrogated us briefly, and separately, trying to figure out if we had been playing around and accidentally burned the house down, or if my parents had intentionally burned the house down for insurance money. I guess all of our stories checked out because the officers started talking with Mom and Dad about anybody that could have potentially held any grudge against them. As they talked, I broke away and walked through the charred remains of what had used to be our house. As I sifted through the ashes, I found the crispy remains of my tattered notebook. On the pages that were barely legible I could see the nightmares of fire I had wrote about. One page even said: "Last night I had a dream that someone came and burned the house down." The rest of the page was burnt so I couldn't read the rest of what I had wrote. I looked up and found one of the cops watching me suspiciously. I turned away quickly - too quickly - and he started to come over. My heart pounded in tune to every crunch of his boot. "What's that in your hand?" he asked, reaching his hand out like someone that was used to taking things from people without permission. Cowed by his authorative demeanor, badge, towering body and mean scowl, I handed it over, trembling as if I was guilty of something. He took the page and read it in one glance. Then his eagle eyes were back on me like I was a lone fish he was about to swoop in on. "When'd you write this?" "I-I don't remember..." "Hey!" I felt relief flood through me at the sound of Dad's voice. He came over, frowning at the large man standing over me - cop or not. He stood by me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders protectively, tucking me into his side as he faced the cop. "Is there a problem here, officer?" The cop flashed a grin that made him looked like a wild wolf in the dark moonlight. "No, sir. It just looks like one of your daughter's nightmares came true." He held up the paper of my notebook. "Okay, but are you trying to imply something?" I could hear the edge in Dad's voice and I felt the energy thicken around him like when he watched sports and his team was either losing or had made a bad play. At any moment now, he was about to explode. I was scared for him. The cop had a gun. Daddy did not. The best case scenario, if they fought, Dad would go to jail. Worst case... I didn't even want to think about it. After what could have only been a tense stare down, the cop said, "No. Not at all." His predatory eyes found mine, and he flashed me another subtle smirk as he crumpled the paper into a ball, and dropped it on the ground. Whistling casually, he nonchalantly rested his hand on his gun as he turned back to meet Dad's eyes then touched the brim of his hat and strolled away.
[deleted]	[WP] Everyone is born to control and manipulate an elemental force of nature like water or air or plants. Your parents are powerful elemental masters of opposing elements. Your mother a mistress of water and your father a master fire. They are worried that you have no elemental powers due to them.	Our society was built around one sacred truth: The elements are part of us, and we of them. Each woman, man, and child is born with an innate ability to control that which makes up our world, and our villages though integrated, have separate schools for each of those groups. The Air Academy The Earth Academy The Water Academy The Fire Academy The Light Academy These are the 5 schools for our world, and it spans all years of learning. So, it's not uncommon for people to fall in love with classmates, and get married later in life. In fact that's how all my friends came to be, each from a singular elemental group. My best friend, Sera, came from two parents who now taught at the Water Academy, and she was already showing signs of powerful aquatic energy. From a young age she was able to sense the flow of the tides, and shape the water around her, it was something beautiful to behold, but also burned a dark hole of jealousy in my heart. My parents weren't like hers, or the others. My parents were what's known as "Polars" in that they were of opposing elements: Water and Fire. My mother is the most powerful water mage in the village, she runs the Water Academy, and my father is a General in the army leading a squad of fire mages. Their kind is rare, and not generally looked kindly upon, and when I was born the villages pity was obvious each time they looked at me. It's believed children of Polars are what we call "Nulls" or rather, those born without an elemental ability and it was about to become even more apparent to everyone how useless I am. It's the day of 'Appointment', a ceremony where the Elder Mage of the village evaluates each of age child to guide them to the right Academy where they will hone their skills, and all I know is that I'm about to become the center of attention where everyone will look at me with pity, again. I hate it, and I don't want to go, but I know I'll embarrass my parents further if I refuse, so I have to swallow my pride for their sake. Why did they even have me if they knew I'd be subjected to this kind of life? Though I love them, I couldn't help but feel a bitterness towards them as well. "Ilori, it's time to go" my mother softly ushered me out the door, a forced smile on her face as she told me it'll all be alright. As if to add insult to injury they had the nerve to name me 'Special one', what kind of joke is that? Is that supposed to make me feel better? I followed her and my father in silence to the village square where upon the stage laced with flowers sat the Elder Mage in her quiet wisdom. Around her were placed a bucket of water, a lit torch, a basket of stone and dirt, and a mirror that reflected the sunlight. Gathered there were all the villagers and their children, across the way I saw Sera, and she waved once our eyes met. I waved back at her, and saw her lips moving, mouthing words to me of encouragement 'You'll do great!', what would I do without her? She was the only one who never looked at me with pity in her eyes. Somehow, that simple gesture made me feel better. One by one the children ascended the stage, and the Elder mage took their hands in hers. The air was thick with anticipation for each, and for each their element would reveal itself. When it was Sera's turn, and the Elder took her hands, Sera's eyes began to glow just like the others before her had; and like many others before her that were of the same element, water swirled around her form gathered from the moisture in the bucket at the Elder's feet and the elation in those of the aquatic sort was palpable. Sera was a Water Mage, of course she was. I could have told them that without the Elder Mage's help! Oh well, tradition is tradition. A few more children took their turn with the Elder Mage: Kilani, an air elemental moved the winds. Torvus, an earth elemental caused the stones and dirt to swirl. Heira, a light elemental reflected the sunrays into ornate geometric shapes. Leola, a fire elemental turned the torchlight blue as she increased the temperature of it, a trick I've seen my father do many times. And finally, it was my turn. A hush fell over the crowd once more, but a different kind of hush this time. I could sense it as I ascended the stage, the burning eyes at my back, the pity turned my stomach and filled my heart with distain. As I stood before the Elder Mage I wanted to tell her that this was all a waste of time, but such rudeness towards her was a high crime, so I bit my tongue. The Elder Mage grabbed my hand, and I could feel the power coursing through her. I just wanted it to be over, so I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass, this, the most embarrassing moment of my life, I didn't have to see it right? Suddenly, her grip on my hands tightened, I heard the crowd in a frenzy behind me, what was going on? The Elder Mage was mumbling something, her hands trembling, what was she saying? I could hardly make it out over the growing prattle of the crowd behind me. I opened my eyes and realized immediately what was wrong. Apparently, over the past century our people had forgotten that Light also had a Polar. "A Shadow Mage," the Elder Mage muttered. I was a Null no longer.	Oh boy! I sure am lucky. If I was any regular child I would be out there practicing how to harness the forces of nature, but since I'm a unique case my parents let me stay in the house and relax. They must think that having no element is a big bummer for me. Well, no. I'm actually quite happy to be like this. Just me the tv and my microwave. Boy! Oh boy! Nothing beats this life. Well that was how it was supposed to be until my roof exploded and a grinning maniac peered at me. Having parents who are known all throughout the realm isn't exactly nice. People come from everywhere asking for a fight. All of them wanting to best the powerful fire and water duo, none of them are lucky enough though. Some with very high mental disability try playing mind games, like threatening to destroy our house or our neighborhood. Well. That's why we move a lot. We don't need to move since the police just seal the misbehaving elementals in metal chambers but the spiteful eyes of our neighbors were enough to make us pack our things and go. I was ok with that I wasn't to blame for what happens, I just wasn't involved. I had never expected to be caught up in their fights, though I know should have. I don't know how- maybe through gossip or someone spied on us. Anyhow, the news spread out that I have no element. The threats got a little out of hand. All the threats were directed at me. My parents couldn't leave the house. My parents don't know if moving was the solution, or if they should just hide their identities. My parents got a little paranoid. Who could blame them? Their son was weak, useless, a powerless entity in a world of elementals. It wouldn't take too much to get me bleeding. Soon enough they just gave me a new identity and made me live with a friend of theirs, an earth elemental. I stayed there for a while, I had no problem living with earth guy. He was fun and kind, he taught me how the elementless survived, with only pure strength, wit and charm. I had lots of time to practice since my parents started to appear less often, lay low as they call it. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that they kept me a secret. It didn't matter that they left me. It didn't matter if it's their fault that I'm elementless. I don't need to be sheltered. I'll find a way. I'll show them what a powerless boy can do. I grabbed my bat and went out.
	[WP] It turns out your pet rock is actually a golem and a golems duty is to protect.	“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” James screamed. “He’s my pet rock, please don’t yell it’s very rude.” Sara said. James peered at it confused “But what is it, some kind of robot or something?” “No,” Sara replied “he’s a rock.” “I get that it looks like a rock but how is it moving, is it some kind of machine-like wind up then?” “No, I told you he’s made of rock. And please stop calling him it, that’s kind of offensive, how would you like to be called a thing?” Sara told him looking slightly offended. James crouched slightly to examine it closer “So you’re trying to tell me that this, he is completely made of rock, no microchips, no gears, not even a spring?” “Yeah.” “So how is … he moving?” “I don’t know” “YOU DON’T KNOW?” James straightened stumbling. “No, and please stop yelling I don’t want to disturb Ms. Johnson next door she gets very cross is she doesn’t get enough sleep.” “So that, he, whatever. You’re telling me you have no idea what makes him move?” “Of course I do. He uses his legs” Sara sniffed disdainfully “That’s not what I meant. Rocks aren’t supposed to move.” “Why not? People move.” “Yes but that’s different, people aren’t made of…” James flailed, “I don’t know like rocks and stuff. You know inorganic things. We have a brain and neurons, muscles and bones and stuff.” “What about cars they move?” Sara eyed him smugly. “Yes but we made them and steer them and stuff.” James sighed “You’re really not seeing my point are you?” “Not really I figure if a rock wants to move I shouldn't tell it it’s not allowed to” “OK so I have to ask, where did you find him?” “He was in the garden fighting a rat, apparently rocks are very territorial. He looked so cute and tired I decided to bring him in to rest and he just kind of stuck around” “This is absolutely insane, I must be crazy. So tell me, why is he kicking me?” “It probably sees you as a threat, as I said they can be very territorial.” “Well can you tell him to stop?” Sara looked at him like he was crazy “How he’s a rock?”	The Man walked from the rain and into his apartment, disheveled and defeated. His night-black hair soaking wet and dripping onto the ground, his own few tears indistinguishable from the sky's. He felt as though his life, which had been carefully balanced upon a pin, was finally tipping over. He hung his umbrella on a hook by the door and took off his raincoat, simply laying it upon a lonely dining chair. He walked lowly into his living room and sat upon a cushion on the ground, his legs held into his chest, surrounded by unpacked boxes and a lack of warmth. Before, he had done what he could to keep things going, to keep himself going. But one-by-one, things left, changed, or went on without him, yet he always kept going. Not necessarily because he wanted to, but because he didn't know what else to do. On his cushion, he mind sat empty of thoughts, but his body full of feeling that he couldn't translate. He looked around him, at the empty boxes, at the empty home, and he suddenly found a way to translate his feelings. He began to cry. He couldn't say exactly why, only that he couldn't stop it. He cried for a while. sitting on his cushion. He felt angry and felt that life was the farthest thing from fair at this moment. He also felt as though his feelings of anger were all he had. He was angry that he felt that he could do nothing to fix where he was, despite how hard he may try. His hands went to his eyes, to hide, to cover them from anyone or anything that might see, that might know that he is breaking. He didn't want to let it be known. He scooted forward, moving his bottom from the cushion to the carpet. He then laid his head upon the cushion, staring up at his lowly ceiling, his emotions still running at quite a good pace. He crossed his arms as he lay flat, only because it made him feel tighter. He closed his eyes to rest, wanting to experience the relief of expired time. He lay there for some time, and eventually, his wish was granted. When he awoke, not much later, he felt the softness of a blanket, seemingly attempting to comfort him. While the sensation wasn't unwelcome, he was certain he hadn't grabbed one before. Yet he didn't feel strongly enough to worry any further. He turned to the side, holding the blanket tight against his body. He looked again at the boxes in his view and felt the same feelings from before. So he turned again, and instead opted to face the window, which he now noticed had the blinds up. On the windowsill sat an old toy of his, its' googly eyes watching him with care and warmth. He chuckled when he saw it, with childhood memories now flooding his head. He stared at George, and traced his outline with his eyes, noting his symmetrical grooves along his head. He imagined holding George and could remember the feeling of George's smooth exterior, as though he were polished marble and not a rock the Man had found on the playground. The Man smiled but stayed where he was on the ground. He pulled the blanket tight once again. He opted to return to sleep, but decided when he woke up, he would get up and unpack. At least for one more day, he would get back up and continue on. And that was all he needed to know. ___________________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading! I encourage you to leave critiques or comments if you have any, I take all tips and critiques seriously in order to better my writing. I also post all stories I write on my subreddit r/ThawsanWrites
	[WP] It turns out your pet rock is actually a golem and a golems duty is to protect.	“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” James screamed. “He’s my pet rock, please don’t yell it’s very rude.” Sara said. James peered at it confused “But what is it, some kind of robot or something?” “No,” Sara replied “he’s a rock.” “I get that it looks like a rock but how is it moving, is it some kind of machine-like wind up then?” “No, I told you he’s made of rock. And please stop calling him it, that’s kind of offensive, how would you like to be called a thing?” Sara told him looking slightly offended. James crouched slightly to examine it closer “So you’re trying to tell me that this, he is completely made of rock, no microchips, no gears, not even a spring?” “Yeah.” “So how is … he moving?” “I don’t know” “YOU DON’T KNOW?” James straightened stumbling. “No, and please stop yelling I don’t want to disturb Ms. Johnson next door she gets very cross is she doesn’t get enough sleep.” “So that, he, whatever. You’re telling me you have no idea what makes him move?” “Of course I do. He uses his legs” Sara sniffed disdainfully “That’s not what I meant. Rocks aren’t supposed to move.” “Why not? People move.” “Yes but that’s different, people aren’t made of…” James flailed, “I don’t know like rocks and stuff. You know inorganic things. We have a brain and neurons, muscles and bones and stuff.” “What about cars they move?” Sara eyed him smugly. “Yes but we made them and steer them and stuff.” James sighed “You’re really not seeing my point are you?” “Not really I figure if a rock wants to move I shouldn't tell it it’s not allowed to” “OK so I have to ask, where did you find him?” “He was in the garden fighting a rat, apparently rocks are very territorial. He looked so cute and tired I decided to bring him in to rest and he just kind of stuck around” “This is absolutely insane, I must be crazy. So tell me, why is he kicking me?” “It probably sees you as a threat, as I said they can be very territorial.” “Well can you tell him to stop?” Sara looked at him like he was crazy “How he’s a rock?”	"Dude," the head honcho of the group glanced in Abe's direction, "can you just go away?" "Hey, guys... I just wanna come and show off my pet, just like you guys!" I said, much like a 70s salesman on TV. The group looked at each other briefly before breaking into a laugh. It was bad enough that they laughed, the tone and intensity of it was clearly a mockery directed towards me. I held the amber that was my anger tight within my heart. Then, I continued my pitch. "I love your dog! It's cute. Is it a chihuahua?" "Yeah, so?" "... and is that a cute little wiener dog? Awww it looks awesome!" I said with a fake laugh. "Dude, just... This is a club for dog owners. Can't you–" "Right! I also have my dog with me right now!" "Is it a fucking imaginary dog? Goddamnit, let's go guys–" "No! I'm serious, here look!" I pulled the leash I've been holding on my back. At first, the group's reaction was to back away. But the moment they saw what was actually on the other end of the leash – a beautifully shining jet-black rock – they began to laugh again. Still in that stupid mocking tone, mind you! "Dude, I think you need to take your medication!" "Yeah, did you forgot to take one this morning?" "Damn man, just leave already. You've embarrassed yourself enough..." They shooed me away, even the head honcho started to shove me physically. Even as I tried to stand my ground, one of the guys reached down to my "dog". "N-No! What are you doing?!" I yelled, yanking my pet rock away from the mischievous fella. "You said it's a dog, lemme play with em!" "Yeah, we'll let you play with us if you give that stupid thing first!" As I was about to break into tears, a loud thump shook the ground around us. The dogs that were calm and collected a minute ago, began to bark furiously. The little chihuahua even managed to break away from the group, sensing something dangerous was afoot. The cheeky bunch seemingly startled, stood where they were whilst shaking ever so gently. I wanted to yell "who's the little bitch now!" to them, but at the same time I rue the fact that it had to come to this. In all honesty, it's be better if they simply left me without messing about. "Who... dares... disturb... master!?!" a deep monotonous voice yelled. "Wh-What the fuck– Who was that?" the head honcho yelped. "It's my 'dog' you've been trying to mess with." At that, they immediately shifted their gaze towards the stunning rock on the end of my leash. It began to move like a transformer – a stubby head popped out on top, a pair of "muscular" boulder arms on the side, and a couple of short legs on the bottom. "I... Protect... Master!" The transformed rock began to pounce at the group of people indiscriminately. I took a step back and heaved a sigh, not out of relief but out of frustration. This was the sixth group of people I came running into. No doubt, I was simply trying to make friends. But of course one could not make friends with such a 'pet', even though I've truly made the rock my pet since I was a teeny tiny boy. "I guess I should look for actual pet rock enthusiasts, next time huh?"
	[WP] Every time you dream you're actually visiting the mind of one of your doppelgangers in a parallel dimension. Those who lucid dream are actually possessing their doppelgangers.	Hello, I'm writing this comment in a dream. I'm trying to figure out where and who I am. It seems like I'm in Maryland in somebody's office. I get up, I look in the mirror. It's me, but its not me. It just looks like me. Suddenly, I realize I have the ability to control the \man in the mirror\. Next thing I know--- KABLOW!!! A huge explosion comes from outside. I look out the window, I see a faint rose-color glow on the horizon. A woman downstairs begins screaming some man's name. "Paul!" she yells. "Paul! Paul! P-p-p-p-paul...?" I hear a door open behind me, and in the doorway stands a 10/10 knockout blonde babe. "Paul," she says, "I was screaming your name downstairs. Didn't you hear me?" I assume she is talking to me, but my name isn't Paul. It's David. David Wassermann. I am confused. In pure confused rage, I yell out, "Dammit woman, I'm David! Can't you see there was just a nuclear explosion outside!? This is no time for childish games!!!" "Paul, you're scaring me..." she whispers, and then suddenly freezes in terror, eyes glued to something behind my back. I turn around slowly and from out the window I see a huge wave of what looks like lightning coming towards me fast. I grab the woman, tell her I love her, and then transform into a bat. I am Dracula. I fly high into the air, above the wave, as it obliterates the house along with the woman. As a vampire, I feel no remorse, and fly off into the nuclear winter's night, looking for a virgin's neck to bite. I wake up from the dream in a cold sweat and am relieved that all of it was a dream. It wasnt real. &#x200B; &#x200B; ...or was it?	Journey Through Dreams was the next book I started whipping through. Then after I skimmed through and received the same information from the previous book Unlocking Dreams, I was done. I tossed it on the pile of all the other completed lucid dreaming books that spilled out from the corner of my room that accumulated over a month. I was tired and fed up with what I saw every night when I went to bed. The dreams were hyper realistic and they were so annoying. Monday through Friday seemed to blend together and even the weekend was more mundane as if that was possible. I saw through the eyes of a kid in high school named Norman Reinhold. Norman was always on time to all of his classes. During lunch hour he did not go off campus like all of the other students who had cars in his grade. He usually sat by himself and let the underclassmen who had no manners throw grapes, crackers, and small pieces of trash at him from across the lunchroom. Norman just sat there and ignored all of it, but deep down I could feel his depression leaching at what little life he had. I will say that I was impressed with Norman's ability to receive perfect scores on every test without having to study. That's something in my life I could never achieve, but it came so simple to him, and the class would love him if he bailed them out from time to time when the teacher asked if anyone knew the answer to a question, but he always remained silent. Never said a peep to anyone, nor did he ever stare at another (at least he was polite). He would glance at a girl named Helen who was in his English class. She sat a seat away from him. Helen was the only person who ever said hello to him throughout the school day. They didn't talk though, nor were they friends, but she was kind to Norman, and I felt his emotions brighten every time she greeted him with a smile and a nod. Come on dude, you can totally make a friend. Her nonverbals are begging for a conversation with you. I know you have a crush on her but at least start with a "hello how are you" to see if you have chemistry. On his walk home from school the bullying would continue. Kids would peel out in their cars and hurl insults at him, and even though he paid no attention, I could still feel the emotional stab with each verbal knife. Things must be better at home, right? As soon as he walked in through the door his mom told him to go straight to his room and work on his homework. He would only be able to leave his room to go to the bathroom or if dinner was ready before he finished. That was it. He wasn't allowed a break for an hour to play video games or even an hour to read a book just for the fun of it. His mom pointed to his door, neglecting to ask how his miserable day went. To make matters worse, he didn't even have a smartphone to give him some liberty. Dinner was silent and his mom sat across the table, refusing to say a word. Norman was a dam of emotions just waiting to burst. Talk about things, man. Talk to the counselor at school, or even show your mom your raw emotions, live for some change. But no, the clanking of silverware on their plates echoed through the halls of the house. After he was done with dinner, Norman would clean up all of the dishes and the rest of the kitchen, then he would have chores for the evening. Often times it was vacuuming, other times he would have to wash his clothes or clean the tub. Get this, he wasn't allowed to watch TV or own any video games. He had a computer in his room, but the strictest parental controls were on. It was purely for research, but he spent most of his time browsing houses on real estate websites in fancy neighborhoods, daydreaming about living in a palace of his own. We're going to get there, buddy. When I wake up as you tomorrow I'm going to lucid dream and I'm going to hop in the driver's seat. Buckle up, Norman, we're going to seize the day. You deserve it. Life in my world is awesome, and I'm going to make damn sure it happens to you. [Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gxbx0v/wp_every_time_you_dream_youre_actually_visiting/) r/randallcooper
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	"Haaaaha....", Dan let out as he jolted up from his sleep and gasped for air. He looked around and realized that he was in his bed . He still remembered "it" as if the thing that took place was yesterday. It was clear that he was pulled in..he sniffed his body, it still reeked of salt. He was now sure and then just got up and started noting down in his journal as soon as he realized that he was still alive. Though his eyes were bloodshot as though he was tortured the whole night. He just let out everything on the paper. 29th May, 2019 12.30 am I had the most vivid of the experiences that took place in my whole life.What was it again? Yea, the turtle! The turtle, it glowed, it pulled me in. The fuck! Am I really going insane or.. He then sniffed himself again so as to reaffirm before he would continue to write. He still reeked of salt. He then continued yet again... Much calmer than before... ... was it really true. Let me go from the beginning, it was the 28th of May, 2019, the sun was setting down when I had gone scuba diving. The reason was simple, to find something really beautiful and click a photo of it and win the hundred thousand dollars as the priz money. I didn't expect to win though since I was just a hobbyist when it came to photography and someone who loved nature from the bottom of his heart. It was the best time to take the best photo. Well ,as a certain someone who loved reading about nature, and took part in all of the movements and of course joined a club for the conservation of nature, I had a pretty good idea of how the coral reefs looked like in the night from the information that I had gathered and seen in magazines. The sight would simply be beautiful. After some time, I reached the bottom in no time as I glided through the bubbles that were made as I dived in and saw the amazing sight with my own two eyes this time. I then saw a turtle in the distance... Dan took a deep breath in and then started writing yet again, .... Don't be surprised peekers and the future generations, it was just a turtle but nothing like the one that you would imagine. I saw it from the distance as it glowed the similar way when there are planktons glowing in the night on the surface of the water. It was just a beautiful sight as the turtle glided through the water and then I noticed it...it was gliding towards me. I should have just ignored it, right? That is nothing out of the ordinary yet, but but but but but but but..... Dan took the pen off his journal as he regained his composure, he knew that he had to write it down, complete the whole thing so as to get rid of the anxiety that he had built up. It was a habit of his to write everything in his journal. He then continued after writing that series of but(s)... .... It was huge. And by huge I meant twice my size and to give a better comparison, I am six foot three and also a bit of an overweight to that. It was huge and it circled around me so I just froze there as it moved around me, and then it came below me that is when it shocked me the most, there was a huge map over it, it was similar to the one of the world map that anyone would have seen in their Geography classes. It then came in under me and came in touch with me. The next thing it did infuriated me, it just, retracted into its shell and hissed in fear. What the hell? Should have been my first thought since I was the one who was dead frozen and out of my wits so why was the one who was scared was the fucking turtle. But no. I had no time to process those thoughts as I was pulled apart due to some mysterious force. First, I felt as if I had lost my brain, like my cranium went empty, my head felt light but then a searing pain overtook the sense of light headedness, my heart beat faster as though it would burst open any time, my body.... Dan stopped at this point of time. There was a long gap before he could even continue writing. He sat down and reached out for his drawer. He pulled it open and took out a cigar, he lighted it up with great difficulty as his hands shook. He puffed a smoke out and ended up inhaling it in yet again. The smoke moved through his nostrils and then ended up in the mouth yet again, the bitter taste residing in his mouth. Relaxed yet again and now devoid of any emotions he continued..... ....and then it took place the actual thing that drove me insane to the point where I wasn't myself. It felt as if a thousand needles had pricked me which got pulled down tearing through my skin and reaching out for my bones, then a new set came in and the same thing continued till even no amount of blood would be able to escape through. That was the situation. My throat and also my eyes were also not spared. Everything was shredded. It still hurts,my eyes, it feels as if my eyes still have a million pores on it and it felt like they would burst open anytime and there would be a bloodbath anytime. And all of this sensation must have taken place in a couple of seconds but it still felt like a hundred years, the time felt as if it had stopped and I was just getting sucked into the world on the shell without further ado, it was really bright. My shredded parts seemed to come together with rejuvenation. It was bliss and agony at the same time as the parts that were still getting shredded, hurt or rather it felt as though I would be dead in no time. A very weird feeling indeed. If not for my mental fortitude, anyone would have broken down and given up but I couldn't , it was my new start to give up on something and start fresh, I took part in this competition so that I could gather money for my own needs. After all I too am a human who needed to sustain with all of the comfort and joy. All I wanted was for me and my fiance to live happily that's it. . But I never had anything other than rejection, hatred, betrayals, assholes, whores, self - centered egoists and other horrible people whom I wished that I never would have met. Just, just what had I done to face all this, this was unfair but even then, if I ever died I wanted to pass away with happiness, the chance to start over again and nothing else, to forgive and to be forgiven, to have a last cigar and a drink ,a last kiss from my engaged partner who was asleep on the chair and then a last line on my journal and nothing else. After these thoughts that appeared in my mind as though I was speaking my heart out ,the next thing that happened after the body trembling experience that is after everything came together yet again was where I am, on my bed. I then saw a note where in it said to call the people as everybody were worried, so then I first called my mom. After which, even the ones who hated me and also the ones whom I hated called me. They were all awake as it seemed like they were going to visit me anytime. They all were happy to know about my condition, most of them for the sake of my well- being even forgave me even though it was my mistake at the time and then after some time I too would confess. I passed my whole night this way. I then after talking with all of them went downstairs and had a drink too, it always felt amazing in those cold mornings to have a drink. He still wrote his journal as he drank the beer. After the drink he lit his cigar, sitting on the porch looking at the sun rise, all of this made him calm as he would remember all those times that he had gone through out his life. He then walked to his fiance and woke her up, she just opened her eyes and Dan gave her a casual kiss and he then went over to his journal. He uncapped his pen and started writing. Thank you... Before he could continue he felt himself waver and the pen slid down the page as he lost his balance , closing his eyes with a smug smirk on his face....he passed out in bliss. Request you people to suggest and critique what I have written so that I can improve myself. Thank you	You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the turtle only gets closer to you. It's gaining now, only a couple yards back, and its mass is greater than anything you could have imagined. The turtles shell is underneath you now. You are entranced by the patterns and glowing light it emits. Ivory white fades to deep purple, before changing to a brilliant red. Then the colors shifting changes. The whole shell is not one color anymore, but many, and the spiraled groves on the top each glow brighter than the crevices of the shell. You begin to swim closer, the lights changing faster. You're right above it, the lights glowing brighter. Before you know it you hit land. Actual land. The sand is running through your hands, your ears hear a deafening high pitched ring and you begin to hack up water. When you can, you stand. You're alone, no more reef, no more gear, and no idea where you are. Naked and stranded, you panick. With scalded feet against the burning sand you run towards the fence above the beach towards a boardwalk you can see. The ringing is all you can hear, no other sounds exist. So you can't hear the cars, the people screaming, the water running through the streets. But when you get to the top of the small hill, to the fence that divides the beach from the boardwalk, you can see it. Whole buildings demolished. Water drips from the rooftops that managed to survive. People are strewn everywhere, most no longer moving. Those that do are injured, only a few were unscathed by the damage. But, as you look more closely, you begin to see something funny. The people are walking backwards. The water is moving up from the ground towards the roofs. The water actually seems to be moving faster up towards the roof tops than it would normally fall. And debris seems to be repositioning itself amongst buildings. Whole pieces of sheet metal waft into the air before placing themselves on building. And then it hits you. Or so you think. But when the first wave recedes, the water actually receding from the strees back to the ocean, it fazes right through you. You turn and see the wave come to a crest before rolling back into nothing. Another wave. And another. This time much larger. All pass through you, as though you are not there. You witness whole buildings being to reconstruct. You see people swimming in odd panicked manners before you realize they too are swimming in reverse. Only a moment of this goes by before most everything goes back to normal. The largest wave yet, towering what looks like a thousand waves high, comes rushing back through the city. This time you are knocked off your feet, and are being dragged back into the ocean. You tumble endlessly, or so it seems. As the wave takes you further and further back into the ocean you see the bright reds, the deep purples, and then soon the ivory white. The bottom of the boat that dropped you is only a few hundred feet away. You cannot see it anymore, but you know the city is now fine. There is no damage, there is no destruction. For about 30 minutes, the force of the wave has dragged you back to the reef. Your gear found its way back to you. You search frantically for the turtle, but cannot find it. You realize while searching you are in control again. And as you do, you can see the boat your dropped from bouncing in the water. You begin to panick as what just happened finally holds meaning. The boat. You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the boat only gets farther away from you.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	My photo would be worth millions. I was called delusional for even contemplating its existence, but the evidence was too strong to ignore. Dozens of coastal societies, separated by huge distances and language barriers, all mentioned in some of their myths the existence of the World Turtle. By tracking its movements across the centuries, I managed to predict its emergence in a small rural fishing town where many stories originated. Ditching the scuba guide turned out to be the right decision. He constantly steered me away from getting to this particular spot. I had to wait until he was distracted by another tourist to break away from the group. It almost cost me my life. The current generated by the turtle's movement made it difficult to swim out of its way. I panicked, swept away by the overwhelming force, but floated above the creature until I got a look at its entire back. The map was a wonder of nature. Hundreds of different cultures had contributed to it along thousands of years of human existence. I couldn't recognize most of the symbols etched on its back. They belonged to long forgotten civilizations and filled in many gaps in history. Anthropologists would be arguing about these findings for decades. Perhaps exploiting this monument to our shared culture was a bit unethical... I took a dozen pictures in addition to recording a couple of videos, swimming up to it to get a better look and making sure not to harm any of the coral. There was a little ecosystem of colorful fish living in the shell's seaweed and the light it produced. Almost like a little world of its own. By the time I returned to the tourist group, the scuba instructor was livid at me. They all thought I drowned because of the unexpected turbulence. I suspected the instructor had an ulterior motive, though. He was a deeply tanned man in his early twenties with an athlete's body and tribal tattoos. As we returned to the dock, I caught him keeping an eye on me everywhere I went in the boat. Everyone disembarked and slowly left the pier, leaving me alone with the instructor. He pulled out a knife on me, saying: "I'm surprised you survived the turtle's wake. It takes an experienced diver to navigate around it. I also noticed you respected the corals." "Thanks?" I stared at his knife. "But uh..." "I get the vibe that you're a good person. Hand over your camera and I'll let you live." I sighed, handing over the camera. The instructor frowned. "Did you remove the memory card?" "N-no..." The instructor raised an eyebrow. "Neither of them?" "Go ahead, check it out." The instructor started fidgeting with the camera. I kicked him off the pier while he was distracted. The instructor started screaming and gunfire came from an unknown location. Definitely an assault rifle. The bullets missed me, tearing holes into the wooden planks. I ran away before I could get shot. Thankfully, no one intercepted me on my way to the parking lot. I got in my rental car, turned the key, and noticed the engine didn't turn on. Shit. I sprinted out of my car. It exploded behind me a few seconds later. I fell to my knees, exhausted. That was a cartel tactic. I hadn't seen that since my time back in Mexico. What the hell did I get into? I stood up and jogged back to my hotel. The streets became a war zone. There wasn't any time to think about that. I was worried that I'd have to hide from people in the lobby, but as I walked into it, it started to creep me out that it was completely empty. Even the concierge was missing. The door to my room was open. A deep voice of an old man with a Spanish accent gently echoed out of the darkness: "Please come in, if we wanted to hurt you, we would've done it already." I took a deep breath and walked inside. The old man had a short white beard, wearing a humble fisherman's outfit. He sat on the couch, dimly lit by a candle on a table next to him. His body was wrinkly and frail, with sunken eyes that were seared with horrified stoicism. I couldn't help but shiver when he stared at me. A group of armed individuals stood behind him in total silence. The old man made a pained smile and said: "Juan is dead." I widened my eyes. That was the scuba instructor. "I didn't-" "We know." An explosion rang outside of the building. Gunfire slowly increased until it became background noise. "Your investigation seems to have led the wrong type of people to the World Turtle. In that map, there's hundreds of cultures that have been actively erased out of history in order to maintain the status quo of the world. Now that they're here, they've also found us. Most of the town is prepared to fight them off... if we survive." Another man entered the room. He wore a business suit and had a squadron of armed soldiers outfitted with modern equipment. He made a sleazy smile at me before saying: "Don't worry sir, we're here to protect you." I narrowed my eyes. "Sure..." "Your work is most valuable. We missed it again, but the fact that you can predict it means that we can get it the next time it emerges." "And what? Kill it?" "Yes." I couldn't help but laugh. "Never." The man shook his head. "It could mean millions more than selling your photo." "That's the thing, though. I've already uploaded everything I shot to my social media. It's going viral." Both the fisherman and the businessman widened their eyes, screaming: "What?!?" I chuckled. "Yeah, after getting a close look at it, I thought it was so beautiful I figured it'd be a crime to keep it from people. I wish I had the words to describe what it felt like. Seeing that art that spanned thousands of years, I'd never felt more connected to humanity, almost like a magical bond with all who came before us." The businessman gave an order to his soldiers, causing the gunfire to cease. They had bigger concerns now that his clients were about to be exposed. The old fisherman started crying. Everyone in his group was startled at the sight. They all belonged to a society that spanned continents with the mission of protecting the World Turtle throughout history. Now that the public at large knew about it, it was more important than ever to keep protecting it. I didn't know what I was going to do anymore. I'd spent all my savings pursuing these myths and threw away the one opportunity I had to profit off of it. It wasn't all for nothing, though. At the very least, these guardians would be interested in knowing where it would emerge next. ---------- >If you enjoyed this, you can check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!	You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the turtle only gets closer to you. It's gaining now, only a couple yards back, and its mass is greater than anything you could have imagined. The turtles shell is underneath you now. You are entranced by the patterns and glowing light it emits. Ivory white fades to deep purple, before changing to a brilliant red. Then the colors shifting changes. The whole shell is not one color anymore, but many, and the spiraled groves on the top each glow brighter than the crevices of the shell. You begin to swim closer, the lights changing faster. You're right above it, the lights glowing brighter. Before you know it you hit land. Actual land. The sand is running through your hands, your ears hear a deafening high pitched ring and you begin to hack up water. When you can, you stand. You're alone, no more reef, no more gear, and no idea where you are. Naked and stranded, you panick. With scalded feet against the burning sand you run towards the fence above the beach towards a boardwalk you can see. The ringing is all you can hear, no other sounds exist. So you can't hear the cars, the people screaming, the water running through the streets. But when you get to the top of the small hill, to the fence that divides the beach from the boardwalk, you can see it. Whole buildings demolished. Water drips from the rooftops that managed to survive. People are strewn everywhere, most no longer moving. Those that do are injured, only a few were unscathed by the damage. But, as you look more closely, you begin to see something funny. The people are walking backwards. The water is moving up from the ground towards the roofs. The water actually seems to be moving faster up towards the roof tops than it would normally fall. And debris seems to be repositioning itself amongst buildings. Whole pieces of sheet metal waft into the air before placing themselves on building. And then it hits you. Or so you think. But when the first wave recedes, the water actually receding from the strees back to the ocean, it fazes right through you. You turn and see the wave come to a crest before rolling back into nothing. Another wave. And another. This time much larger. All pass through you, as though you are not there. You witness whole buildings being to reconstruct. You see people swimming in odd panicked manners before you realize they too are swimming in reverse. Only a moment of this goes by before most everything goes back to normal. The largest wave yet, towering what looks like a thousand waves high, comes rushing back through the city. This time you are knocked off your feet, and are being dragged back into the ocean. You tumble endlessly, or so it seems. As the wave takes you further and further back into the ocean you see the bright reds, the deep purples, and then soon the ivory white. The bottom of the boat that dropped you is only a few hundred feet away. You cannot see it anymore, but you know the city is now fine. There is no damage, there is no destruction. For about 30 minutes, the force of the wave has dragged you back to the reef. Your gear found its way back to you. You search frantically for the turtle, but cannot find it. You realize while searching you are in control again. And as you do, you can see the boat your dropped from bouncing in the water. You begin to panick as what just happened finally holds meaning. The boat. You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the boat only gets farther away from you.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	Water can be a haunting place. Once you're in there you feel alone, you feel afraid. I've been diving for so long now and I don't think I'm used to the blue abyss. Diving can be an escape from a world where things seem so out of place and move so fast. For me it was an escape from my addiction. Meth can be a powerful ruler over someones life, it was for me. I checked myself into rehab a few years ago and have been sober ever since. So far it seems to be working, and the diving gives me a place to recover. Lost...afraid...lonely Sometimes I think I can't be whole without drugs. It feels like the world is caving in around me and the only way to slow it down and breathe is to use. To feel whole again. I've been happy recently. I got a girlfriend and we're happy. We started dating awhile ago, May I think was when we started. She's beautiful, strong, brave, and compassionate. I met her mom and dad recently, she said they really like me, but I'm skeptical. Her name is Rachel. Rachel left me. I'm spiraling. I'm lost. Today I went diving to get my head off the breakup. When I got in the water I felt alone and afraid. Until I wasn't alone anymore. "You are not okay" It was coming from the abyss. "I can help you." It came over me, it comforted me. "I'm with you." I saw it, the figure that was calling out to me. It was small. A creature of some kind. As it grew closer it grew bigger. It was a sea-turtle. "Let me save you." It felt kind. Its presence made me feel safe and warm from the cold water around me. I trusted it. At that point I realized my oxygen tank was running low. I needed to be saved. I think I should go to the turtle. I start to guide myself that way. "Come to me." As I swam closer to the turtle, I began to grasp the true size of the creature. It was astonishing. I'd never seen anything like it. It drew me in so easily, but I wasn't afraid. "Trust me." I did. I trusted the creature. I was finally in arms length. Then it happened. The turtles shell began to glow, and a map of the world appeared. It wasn't my world. I've seen pictures of earth from space a million times, and this world the turtle showed me wasn't earth. "I've been with you for sometime now. I know you're strengths and weaknesses. I know your dreams and your fears. I know you are alone in this world. Let me take you somewhere better." In that moment I felt alive. There was a place where I could be happy. A place where my anxiety, fear, addiction, loneliness could all be taken away. Something was holding me back, I couldn't go to the creature. I wanted to so bad, but I couldn't move. "To go with me you must let go, you must free yourself from reality." I didn't know how to do that. What was keeping me away? Was there something I was holding onto that wouldn't let me leave. "To be free you must free yourself and escape the chains of the world you know." It became clear. I had to let go of the only earthly possession I had, my oxygen tank. I began to remove it from my person. As I took my last breathe from the tank, I let it go. I was free of this world. "Come to me." I was on my way to somewhere better. Somewhere I wouldn't feel alone. "Enter your new reality. Embrace your new self." As I got closer the shell of the creature got brighter and brighter and brighter, until it was all that I could see. Then there was darkness. I was consumed by darkness. I felt calm. It wasn't frightening, but instead it felt welcoming. It began to be all that I could feel, taste, smell, and see. Then it all went away. My eyes felt heavy and senses started to fade. I began to sleep. "Welcome home."	You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the turtle only gets closer to you. It's gaining now, only a couple yards back, and its mass is greater than anything you could have imagined. The turtles shell is underneath you now. You are entranced by the patterns and glowing light it emits. Ivory white fades to deep purple, before changing to a brilliant red. Then the colors shifting changes. The whole shell is not one color anymore, but many, and the spiraled groves on the top each glow brighter than the crevices of the shell. You begin to swim closer, the lights changing faster. You're right above it, the lights glowing brighter. Before you know it you hit land. Actual land. The sand is running through your hands, your ears hear a deafening high pitched ring and you begin to hack up water. When you can, you stand. You're alone, no more reef, no more gear, and no idea where you are. Naked and stranded, you panick. With scalded feet against the burning sand you run towards the fence above the beach towards a boardwalk you can see. The ringing is all you can hear, no other sounds exist. So you can't hear the cars, the people screaming, the water running through the streets. But when you get to the top of the small hill, to the fence that divides the beach from the boardwalk, you can see it. Whole buildings demolished. Water drips from the rooftops that managed to survive. People are strewn everywhere, most no longer moving. Those that do are injured, only a few were unscathed by the damage. But, as you look more closely, you begin to see something funny. The people are walking backwards. The water is moving up from the ground towards the roofs. The water actually seems to be moving faster up towards the roof tops than it would normally fall. And debris seems to be repositioning itself amongst buildings. Whole pieces of sheet metal waft into the air before placing themselves on building. And then it hits you. Or so you think. But when the first wave recedes, the water actually receding from the strees back to the ocean, it fazes right through you. You turn and see the wave come to a crest before rolling back into nothing. Another wave. And another. This time much larger. All pass through you, as though you are not there. You witness whole buildings being to reconstruct. You see people swimming in odd panicked manners before you realize they too are swimming in reverse. Only a moment of this goes by before most everything goes back to normal. The largest wave yet, towering what looks like a thousand waves high, comes rushing back through the city. This time you are knocked off your feet, and are being dragged back into the ocean. You tumble endlessly, or so it seems. As the wave takes you further and further back into the ocean you see the bright reds, the deep purples, and then soon the ivory white. The bottom of the boat that dropped you is only a few hundred feet away. You cannot see it anymore, but you know the city is now fine. There is no damage, there is no destruction. For about 30 minutes, the force of the wave has dragged you back to the reef. Your gear found its way back to you. You search frantically for the turtle, but cannot find it. You realize while searching you are in control again. And as you do, you can see the boat your dropped from bouncing in the water. You begin to panick as what just happened finally holds meaning. The boat. You turn to swim, but while your arms and legs kick the boat only gets farther away from you.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	My photo would be worth millions. I was called delusional for even contemplating its existence, but the evidence was too strong to ignore. Dozens of coastal societies, separated by huge distances and language barriers, all mentioned in some of their myths the existence of the World Turtle. By tracking its movements across the centuries, I managed to predict its emergence in a small rural fishing town where many stories originated. Ditching the scuba guide turned out to be the right decision. He constantly steered me away from getting to this particular spot. I had to wait until he was distracted by another tourist to break away from the group. It almost cost me my life. The current generated by the turtle's movement made it difficult to swim out of its way. I panicked, swept away by the overwhelming force, but floated above the creature until I got a look at its entire back. The map was a wonder of nature. Hundreds of different cultures had contributed to it along thousands of years of human existence. I couldn't recognize most of the symbols etched on its back. They belonged to long forgotten civilizations and filled in many gaps in history. Anthropologists would be arguing about these findings for decades. Perhaps exploiting this monument to our shared culture was a bit unethical... I took a dozen pictures in addition to recording a couple of videos, swimming up to it to get a better look and making sure not to harm any of the coral. There was a little ecosystem of colorful fish living in the shell's seaweed and the light it produced. Almost like a little world of its own. By the time I returned to the tourist group, the scuba instructor was livid at me. They all thought I drowned because of the unexpected turbulence. I suspected the instructor had an ulterior motive, though. He was a deeply tanned man in his early twenties with an athlete's body and tribal tattoos. As we returned to the dock, I caught him keeping an eye on me everywhere I went in the boat. Everyone disembarked and slowly left the pier, leaving me alone with the instructor. He pulled out a knife on me, saying: "I'm surprised you survived the turtle's wake. It takes an experienced diver to navigate around it. I also noticed you respected the corals." "Thanks?" I stared at his knife. "But uh..." "I get the vibe that you're a good person. Hand over your camera and I'll let you live." I sighed, handing over the camera. The instructor frowned. "Did you remove the memory card?" "N-no..." The instructor raised an eyebrow. "Neither of them?" "Go ahead, check it out." The instructor started fidgeting with the camera. I kicked him off the pier while he was distracted. The instructor started screaming and gunfire came from an unknown location. Definitely an assault rifle. The bullets missed me, tearing holes into the wooden planks. I ran away before I could get shot. Thankfully, no one intercepted me on my way to the parking lot. I got in my rental car, turned the key, and noticed the engine didn't turn on. Shit. I sprinted out of my car. It exploded behind me a few seconds later. I fell to my knees, exhausted. That was a cartel tactic. I hadn't seen that since my time back in Mexico. What the hell did I get into? I stood up and jogged back to my hotel. The streets became a war zone. There wasn't any time to think about that. I was worried that I'd have to hide from people in the lobby, but as I walked into it, it started to creep me out that it was completely empty. Even the concierge was missing. The door to my room was open. A deep voice of an old man with a Spanish accent gently echoed out of the darkness: "Please come in, if we wanted to hurt you, we would've done it already." I took a deep breath and walked inside. The old man had a short white beard, wearing a humble fisherman's outfit. He sat on the couch, dimly lit by a candle on a table next to him. His body was wrinkly and frail, with sunken eyes that were seared with horrified stoicism. I couldn't help but shiver when he stared at me. A group of armed individuals stood behind him in total silence. The old man made a pained smile and said: "Juan is dead." I widened my eyes. That was the scuba instructor. "I didn't-" "We know." An explosion rang outside of the building. Gunfire slowly increased until it became background noise. "Your investigation seems to have led the wrong type of people to the World Turtle. In that map, there's hundreds of cultures that have been actively erased out of history in order to maintain the status quo of the world. Now that they're here, they've also found us. Most of the town is prepared to fight them off... if we survive." Another man entered the room. He wore a business suit and had a squadron of armed soldiers outfitted with modern equipment. He made a sleazy smile at me before saying: "Don't worry sir, we're here to protect you." I narrowed my eyes. "Sure..." "Your work is most valuable. We missed it again, but the fact that you can predict it means that we can get it the next time it emerges." "And what? Kill it?" "Yes." I couldn't help but laugh. "Never." The man shook his head. "It could mean millions more than selling your photo." "That's the thing, though. I've already uploaded everything I shot to my social media. It's going viral." Both the fisherman and the businessman widened their eyes, screaming: "What?!?" I chuckled. "Yeah, after getting a close look at it, I thought it was so beautiful I figured it'd be a crime to keep it from people. I wish I had the words to describe what it felt like. Seeing that art that spanned thousands of years, I'd never felt more connected to humanity, almost like a magical bond with all who came before us." The businessman gave an order to his soldiers, causing the gunfire to cease. They had bigger concerns now that his clients were about to be exposed. The old fisherman started crying. Everyone in his group was startled at the sight. They all belonged to a society that spanned continents with the mission of protecting the World Turtle throughout history. Now that the public at large knew about it, it was more important than ever to keep protecting it. I didn't know what I was going to do anymore. I'd spent all my savings pursuing these myths and threw away the one opportunity I had to profit off of it. It wasn't all for nothing, though. At the very least, these guardians would be interested in knowing where it would emerge next. ---------- >If you enjoyed this, you can check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!	I drew back, panicking. It seemed rather comical, retreating from a turtle, but I think anyone would be shocked by the sight of a faintly glowing turtle that was over ten feet long drifting towards them. It looked at me with its black eyes with a wary expression on its face and then looked away to munch on some seaweed. That's when I first noticed its shell and my fear was replaced with fascination. On the back of the turtle, there was an image of a world map. I could see all of the continents, even all of the tiny islands and archipelagos. For a few moments, I wondered if some cruel person had made this map deliberately by carving it into the turtle with a knife when it was younger. But as I slowly drifted closer, I found that hard to believe. For someone to do this, they would have had to be a master artist. The level to detail was extraordinary. Now that I was closer, I could even see rivers, lakes, mountainscapes. Slowly, I reached out a hand to touch it. Then, my hand stopped. I frowned and tried again, but I felt the same resistance as I had before. Stunned, I started feeling the air around the turtle's shell with both of my hands. There was some kind of invisible barrier here, stopping me from touching the shell. I curled my left hand into a fist and tried slamming it into the barrier, but nothing happened. The turtle seemed to sense what I was trying to do though as it suddenly began frantically swimming away from me. I tried grabbing onto one of its fins, but it quickly slipped away from my grasp. As it made its way deeper into the coral reef forest, I stared after it, my heart pounding. I knew right then that whatever this creature was, it was something completely beyond anything I had ever seen before. And I also knew that if I let it slip away, I would likely never see anything like it ever again. A once in a lifetime discovery. I rose up as quickly as I could manage back to my ship. One way or another, I was going to catch that turtle.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	The lake spread out wide before Jared, a glassy, crystal-blue expanse of water, glittering serenely in the bright sunlight. Securing the goggles more firmly over his moss-green eyes, he dipped a toe into the lake's depths, feeling the temperature: it was perfect, just the level of warmth that he most enjoyed. Jared wheeled around to grin at his wife, Sara, giving her the thumbs-up as he did so to signal that he was ready to dive. She smiled back from her perch on the sand, her grey eyes gleaming. She glanced down at the laptop settled on the sheet ahead of her and back up at him. "All good!" she shouted. Jared turned back to the water, stared at the impeccably smooth surface for a few more moments, and then plunged below. It was a miraculous sight. Schools of fish fluttered past him, looking pleasurably flustered at the sight of this strange phenomenon gliding through their waters. Beautiful shells and sea stones littered the dunes, forming superb mosaic-like patterns along the sea floor. But the truly incredible sight, perfectly visible from where he was, was the handsome coral reef in the distance, spreading out along the rock ahead, shimmering in colours of pink, bright red, green, and yellow. He swam further towards it, lowering his head so that the camera positioned in his goggles could take in more, allowing Sara the same vision of perfection that he was experiencing. He drank it in, the wonders of the deep blue, the miracles of nature. . . . A wide smile stretched across his lips as he stared at the ornate expanse — but the smile faded almost at once. The water was rippling ahead of him, and he could see a gleam of silver in the distance. Something was swimming towards him — something very large and very fast. A shark? he thought wildly, his heart pounding ferociously against his chest. . . . No. . .This was something different . . . Against his better judgement he stayed still, waiting. . . . A moment later, Jared's horrifying vision swam across a patch of light streaming from above, and its figure was thrown into sharp relief — A turtle, he thought, bewildered. The creature advanced on him with determined strokes, and sure enough, a turtle halted before him. But it was a turtle unlike any he had ever seen. It was almost twice the size of Jared himself, with leathery, deep green skin, bright brown eyes, and an enormous, ornate shell upon its back, its many jewels twinkling like stars. They stared at each other for a moment, man and turtle, and Jared's eyes widened in horror; the turtle was smiling. Before he could respond, though admittedly he had no idea what response would be appropriate in this situation, the turtle wove around him, and something was revealed in its wake. A man with steel-grey skin, scraggly green hair and beard — and a fish tail where legs should have been! He stopped right in front of Jared as well, who had frozen in terror. He opened his mouth and let out a noise like a dolphin chittering. If his senses had not abandoned him, Jared might have swum away, back to land, to safety. But the cold arms of Fear held him firmly in place. "English, please, Derman," said an exasperated voice from behind Jared. "You know he can't speak Mermish." The sound of the voice seemed to spark feeling back into Jared's shock-numbed body, and he turned. The turtle was still behind him, examining one of its own flippers with a bored expression. "Oh, right — yes!" a new voice said impatiently. Jared turned again. The fish-man was staring right at him. "Is this better?" he asked. But Jared's voice seemed to have vanished again. He settled with a nod of assent, for the fish-man was still glaring impatiently at him, demanding an answer. "Good. Now listen closely human," he continued briskly. "My name is Derman. This is Veruga." He pointed at the turtle, who waved airily. "Better known as the World Turtle, named for the map engraved in its shell." "What?" said Jared, finding his voice again. "What do you —" "No time, no time!" snarled Derman. "Veruga will explain everything, but you must escape first!" "Escape from what?" Jared demanded. Derman opened his mouth in another snarl — but it was not words that issued from it. Blood, thick, scarlet drops, spurted from his throat, from which the blade of a large silver knife was now blooming. "OH MY GOD!" Jared screamed as Derman spluttered and retched, hopelessly reaching for the knife. "Oh dear," the turtle said in a bored tone as the fish man sank out of sight. "A shame — I quite liked him. Well, anyway," he continued, as though there had been no interruption. "I know we have only just met, but I must insist that you get me to safety. You shall die, otherwise, along with your world." Jared's shock gave place to a savage indignation. "Are you threatening me?" he said loudly. "No," Veruga said calmly. "They are." He pointed a flipper behind Jared, who turned to see a group of fish-men, much like Derman, but wearing dark purple armour and carrying obsidian spears, speeding towards them. "They are coming for me, and if they capture me, the world will perish. You must save me; the fate of humanity is in your hands. But no pressure!" he finished brightly. r/MysticScribbles	I drew back, panicking. It seemed rather comical, retreating from a turtle, but I think anyone would be shocked by the sight of a faintly glowing turtle that was over ten feet long drifting towards them. It looked at me with its black eyes with a wary expression on its face and then looked away to munch on some seaweed. That's when I first noticed its shell and my fear was replaced with fascination. On the back of the turtle, there was an image of a world map. I could see all of the continents, even all of the tiny islands and archipelagos. For a few moments, I wondered if some cruel person had made this map deliberately by carving it into the turtle with a knife when it was younger. But as I slowly drifted closer, I found that hard to believe. For someone to do this, they would have had to be a master artist. The level to detail was extraordinary. Now that I was closer, I could even see rivers, lakes, mountainscapes. Slowly, I reached out a hand to touch it. Then, my hand stopped. I frowned and tried again, but I felt the same resistance as I had before. Stunned, I started feeling the air around the turtle's shell with both of my hands. There was some kind of invisible barrier here, stopping me from touching the shell. I curled my left hand into a fist and tried slamming it into the barrier, but nothing happened. The turtle seemed to sense what I was trying to do though as it suddenly began frantically swimming away from me. I tried grabbing onto one of its fins, but it quickly slipped away from my grasp. As it made its way deeper into the coral reef forest, I stared after it, my heart pounding. I knew right then that whatever this creature was, it was something completely beyond anything I had ever seen before. And I also knew that if I let it slip away, I would likely never see anything like it ever again. A once in a lifetime discovery. I rose up as quickly as I could manage back to my ship. One way or another, I was going to catch that turtle.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	Water can be a haunting place. Once you're in there you feel alone, you feel afraid. I've been diving for so long now and I don't think I'm used to the blue abyss. Diving can be an escape from a world where things seem so out of place and move so fast. For me it was an escape from my addiction. Meth can be a powerful ruler over someones life, it was for me. I checked myself into rehab a few years ago and have been sober ever since. So far it seems to be working, and the diving gives me a place to recover. Lost...afraid...lonely Sometimes I think I can't be whole without drugs. It feels like the world is caving in around me and the only way to slow it down and breathe is to use. To feel whole again. I've been happy recently. I got a girlfriend and we're happy. We started dating awhile ago, May I think was when we started. She's beautiful, strong, brave, and compassionate. I met her mom and dad recently, she said they really like me, but I'm skeptical. Her name is Rachel. Rachel left me. I'm spiraling. I'm lost. Today I went diving to get my head off the breakup. When I got in the water I felt alone and afraid. Until I wasn't alone anymore. "You are not okay" It was coming from the abyss. "I can help you." It came over me, it comforted me. "I'm with you." I saw it, the figure that was calling out to me. It was small. A creature of some kind. As it grew closer it grew bigger. It was a sea-turtle. "Let me save you." It felt kind. Its presence made me feel safe and warm from the cold water around me. I trusted it. At that point I realized my oxygen tank was running low. I needed to be saved. I think I should go to the turtle. I start to guide myself that way. "Come to me." As I swam closer to the turtle, I began to grasp the true size of the creature. It was astonishing. I'd never seen anything like it. It drew me in so easily, but I wasn't afraid. "Trust me." I did. I trusted the creature. I was finally in arms length. Then it happened. The turtles shell began to glow, and a map of the world appeared. It wasn't my world. I've seen pictures of earth from space a million times, and this world the turtle showed me wasn't earth. "I've been with you for sometime now. I know you're strengths and weaknesses. I know your dreams and your fears. I know you are alone in this world. Let me take you somewhere better." In that moment I felt alive. There was a place where I could be happy. A place where my anxiety, fear, addiction, loneliness could all be taken away. Something was holding me back, I couldn't go to the creature. I wanted to so bad, but I couldn't move. "To go with me you must let go, you must free yourself from reality." I didn't know how to do that. What was keeping me away? Was there something I was holding onto that wouldn't let me leave. "To be free you must free yourself and escape the chains of the world you know." It became clear. I had to let go of the only earthly possession I had, my oxygen tank. I began to remove it from my person. As I took my last breathe from the tank, I let it go. I was free of this world. "Come to me." I was on my way to somewhere better. Somewhere I wouldn't feel alone. "Enter your new reality. Embrace your new self." As I got closer the shell of the creature got brighter and brighter and brighter, until it was all that I could see. Then there was darkness. I was consumed by darkness. I felt calm. It wasn't frightening, but instead it felt welcoming. It began to be all that I could feel, taste, smell, and see. Then it all went away. My eyes felt heavy and senses started to fade. I began to sleep. "Welcome home."	I drew back, panicking. It seemed rather comical, retreating from a turtle, but I think anyone would be shocked by the sight of a faintly glowing turtle that was over ten feet long drifting towards them. It looked at me with its black eyes with a wary expression on its face and then looked away to munch on some seaweed. That's when I first noticed its shell and my fear was replaced with fascination. On the back of the turtle, there was an image of a world map. I could see all of the continents, even all of the tiny islands and archipelagos. For a few moments, I wondered if some cruel person had made this map deliberately by carving it into the turtle with a knife when it was younger. But as I slowly drifted closer, I found that hard to believe. For someone to do this, they would have had to be a master artist. The level to detail was extraordinary. Now that I was closer, I could even see rivers, lakes, mountainscapes. Slowly, I reached out a hand to touch it. Then, my hand stopped. I frowned and tried again, but I felt the same resistance as I had before. Stunned, I started feeling the air around the turtle's shell with both of my hands. There was some kind of invisible barrier here, stopping me from touching the shell. I curled my left hand into a fist and tried slamming it into the barrier, but nothing happened. The turtle seemed to sense what I was trying to do though as it suddenly began frantically swimming away from me. I tried grabbing onto one of its fins, but it quickly slipped away from my grasp. As it made its way deeper into the coral reef forest, I stared after it, my heart pounding. I knew right then that whatever this creature was, it was something completely beyond anything I had ever seen before. And I also knew that if I let it slip away, I would likely never see anything like it ever again. A once in a lifetime discovery. I rose up as quickly as I could manage back to my ship. One way or another, I was going to catch that turtle.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers. You are free, said an ancient voice. "What?" Live your life. I drew my hand back and looked around at the calm empty waters. I stared at the turtle. A large brown eye turned to consider me. "What are you?" I asked. I am the world. "N-n-no, you're a turtle," the words came out in a jumble. My heart had not slowed down. I am all that is and all that will be. Its flippers paddled lightly and it circled me as I tread water. "If you're the world, what's all this!" I shake my head wildly at the ocean and the beach in the distance. It blinked as droplets land on its glowing shell. "We're on the world," my voice cracked, "Not a turtle." I try to focus on breathing. I am all worlds. This world is also me. "All worlds are turtles?" I ask. "If all worlds are turtles, than that means we're on a turtle right now." I splash the water manically. "No giant turtle here, just water. If that's true, then you would have water on you." Look upon me, if you must. I looked back at the beach. I should just swim away to where it was safe. My curiosity overcame me. I had to know the truth. I looked deeply at the turtle's shell, then at its eyes, then back to the shell. I could almost see it, there was an impossibly fine detail- In an instant, the water around me vanished and I felt myself falling towards the turtle somehow. I was tumbling through air as the turtle grew larger and larger, impossibly large as the world on its shell expanded into a forests, mountains, oceans. The turtle soon turned only into a horizon and I landed in water off a sandy shore. Gasping, I looked around desperately and saw a strange glowing shell in the water. Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers. You are free, said an ancient voice.	Sunlight dapples the sand beneath me, silvery motes darting back and forth as the surf surges a building’s length above. I give a lazy kick and drift forward another meter. Basking in that resplendence -- blood-red scarlets, deep indigos like the farthest recesses of space, bright, toxic greens -- is like being in another dimension. I find it hard to focus on my original, grim purpose. I’m documenting the Great Barrier Reef’s progressive climate-induced recession and bleaching; more than half its cover has been lost in the last 30 years or so. It’s only a matter of time before these remarkable hues are reduced to a brittle boneyard. I exhale and feel the vibrations in my regulator as dozens of bubbles detach themselves, tumbling in a shaky column up and out of sight. Tamara would love to see this. The thought comes unbidden, and for a moment I drift aimlessly, body immobilized by the aching hole in my heart. She’ll never dive with me again, not after [the incident](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/guecux/wp_whales_are_seen_upriver_dolphins_are_emerging/fsioiv3?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x). Not after that primordial thing hurled itself through the water and took her from me forever. It’s a miracle, if you want to call it that, that I got out of the water that day. I can only attribute it to my insignificance; as that glassy, opalescent eye -- larger than a basketball -- flashed past me, I saw in its depths some brief flash of recognition. Some acknowledgement of and sheer indifference to my presence. All it wanted was Tamara. And it took her. Left only the tiniest red wisp twisting around itself in the water until it dissipated forever. I shake my head, trying to clear it. The Reef isn’t a dangerous dive, not for someone as experienced as me. But still, those kind of thoughts can render even the best of divers helpless. Lack of focus is one of the biggest killers. Get a grip, mate, I tell myself. That’s when I notice the shape. Twenty meters to my left, something eases itself from the surrounding tangle of marine vegetation. School of fish flash in front of it, moving in that remarkable cohesion that always reminds me of a mushroom’s neural network. The movement breaks the shape up and makes it difficult to see what it is. I fumble for a moment and bring my spear gun into a more maneuverable position; ever since the incident, I haven’t been in the water without it. I let myself drift closer, trying to make out a profile amidst all the movement. When it finally dawns on me, relief courses through my blood. I’m looking at a sea turtle. A huge one, bigger than any I’ve seen before, but the blocky head, spade-shaped shell, and mortar-like borders on its carapace are unmistakably those of a loggerhead sea turtle. I start to turn away, lowering my spear gun and taking a deep drag of metallic, tank-compressed oxygen. But when the creature falls into my peripheral vision, I pause. It’s hard to discern amidst the rays of sunlight shafting down from above, but here and there -- when the turtle passes through a patch of darker water -- there’s a faint halo encircling it, as if it’s coated in some faintly bioluminescent film. As a diver, bioluminescence is nothing remarkable. That said, its alien beauty is usually something to avoid, not something to investigate. Dinoflagellates -- organisms responsible for the phenomenon -- are actually toxic, and in copious enough numbers can cause those pesky red tides that prevent you and your family from having a nice day at the local beach. I’ve never heard of dinoflagellates hitching a ride on a loggerhead sea turtle, though. Nor have I heard of bioluminescence so intense it can be seen in daylight. Curious now, I make a mental commitment (What would Tamara do?) and arrow toward the creature. Loggerheads are natural prey animals, and they’re most vulnerable from below, where a hungry predator can attack their softer undershell, flippers, and throat. To avoid spooking it, I spiral a few meters higher so I can come at it from above. It’s in no particular hurry, and it takes less than a minute to maneuver myself into its six o’clock, maybe five or six meters back. The thing’s sheer magnitude is fully apparent now. It’s got to be at least twelve feet from stem to stern. Normal loggerheads are typically around three feet long and weigh anywhere from 300-400 pounds. That means this behemoth must be, what, a ton? More? I swim closer, for a moment feeling absurdly like the turtle and I are about to perform one of those awkward, military-style air-to-air refuelings. A second later all thoughts of that vanish. I’m looking at what might be, no, what definitely is, an octant projection world map, etched onto the turtle’s back. Even from back here, I can see that it’s embossed; the contours of the map stand out in sharp relief from the creature’s carapace, and they’re also the source of the strange radiation I’d noticed earlier. This giant sea turtle has a glowing world map -- in an unorthodox style invented by Leonardo da Vinci more than 500 years ago -- growing out of its shell. There’s a blur of motion to my right. Not for the first time in my life, I experience the power of an adrenaline surge, feeling my body twist into motion just before my brain has a chance to generate a near-debilitating spike of terror. I rotate clockwise and bring the spear gun to bear, flick my fins to stabilize myself, aim from the hip, and press the trigger, all in one silent, fluid motion. I can sense other movement around me in that moment; dozens of shapes are rising from the depths in every direction. But I have eyes -- wide, disbelieving eyes -- only for the thing I’m shooting at. Scale-bound muscle, rippling as the thing pumps its powerful trunk, keeping itself aloft with broad flicks of its dolphin-like tail. The muscled contours of a human midsection, skin the greenish hue of mythological legend. A bronze trident, wickedly sharp and fiercely barbed. A bearded face, barnacle-encrusted and high in forehead, contorted horribly with murderous rage. The creature opens its mouth and unleashes a bellow in an eruption of bubbles. My spear protrudes from its belly, but it seems hardly to notice. A split second later the rest of the marine horde converges on me.
	[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.	I sliced my foot open on a broken bottle of Coors Light. It had fallen into the sand, half buried, littered amongst the rest of the beach rocks and pebbles. Waves and salt honed the edge, the clear glass sandblasted opaque, now stained bloodred, the price of waste pain in crimson droplets. Later, I sat and wrapped a bandage slowly, failing to keep the grains of sand from penetrating the wound. It was going to sting, and bite, like any open sore, unforgettable. As I plunged towards the reef I wondered if it might be infected. But I couldn’t let this stop me. The reef was too important. My mission was too important. The reef was dying. The schooner slipped through frigid waters and I slipped on my wetsuit. Dives like this were commonplace. Routine. I counted the minutes until we hit the buoy and circled the dive site. Besides me, the divers were as stark and expressionless as the expanse of blue ocean we traveled. Floating near me: unmarked bottles, seals, styrofoam flotillas, plastic dinner trays, seagulls, muddy brown oil. The cut oozed in the sloshing, squelching booties and I considered the fact that sharks smell blood from miles away. Smell is a weird term for underwater. There is no scent, per-se, only the stranglehold of salt and cold. Strangled like the plastic around the necks of seals and seagulls we failed to rescue. Sometimes, plunging beneath the waves, it feels like we’re fighting a war we cannot win. Industry is death. One man’s garbage is another fish’s death rattle. It’s war, down there. The ship reaches the reef. The captain ties off and wishes me luck, I take a breath, and dive into the battlefield. Beneath me is a sea of color. Red staghorn coral grows like hair from the rocks. Blue and green brain coral swirls like sherbet and I dive to observe the decay. But everything here is fleeting. Bleachbone remains rise like headstones from the reef. My clipboard counts the missing: starfish, frogspawn, a fugu puffer with a small tumor that I named Frank. I take a tally of the living and find it less than the week before. The reef is passing like the ebb and flow of the tide. And despite the efforts to skim the plastic from the surface, despite the attempts to shore the edge of the reef with rocks, trenches dug to prevent erosion, regulations, nets, there is nothing. Nothing. My wound bleeds free into the sea but there are too few sharks to smell it. I turn back to the divot where I know I will find a pair of clownfish. There used to be hundreds hosting a squad of bubble tip anemone. Now there are two. I watch them dance and hide and dart in and out of the purple amalgam and wonder if they understand the price of inevitability. Do clownfish mourn when they dream? Or can they only fight the current for so long? Today marks the fifteenth week on the ocean. Fifteen weeks, a list that shrinks faster than my saving’s account, a shark’s tooth, and a desiccated turtle shell. I swim back to the boat and am interrupted by a slowly gliding turtle. It’s a loggerhead, searching for squid, and I don’t have the heart to explain that the squid are all gone. We’ve grilled them up as we trawl for sardines. His back is pattered in shades of brown and blue that almost seem to glow as they reflect the still light of morning. And I stare at the shell and it looks almost like a map, as if I could follow the turtle to find far-green lands and wilderness. But this is a pipe dream shattered like the broken glass of beer bottles strewn from careless beach-goers. Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting a war I cannot win, on a battlefield I can’t begin to understand, on a scale I cannot hope to comprehend. The turtle swims to me and I scratch its chin. Swim free, little turtle. Fight the tides that drag you down. Later, I check the list and find it wanting. Pray that somehow, somewhere, life might find its way back to the reef. Pray that I can make a difference. It’s the only thing that keeps me waking with the dawn, keeps me swimming out to the sea. That glimmer of hope reflecting like a rainbow prism through cut-glass. Fleeting beauty fading like sandblasted shores. And maybe there is nothing we can do. But we won’t know unless we try. *** More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH	"Dave..." a voice echoed in my mind. It made me stop breathing for a moment. I pulled out my camera and took as many pictures as possible at the oncoming turtle. "Dave..." it whispered again in my head, the glowing turtle was now just feet away. I couldn't stop staring, and I felt a surge of goosebumps coat my entire body. "Hello?" I replied back in my head. "Dave. Congratulations. You navigated the Lost Reef perfectly. You're the first soul to ever complete the puzzle of the coral labyrinth, the world of Colorine awaits," it said, the turtle's crack of a mouth curved upwards. "Colorine?" "Yes, please, come quick for the world is in need of your help, swim to the top of my back," the turtle's shell at the crown glowed with a bright neon pink halo. The whole exchange felt like a dream. I paused there and floated motionless in the water. "My name is Kora, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm the gatekeeper and chauffeur, please come now if you can." I unhooked myself from the scuba line and swam to the top of the turtle's back, into the pink circle which made everything glow white. My world felt like it collapsed in on itself and all at once I felt the most intense pain surge through me but then I felt the most relaxing, rejuvenating spark of life tingle at all of the hairs on my body. I couldn't see what was happening, but then I felt a return to normalness. I was still in my scuba gear and my hands were glued to the turtle's back as Kora swiftly cut through the water like a hot knife through butter. The turtle broke through the top of the water and I could finally see where I was. The sea was perfectly emerald green. The sky was a cascade of oranges, purples, and pinks. Even the atmospheric glowed with a golden hue. We were approaching a tiny island of sand and a palm tree with electric blue leaves. With a hover over the water, the turtle was flying, but it didn't need to move its fins. Nor did it have wings. It just floated over the air as if it was just a continuation of the water. Kora took me to this tiny island that was no larger than a bedroom. As soon as we landed on the edge, I saw a little girl, around 10 years old sitting at the base of the tree with her knees wrapped in her arms. She was rocking back and forth, a faint silver light outlined her entire frame. I ripped off my scuba gear that was attached to my face and I finally had a clear view of everything. A couple miles away from the tiny island was a horizon with a massive castle in the center and a village underneath it. On the sides were massive sloping cliffs. The view was jaw-dropping and breathtaking. "Excuse me, uh, where the hell am I?" "It's a shame, they're coming to get me," the little girl moped. "Who's coming to get you? Maybe I can help?" "It's only a matter of time I suppose. Maybe you can, maybe you can't," she gazed at me with her silver eyes and shrugged. "There's five of us. And I can't believe four of us have been imprisoned." "Other kids like you? What's happening?" "I'm sorry you had to see the world like this. As a visitor of Colorine, we are supposed to be the most beautiful city in the universe. But the newest man in charge has been stealing the deities that make this land beautiful. He's power hungry, and he's leeching off our abilities." "Uh... Ya-You're a d-deity?" I blurted. "Yes. The evil person in the castle mind-washed all of the land. We don't have much time before he takes over and captures me. Please, sir, will you find it in your heart to help us?" she gasped and glared out towards the horizon. I followed her eyes and saw that a long narrow boat that looked like something out of ancient Greece was on its way for us. They looked like militant men with their armor and their weapons. "Come quick, I can give you a piece of my power, it's called Silver Light. It shoots narrow beams of energy that can push someone away or knock out someone unconscious." I rubbed my eyes and exchanged shooting glances from the boat back to the little girl. She held out the palm of her hand and a glowing orb of silver shot towards me and struck my chest, filling me with a spike of energy and power. "Now, hold out your hand, channel all of that energy to your palm, and you'll be given the ability of Silver Light. I'm sorry there's not more time to train, but I gave you a decent chunk of my power, it should come naturally, you're our only hope," the little girl evaporated out of thin air. I spun around to look at Kora but the turtle was also gone. It was just me up against a boat full of warriors, and they were showing no signs of slowing down. I had so much fun writing the [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gxwe2h/wp_while_scuba_diving_to_photograph_the_reef_and) for this, maybe you'll like it maybe you won't, but I'd love to hear your thoughts! r/randallcooper
	[WP] You're excited to meet alternate "you"s from different timelines and seeing how they vary from your life. Your mistake, however, was assuming you are the default. You quickly find out that while they're fairly similar to one another, you're a drastically different offshoot to the rest of them.	I threw open the door, my nametag with my reality number on my shirt. My grin quickly melted into confusion. Had I gone into the wrong room? More than a dozen faces were locked on me, all looking just as confused. I checked the nametags. 'Robin' over and over again. My nametag proudly declaring 'Robyn' was quickly scrutinized. 'Maybe this is the wrong room?' The closest Robin suggested half heartedly. 'Adams? 1995?' I asked. They all nodded. I closed the doors behind me. 'This is me then.' There was a moment of uncomfortable silence until Robin-4 walked up close to me. He studied my face. My own eyes looked into mine. So surreal. He walked around me. Then grinned. 'I always wondered what I'd look like as a woman.'he grinned. 'We do look like Mom.' I smiled despite myself. Or because of myself? Either way. I was glad for the attention diffusion. We quickly formed a lose circle to talk. 'Okay okay! One question each and we take turns, okay?' I laughed. We all nodded, the same goody grin on each face. 'Alright, me first!'the Robin next to me declared. The rest of us moaned a protest then laughed. 'Were you born a woman or did you transition?'he asked me excitedly. I blinked. 'Oh! No, I was born a woman.' I grinned. I saw multiple pairs of Robin's exchange dollar bills. I noticed the Robin who asked looked disappointed. 'What's wrong?' I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Nothing...I was just..' he sniffled. 'I was hoping you were like me. I'm starting the transition this year and was hoping it would go as well as....' he gestured at me 'As that.' 'So I'm not the only woman here.' I said, hugging Robin. With a grateful smile we continued. 'Who here likes women?' The next Robin asked. Nearly all of us rose our hands. The two that didnt looked at me with my raised hand and grinned. 'Gaaaaaaaaay!' One yelled over. I stuck my tongue out at them. 'Back at you!' I laughed. 'Men?' The questioner continued. I, along with a few others, dropped our hands. To my suprise most hands stayed up. 'Wait,' I blurted. 'Most of us are bi?' Everyone looked around. Four hands were down total. 'This is so weird!' One of the gay Robins' said. 'Who here knew Dan?' The next Robin whispered. My hand went up. All three of the straight Robin's did as well. We all shared a haunted look. 'Oh..' I whispered. The rest of the room looked between the four of us. 'How...did it end for you guys?' 'I stabbed him. Mom lost custody and I lived with grandma Adams until I went to college.' Robin-8 said. 'I didnt say anything. But when he got to Morgan, I poisoned him. It took two months, and I was never caught. Morgan still has nightmares.' Said Robin-11. 'Mom walked in on it. She went crazy and hit him with the lamp. She got fives years and we went to live with Grandma Bunny.' Robin-3 said. They all looked at me. 'I never said anything. I locked Morgans room and taught her how to unlock it in the mornings. It went on for a year, then I got my first period and he left. I never saw him again.' I said. 'I almost stabbed him once, but I couldn't do it. I was too scared.' The rest looked confused but didnt press for more information. I tried to shake off the thoughts. 'Does everyone have a Morgan?' The next Robin asked hesitantly. All but two raised our hands. 'Whose Morgan?' One asked. A chorus of 'Our brother-'s and 'Our sister-'s sounded around the room. 'Oh! Mine is named Star.' He laughed. 'Because..' 'Dad couldn't remember what I was supposed to be named!' We all finished with him and bust into hysterical laughing. He laughed with us and when the room quieted down he said 'Yeah, dad was always such a scatter brain. His boyfriend and I were always helping him remember important things. Remember when they got married? Poor guy couldn't remember his vows!' His grin faded as he noticed the rest of us looking at him with wide eyes. 'What's wrong, guys?' We all looked away from him. There were tears and angry glares at the floor. I took a deep breath and let it out. I looked back at him. 'For most of us...'I glanced around and corrected. 'For the rest of us, dad has been dead since before we can remember.' His horrified expression said everything. He still had dad. Star was Dad's too. He had the life the rest of us always wanted. And he knew it.	I never imagined that I would end up watching myself through the viewing screen, as the other me gathered firewood and loaded up a makeshift trailer attached to a bike. Heck, I can barely understand how I ended here in this facility built to observe multiple realities, or timelines as my coworkers like to say as a joke. "Another one that doesn't match our reality?" Jacob asked, a good friend and colleague of mine, as he walked into my little cubicle office. "Yeah, but this me looks like he is one of those 'off grid, live off the fat of the land' types. Makes sense though, the other team mentioned this reality suffered from economic collapse back in '08 and took down everything else with it." I replied. "Its freaky to know that few decisions can make such a huge change in less than 12 years." "Its freakier to know even in realities where both the other and ours are nearly identical, the other versions of me differ by a lot. Speaking of which, what did the facility director say about my project proposal?" Jacob stayed silent for uncomfortable amount of time, just staring at me. "Alex, the director told me to tell you the truth why you were brought in. Its .... Its hard to explain. I need to take you first to the "Target Fixation and Observation" team." As we walked through the hallways, I couldn't help but think back on my actions. I was told when I first started working at the facility that the existence of other "you"s was not a constant in every reality. Yet, I started to realize something was up, when every reality I was assigned to observe had another version of me. I already felt that was weird, and it pushed me to ask the director for permission to look into the matter. Against facility rules, I brought in a paper notebook, where I kept my observations that never made it into my reports. How every me, for one reason or another, existed in every reality in a wretched existence. Ranging from a poor, hungry subsistence farmer to dead end jobs in dirty factories, to barely surviving in post-apocalyptic wastelands. Not one of the other me's could be charitably described as living a mediocre life in every reality I studied. This ate at me, to the point where I just had to ask the facility director, the founder of spatio-temporal program and facility, what was it that made the other versions of me differ from the norm, along with a report based on my observations. As Jacob opened the door to another hallway, I looked at the plaque next it. "Anomalous Testing and Observation". A glance back to Jacob's somber face, made me wonder if maybe it's me that is the anomaly. The one me, that went to university and graduate, got a government job and a fairly happy family to support. As I walked through, I couldn't help but think, "Curiosity killed the cat". (First time posting , Ran out of time, I don't know if I will continue)
	[WP] You're excited to meet alternate "you"s from different timelines and seeing how they vary from your life. Your mistake, however, was assuming you are the default. You quickly find out that while they're fairly similar to one another, you're a drastically different offshoot to the rest of them.	I excitedly watch the blue glow fade around my vision. I was finally here. I was in the cloud of conscious for all my alternate selves. Our essences have all gathered here to meet and converse. One by one, dozens of other Myras appeared in a wash of blue light. They look around, confused. "Whoa, this is one weird dream..." says one. "I don't even remember falling asleep!" says another. "Welcome! You're in the cloud of conscious for, well, us!" I say, clasping my hands together. "I summoned us all here so we can see the differences between our universes! I'm always looking for new ideas and strategies." One of the Myras with glasses blinks. "So, it's like parallel universes?" "Yep!" I respond. "We are all Myra in one way or another!" Glasses Myra looks around. "Well, I don't think my life is all that interesting. I'm taking a nap on the beach right now, or at least I'm supposed to be." "Whoa, the beach! I wish I could go to the beach!" says a Myra with her hair in a messy ponytail. "My parents couldn't afford to go to Ocean City this year." Glasses Myra perks up. "Hey, that's where I'm at! The boardwalk fries are the best!" "OMG, boardwalk fries are amaaaaa-zing!" says another Myra. She twirls her dark brown hair, which is streaked with purple highlights. Suddenly, the cloud is filled with the chatter of boardwalk fries and summers at Ocean City. I feel totally left out. "Wait, what are boardwalk fries?" I ask. The other Myras stop and stare. "Um, only the best fries ever!" they all say in unison. "Wow, jinx! Jinx again!" Purple-streak Myra speaks up. "Boardwalk fries are just sooooo good! Especially when you put some Old Bay on them!" "Yes, yes! Old Bay is the best!" squeaks a Myra with a long yellow sun dress. "And wow, I love your hair, Myra! I always wanted purple streaks in my hair, but my parents won't let me!" "Why thank you!" says Purple-streak Myra. "It's a shame your parents don't like purple hair. I took ages of convincing, but they finally came around." "Wow!" says Yellow Dress Myra. "I should try it! And you!" she squeals, pointing at me. "I love your cool eye patch! And your super short hair! It's such a neat steampunk aesthetic!" The other Myras murmur in agreement. "My eye patch?" I gently touch the rough, worn-out cloth. "I don't like to talk about it. It's too painful to think about. We all sacrifice things in the Great War." The entire cloud goes silent. I awkwardly fiddle with my threadbare sleeves. I start to notice how nice the other Myras look compared to me, with intact clothes and both of their eyes. They all seem happy and naive, worrying about their hair and boardwalk fries rather than ethnic wars and rationing food. "Um, sorry about your eye," says Glasses Myra quietly. "So, can we bring food through to this place?" "Uh, no, I don't think so." "Oh." Glasses Myra tugs at her bangs. "Well, if you ever get the chance, boardwalk fries are cool." "You should try knitting sometime! I love knitting," whispers Ponytail Myra. The other Myras agree. "Yeah, yeah! We love knitting," echoes the voices of a dozen Myras. "Sure, I'll think about it." An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. My head feels like molten lead as my brain swims around in a million thoughts. Am I the only Myra who lives like this? Could that have been what my life was supposed to be like? What do boardwalk fries taste like? I came here to find answers to my problems, but instead I got more questions. Churning, ugly questions that eat away at my heart. "Hey, I-I gotta go," I quickly say. "It was nice meeting you all." "If you ever wanna chat, we can try our best," reassures Glasses Myra. "Just wait 'till we're all napping or something." I weakly smile before switching off the device from my wrist. The cloud of conscious disappears before my eyes in a flash of neon blue. In a blink of an eye, I'm back in the dusty lab, the distant rumble of gunfire echoing through the city. "So, what intel did you get?" asks Lyren. He starts to unhook me from the wires and electrodes. I sigh. "Nothing important."	This felt more like a business conference than... Well. I wasn't sure what I had expected. A high school reunion? What was it supposed to feel like when you met your alternate selves? My expectations for a casual get together felt ridiculous. And I was so terribly under dressed. Nervously, I circled the room, trying to find a place I could fit in. This was worse than finding a place to sit in the cafeteria, or introducing myself to new coworkers. Worse than that time I'd shut myself in my office for months, and come out on the other side to realize I'd lost all my social skills and had no idea how to hold a conversation anymore. Worse than being sixteen at a cute girl's party, with no idea how to talk to her friends. I swallowed hard. These were versions of myself! How could I be so horribly different? Three versions of myself stood close together, arms crossed over their chest, hips cocked with the shifting of their weight. Close cropped hair, a glass of red wine dangling from manicured fingertips. Identical suits, in different shades of gray. From the jargon they spouted, they seemed to be discussing the stock market. I walked away as quickly as I could, before my breathing insulted them. Another version of myself confidently stood before an array that lounged on plush couches. They were talking about a trip they had recently taken to the East, and a monk they had studied under. How inner peace was just a step away. I nearly gagged. On a balcony, I saw myself passing out cigarettes and talking about workout routines and diet plans. About what it was like joining the Navy, the Air Force, the Marines. About working on the rigs, and how nice it was to return home after spending so long away. About what they would blow the next paycheck on, and laughing about how money came and went and there was always another shot to take. A drink. I needed a drink. The bar was speckled with socialites. From the corner, I heard talk about the latest video games, and my hopes rose. "We recently produced..." reached my ears, and my hopes were dashed under a heavy dose of jealousy. Maybe I didn't need that drink so badly, after all. All of these people who had achieved so much more than me. Who had stuck to an idea, and found their success from it. Who had stable careers, homes, families. And then there was me. With my basement suite and indecision. The entrance hall was the only place abandoned. I found a quiet corner to sit and contemplate the sheer disappointment of my existence. Staring my potential in the face was worse than I had feared. What had I hoped for? To be average? That I was somehow doing better than the rest, because I had chosen to stick to my gut? I buried my face in my hands, savoring the chill of my fingers against my flaming cheeks. Footsteps approaching. I peeked up through the cracks in my fingers. "Are you enjoying the evening?" my Creator asked. My lips twisted into a scowl. "How can I? Look at all of them. I'm the mistake. I shouldn't be here." My Creator shook their head sadly, a knowing smile on their lips. "Is that really what you see?" My brow furrowed. I glanced back towards the open door, the rise and fall of conversation drifting out towards us. "I mean, well," I mumbled, "what else is there? All of them did something with their life. I never made up my mind. I was too scared to." "Do you regret it?" I considered. If I hadn't followed my gut, I would've married that angry, sweaty asshole and spent my life pumping out babies while he pursued his dreams. If I hadn't followed my gut, I would've let myself get kicked around in a dead end job. If I hadn't followed my gut, I never would've published my book -- even if it hadn't been a success, it had been my proudest achievement. If I hadn't followed my gut, I never would've married my best friend. "No," I sighed finally. "No, not really." "Then I think you're doing better than most."
	[WP] You're excited to meet alternate "you"s from different timelines and seeing how they vary from your life. Your mistake, however, was assuming you are the default. You quickly find out that while they're fairly similar to one another, you're a drastically different offshoot to the rest of them.	I threw open the door, my nametag with my reality number on my shirt. My grin quickly melted into confusion. Had I gone into the wrong room? More than a dozen faces were locked on me, all looking just as confused. I checked the nametags. 'Robin' over and over again. My nametag proudly declaring 'Robyn' was quickly scrutinized. 'Maybe this is the wrong room?' The closest Robin suggested half heartedly. 'Adams? 1995?' I asked. They all nodded. I closed the doors behind me. 'This is me then.' There was a moment of uncomfortable silence until Robin-4 walked up close to me. He studied my face. My own eyes looked into mine. So surreal. He walked around me. Then grinned. 'I always wondered what I'd look like as a woman.'he grinned. 'We do look like Mom.' I smiled despite myself. Or because of myself? Either way. I was glad for the attention diffusion. We quickly formed a lose circle to talk. 'Okay okay! One question each and we take turns, okay?' I laughed. We all nodded, the same goody grin on each face. 'Alright, me first!'the Robin next to me declared. The rest of us moaned a protest then laughed. 'Were you born a woman or did you transition?'he asked me excitedly. I blinked. 'Oh! No, I was born a woman.' I grinned. I saw multiple pairs of Robin's exchange dollar bills. I noticed the Robin who asked looked disappointed. 'What's wrong?' I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Nothing...I was just..' he sniffled. 'I was hoping you were like me. I'm starting the transition this year and was hoping it would go as well as....' he gestured at me 'As that.' 'So I'm not the only woman here.' I said, hugging Robin. With a grateful smile we continued. 'Who here likes women?' The next Robin asked. Nearly all of us rose our hands. The two that didnt looked at me with my raised hand and grinned. 'Gaaaaaaaaay!' One yelled over. I stuck my tongue out at them. 'Back at you!' I laughed. 'Men?' The questioner continued. I, along with a few others, dropped our hands. To my suprise most hands stayed up. 'Wait,' I blurted. 'Most of us are bi?' Everyone looked around. Four hands were down total. 'This is so weird!' One of the gay Robins' said. 'Who here knew Dan?' The next Robin whispered. My hand went up. All three of the straight Robin's did as well. We all shared a haunted look. 'Oh..' I whispered. The rest of the room looked between the four of us. 'How...did it end for you guys?' 'I stabbed him. Mom lost custody and I lived with grandma Adams until I went to college.' Robin-8 said. 'I didnt say anything. But when he got to Morgan, I poisoned him. It took two months, and I was never caught. Morgan still has nightmares.' Said Robin-11. 'Mom walked in on it. She went crazy and hit him with the lamp. She got fives years and we went to live with Grandma Bunny.' Robin-3 said. They all looked at me. 'I never said anything. I locked Morgans room and taught her how to unlock it in the mornings. It went on for a year, then I got my first period and he left. I never saw him again.' I said. 'I almost stabbed him once, but I couldn't do it. I was too scared.' The rest looked confused but didnt press for more information. I tried to shake off the thoughts. 'Does everyone have a Morgan?' The next Robin asked hesitantly. All but two raised our hands. 'Whose Morgan?' One asked. A chorus of 'Our brother-'s and 'Our sister-'s sounded around the room. 'Oh! Mine is named Star.' He laughed. 'Because..' 'Dad couldn't remember what I was supposed to be named!' We all finished with him and bust into hysterical laughing. He laughed with us and when the room quieted down he said 'Yeah, dad was always such a scatter brain. His boyfriend and I were always helping him remember important things. Remember when they got married? Poor guy couldn't remember his vows!' His grin faded as he noticed the rest of us looking at him with wide eyes. 'What's wrong, guys?' We all looked away from him. There were tears and angry glares at the floor. I took a deep breath and let it out. I looked back at him. 'For most of us...'I glanced around and corrected. 'For the rest of us, dad has been dead since before we can remember.' His horrified expression said everything. He still had dad. Star was Dad's too. He had the life the rest of us always wanted. And he knew it.	This felt more like a business conference than... Well. I wasn't sure what I had expected. A high school reunion? What was it supposed to feel like when you met your alternate selves? My expectations for a casual get together felt ridiculous. And I was so terribly under dressed. Nervously, I circled the room, trying to find a place I could fit in. This was worse than finding a place to sit in the cafeteria, or introducing myself to new coworkers. Worse than that time I'd shut myself in my office for months, and come out on the other side to realize I'd lost all my social skills and had no idea how to hold a conversation anymore. Worse than being sixteen at a cute girl's party, with no idea how to talk to her friends. I swallowed hard. These were versions of myself! How could I be so horribly different? Three versions of myself stood close together, arms crossed over their chest, hips cocked with the shifting of their weight. Close cropped hair, a glass of red wine dangling from manicured fingertips. Identical suits, in different shades of gray. From the jargon they spouted, they seemed to be discussing the stock market. I walked away as quickly as I could, before my breathing insulted them. Another version of myself confidently stood before an array that lounged on plush couches. They were talking about a trip they had recently taken to the East, and a monk they had studied under. How inner peace was just a step away. I nearly gagged. On a balcony, I saw myself passing out cigarettes and talking about workout routines and diet plans. About what it was like joining the Navy, the Air Force, the Marines. About working on the rigs, and how nice it was to return home after spending so long away. About what they would blow the next paycheck on, and laughing about how money came and went and there was always another shot to take. A drink. I needed a drink. The bar was speckled with socialites. From the corner, I heard talk about the latest video games, and my hopes rose. "We recently produced..." reached my ears, and my hopes were dashed under a heavy dose of jealousy. Maybe I didn't need that drink so badly, after all. All of these people who had achieved so much more than me. Who had stuck to an idea, and found their success from it. Who had stable careers, homes, families. And then there was me. With my basement suite and indecision. The entrance hall was the only place abandoned. I found a quiet corner to sit and contemplate the sheer disappointment of my existence. Staring my potential in the face was worse than I had feared. What had I hoped for? To be average? That I was somehow doing better than the rest, because I had chosen to stick to my gut? I buried my face in my hands, savoring the chill of my fingers against my flaming cheeks. Footsteps approaching. I peeked up through the cracks in my fingers. "Are you enjoying the evening?" my Creator asked. My lips twisted into a scowl. "How can I? Look at all of them. I'm the mistake. I shouldn't be here." My Creator shook their head sadly, a knowing smile on their lips. "Is that really what you see?" My brow furrowed. I glanced back towards the open door, the rise and fall of conversation drifting out towards us. "I mean, well," I mumbled, "what else is there? All of them did something with their life. I never made up my mind. I was too scared to." "Do you regret it?" I considered. If I hadn't followed my gut, I would've married that angry, sweaty asshole and spent my life pumping out babies while he pursued his dreams. If I hadn't followed my gut, I would've let myself get kicked around in a dead end job. If I hadn't followed my gut, I never would've published my book -- even if it hadn't been a success, it had been my proudest achievement. If I hadn't followed my gut, I never would've married my best friend. "No," I sighed finally. "No, not really." "Then I think you're doing better than most."
	[WP] You're excited to meet alternate "you"s from different timelines and seeing how they vary from your life. Your mistake, however, was assuming you are the default. You quickly find out that while they're fairly similar to one another, you're a drastically different offshoot to the rest of them.	I threw open the door, my nametag with my reality number on my shirt. My grin quickly melted into confusion. Had I gone into the wrong room? More than a dozen faces were locked on me, all looking just as confused. I checked the nametags. 'Robin' over and over again. My nametag proudly declaring 'Robyn' was quickly scrutinized. 'Maybe this is the wrong room?' The closest Robin suggested half heartedly. 'Adams? 1995?' I asked. They all nodded. I closed the doors behind me. 'This is me then.' There was a moment of uncomfortable silence until Robin-4 walked up close to me. He studied my face. My own eyes looked into mine. So surreal. He walked around me. Then grinned. 'I always wondered what I'd look like as a woman.'he grinned. 'We do look like Mom.' I smiled despite myself. Or because of myself? Either way. I was glad for the attention diffusion. We quickly formed a lose circle to talk. 'Okay okay! One question each and we take turns, okay?' I laughed. We all nodded, the same goody grin on each face. 'Alright, me first!'the Robin next to me declared. The rest of us moaned a protest then laughed. 'Were you born a woman or did you transition?'he asked me excitedly. I blinked. 'Oh! No, I was born a woman.' I grinned. I saw multiple pairs of Robin's exchange dollar bills. I noticed the Robin who asked looked disappointed. 'What's wrong?' I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Nothing...I was just..' he sniffled. 'I was hoping you were like me. I'm starting the transition this year and was hoping it would go as well as....' he gestured at me 'As that.' 'So I'm not the only woman here.' I said, hugging Robin. With a grateful smile we continued. 'Who here likes women?' The next Robin asked. Nearly all of us rose our hands. The two that didnt looked at me with my raised hand and grinned. 'Gaaaaaaaaay!' One yelled over. I stuck my tongue out at them. 'Back at you!' I laughed. 'Men?' The questioner continued. I, along with a few others, dropped our hands. To my suprise most hands stayed up. 'Wait,' I blurted. 'Most of us are bi?' Everyone looked around. Four hands were down total. 'This is so weird!' One of the gay Robins' said. 'Who here knew Dan?' The next Robin whispered. My hand went up. All three of the straight Robin's did as well. We all shared a haunted look. 'Oh..' I whispered. The rest of the room looked between the four of us. 'How...did it end for you guys?' 'I stabbed him. Mom lost custody and I lived with grandma Adams until I went to college.' Robin-8 said. 'I didnt say anything. But when he got to Morgan, I poisoned him. It took two months, and I was never caught. Morgan still has nightmares.' Said Robin-11. 'Mom walked in on it. She went crazy and hit him with the lamp. She got fives years and we went to live with Grandma Bunny.' Robin-3 said. They all looked at me. 'I never said anything. I locked Morgans room and taught her how to unlock it in the mornings. It went on for a year, then I got my first period and he left. I never saw him again.' I said. 'I almost stabbed him once, but I couldn't do it. I was too scared.' The rest looked confused but didnt press for more information. I tried to shake off the thoughts. 'Does everyone have a Morgan?' The next Robin asked hesitantly. All but two raised our hands. 'Whose Morgan?' One asked. A chorus of 'Our brother-'s and 'Our sister-'s sounded around the room. 'Oh! Mine is named Star.' He laughed. 'Because..' 'Dad couldn't remember what I was supposed to be named!' We all finished with him and bust into hysterical laughing. He laughed with us and when the room quieted down he said 'Yeah, dad was always such a scatter brain. His boyfriend and I were always helping him remember important things. Remember when they got married? Poor guy couldn't remember his vows!' His grin faded as he noticed the rest of us looking at him with wide eyes. 'What's wrong, guys?' We all looked away from him. There were tears and angry glares at the floor. I took a deep breath and let it out. I looked back at him. 'For most of us...'I glanced around and corrected. 'For the rest of us, dad has been dead since before we can remember.' His horrified expression said everything. He still had dad. Star was Dad's too. He had the life the rest of us always wanted. And he knew it.	I excitedly watch the blue glow fade around my vision. I was finally here. I was in the cloud of conscious for all my alternate selves. Our essences have all gathered here to meet and converse. One by one, dozens of other Myras appeared in a wash of blue light. They look around, confused. "Whoa, this is one weird dream..." says one. "I don't even remember falling asleep!" says another. "Welcome! You're in the cloud of conscious for, well, us!" I say, clasping my hands together. "I summoned us all here so we can see the differences between our universes! I'm always looking for new ideas and strategies." One of the Myras with glasses blinks. "So, it's like parallel universes?" "Yep!" I respond. "We are all Myra in one way or another!" Glasses Myra looks around. "Well, I don't think my life is all that interesting. I'm taking a nap on the beach right now, or at least I'm supposed to be." "Whoa, the beach! I wish I could go to the beach!" says a Myra with her hair in a messy ponytail. "My parents couldn't afford to go to Ocean City this year." Glasses Myra perks up. "Hey, that's where I'm at! The boardwalk fries are the best!" "OMG, boardwalk fries are amaaaaa-zing!" says another Myra. She twirls her dark brown hair, which is streaked with purple highlights. Suddenly, the cloud is filled with the chatter of boardwalk fries and summers at Ocean City. I feel totally left out. "Wait, what are boardwalk fries?" I ask. The other Myras stop and stare. "Um, only the best fries ever!" they all say in unison. "Wow, jinx! Jinx again!" Purple-streak Myra speaks up. "Boardwalk fries are just sooooo good! Especially when you put some Old Bay on them!" "Yes, yes! Old Bay is the best!" squeaks a Myra with a long yellow sun dress. "And wow, I love your hair, Myra! I always wanted purple streaks in my hair, but my parents won't let me!" "Why thank you!" says Purple-streak Myra. "It's a shame your parents don't like purple hair. I took ages of convincing, but they finally came around." "Wow!" says Yellow Dress Myra. "I should try it! And you!" she squeals, pointing at me. "I love your cool eye patch! And your super short hair! It's such a neat steampunk aesthetic!" The other Myras murmur in agreement. "My eye patch?" I gently touch the rough, worn-out cloth. "I don't like to talk about it. It's too painful to think about. We all sacrifice things in the Great War." The entire cloud goes silent. I awkwardly fiddle with my threadbare sleeves. I start to notice how nice the other Myras look compared to me, with intact clothes and both of their eyes. They all seem happy and naive, worrying about their hair and boardwalk fries rather than ethnic wars and rationing food. "Um, sorry about your eye," says Glasses Myra quietly. "So, can we bring food through to this place?" "Uh, no, I don't think so." "Oh." Glasses Myra tugs at her bangs. "Well, if you ever get the chance, boardwalk fries are cool." "You should try knitting sometime! I love knitting," whispers Ponytail Myra. The other Myras agree. "Yeah, yeah! We love knitting," echoes the voices of a dozen Myras. "Sure, I'll think about it." An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. My head feels like molten lead as my brain swims around in a million thoughts. Am I the only Myra who lives like this? Could that have been what my life was supposed to be like? What do boardwalk fries taste like? I came here to find answers to my problems, but instead I got more questions. Churning, ugly questions that eat away at my heart. "Hey, I-I gotta go," I quickly say. "It was nice meeting you all." "If you ever wanna chat, we can try our best," reassures Glasses Myra. "Just wait 'till we're all napping or something." I weakly smile before switching off the device from my wrist. The cloud of conscious disappears before my eyes in a flash of neon blue. In a blink of an eye, I'm back in the dusty lab, the distant rumble of gunfire echoing through the city. "So, what intel did you get?" asks Lyren. He starts to unhook me from the wires and electrodes. I sigh. "Nothing important."
	[WP] You have inherited your grandmother's store. When you take it over you discover that your clerk is an elf, night shift is a vampire, your security is a troll, and your accountant is a leprechaun. All of them immediately warn you to beware of "Crazy Steve" in the back.	'Alright, you're gonna have to give me a minute.' Mia said, holding her hands up. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. 'Ma'am,' Holly, her clerk, started. 'Hush.' Mia said quickly. She needed to wrap her head around this. And with all of them right in front of her it was all she could do not to scream and run. The night shift vampire, Liz, snorted. ' I told you the old broad never told her! You owe me a gold piece, Shawn!' 'Blast woman, not now! Cant you see the lass is distraught?' The old leprechaun scolded. 'Steve.' The tall broad security guard rumbled. The rest went silent and looked at Mia in quiet horror. Mia opened her eyes. "Steve....who?" She asked suspiciously. Surely there couldn't be MORE, right? 'Mia, listen. Steve is not safe. Hes crazy! We had to trap him in the back.' Liz warned. Holly nodded. 'He made such a mess we lost ten years of sale records. There are creatures with IOUs and owed favors that we cant contact anymore." Holly explained. 'When he showed up he broke so much of the shop that we almost went bankrupt." Shawn added. 'Had to knock him out when he threatened the late miss.' The security troll continued. Mia took a deep breath. 'What is he?' 'A hunter of magic.' Holly said. Liz rolled her eyes. 'Not going to tell her the best part? No? Allow me.' Liz got up in Mia's face. She grinned, her long fangs shined. Mia was frozen. 'Hes your grandpa. Couldn't handle it when he found out about the old woman being a witch. Went crazy and started killing anything magic he could find.' 'Grandma was WHAT?' Mia gasped. The rest of the room looked uncomfortable. 'Not only the late lady, miss. You as well.' Shawn said, browns pulled together. 'Did she tell you nothing?' 'This is ritch!' Liz laughed. 'This is bad!' Holly snapped. Mia was freaking out. Hyperventalating. She sat down on the floor and put her head between her knees. This couldn't be real. She had known these people since she was a kid. They were normal. They were human. What happened? Mia ran her thumb across the ring her grandma had left her. It was the one Grandma had always worn. Every day of her life. It was a comfort, like grandma was still there in some small way. And it was glowing. 'Miss!' Shawn grinned. 'That's it!' 'That's what?' Mia asked, raising her head to stare at her glowing ring. 'Magic.' The troll said approvingly. 'Now think about food and flick your wrist at the back, like you're trying to fling a bug off your fingers.'Holly instructed. Mia did as she asked and a plate of roasted vegetables materialized and crashed into the wall. Liz laughed hard. 'Next time maybe think about the food making it into the back room.' 'Why?' Mia asked. 'Well, you have to carry out your Pa's sentence. Your grandmother pled for his life but only under the condition that she keep him imprisoned so he cant hurt anyone. You'll have to feed him.' Shawn explained. 'Just dont go in. He WILL kill you.' Holy warned. Mia frowned. She had one thought. Damnit, Grandma!	"Whinge! There's a letter for you!" My younger brother called in an obnoxious voice. "My name is not Whinge goddamn it!" I yelled back, pounding down the stairs toward the main entrance. A chorus of my three younger brothers started up. "Whinge, whinge whinge!" "You guys looking to get your butts kicked, or...?" I said, glaring at each of them. "Letter's on the mantle." Mom responded. "It's from Grandma's lawyer, probably your inheritance." "Ah. You didn't get one?" I asked. She barked a harsh laugh. "She and I were not exactly friends. There's a reason you only saw her on Christmas. It didn't make your father happy, but...well, his mother and I..." She didn't finish the sentence. She tugged self-consciously on her earring. I took the letter and returned to my room. More sibling-caused chaos seemed to be starting up, and I was already quite tired of it. Summer vacation from college actually kind of sucked. Opening the letter, I saw to my surprise that it was hand written. William, I am the appointed representative of your grandmother, the Honorable Madam Dufresne. From her estate she has granted you a choice; you may either take control of her privately-owed store, or you may have me handle its sale, and from the sale, you inherit 93% of the proceeds, with the remaining 7% being for taxes and my fee. You may contact me with your choice by telephone at-* "Uhhh..." I said unintentionally. "Mom!" I called downstairs. "What?!" She yelled back- not angrily, but certainly her patience was a little short. "C'mere!" I called back. She entered my room, and I motioned for her to sit at my computer desk. "So...what kind of store did grandma run? Apparently I can either have it as my own, to operate, or have it sold, and I keep the money." "I thought she had a clothes shop, if I remember correctly. You have free time, why not go down and look at it yourself before deciding?" She asked. I nodded. "She lived, what, six hours from here?" I asked. Mom stood, and pulled the car keys from her pants. "One condition. Take one of your little brothers with you. They're making me want to pull my hair out." I sighed deeply. "Fine. But if he pisses me off he's walking back." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Brody hadn't misbehaved all too much- though he was in control of the aux cord, and his taste in music was pretty questionable. Pulling into Maija, Grandma's hometown, I got my first glimpse at the store. "Fable's Fabrics" the sign read. I wasn't really planning on spending my life as a clothier...but it was too early to push through my decision just yet. Entering, I saw that the place was very handsomely designed- hand-carved wood furnishings, classy gold accents- it looked quite nice. From behind the front desk, a smiling face greeted me. "Hello! My name is Millie." She stuck out here hand. Her skin was fair, and her blonde hair went down to her waist- she was absolutely gorgeous...but, I was there in a professional capacity. Not exactly the right time to try and get a number. "Hello, Millie. I'm William, Madam Dufresne's grandson. I'm here to do some preliminary examinations to determine the business's validity." Her eyebrows raised. "Wow. That sounds very...formal. But, sure! Let me show you around!" She giggled. "And I'm Brody!" Brody said from behind me. "My younger brother." I said, slightly kicking myself for the half-assed introduction. "Millie!" Millie said again, waving. "Now, follow me!" From the entryway, Millie led us around, showing us very fine suits, all hand-crafted in the Italian style. "Who makes all of these?" I asked. "Our night shift- his name is Viktor, he has been doing this for... well, you could say he's been doing it for hundreds of years." She said, grinning. "He's just over here, if you'd like to meet him." She pointed to a closed door. "He's the night shift, isn't he? Why would he be here this early?" "Well, he kind of stays here. I'll show you." Alarmed, I followed Millie as she cracked open what I had thought was a normal door- but instead, behind the door was something more like a coffin...which was filled, by an incredibly pale man, who had his arms across his chest. As the sun hit him, he groaned. "Millie. What the garlic-smelling hell have I told you about waking me up during daylight?" "But!" Said Millie. "It's a special occasion! This is Madam Dufresne's grandson, our new boss!" The pale man cracked an eyelid. "My lord. I apologize for not greeting you properly. As I was bound to Madam Dufresne, I am bound to you. I only require a drop of your blood, and my life is yours." "Say what the what now?" I asked, my concern growing. "Well, it makes sense! Viktor here is a vampire! I'm an elf- the letter you got was from our lawyer and accountant, he's a leprechaun- and you, well, I guess you don't know yet! You, sir, are a Celestial, one of the rulers of the Fantastical world! Pleased to meet you!"
	[WP] You have inherited your grandmother's store. When you take it over you discover that your clerk is an elf, night shift is a vampire, your security is a troll, and your accountant is a leprechaun. All of them immediately warn you to beware of "Crazy Steve" in the back.	'Alright, you're gonna have to give me a minute.' Mia said, holding her hands up. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. 'Ma'am,' Holly, her clerk, started. 'Hush.' Mia said quickly. She needed to wrap her head around this. And with all of them right in front of her it was all she could do not to scream and run. The night shift vampire, Liz, snorted. ' I told you the old broad never told her! You owe me a gold piece, Shawn!' 'Blast woman, not now! Cant you see the lass is distraught?' The old leprechaun scolded. 'Steve.' The tall broad security guard rumbled. The rest went silent and looked at Mia in quiet horror. Mia opened her eyes. "Steve....who?" She asked suspiciously. Surely there couldn't be MORE, right? 'Mia, listen. Steve is not safe. Hes crazy! We had to trap him in the back.' Liz warned. Holly nodded. 'He made such a mess we lost ten years of sale records. There are creatures with IOUs and owed favors that we cant contact anymore." Holly explained. 'When he showed up he broke so much of the shop that we almost went bankrupt." Shawn added. 'Had to knock him out when he threatened the late miss.' The security troll continued. Mia took a deep breath. 'What is he?' 'A hunter of magic.' Holly said. Liz rolled her eyes. 'Not going to tell her the best part? No? Allow me.' Liz got up in Mia's face. She grinned, her long fangs shined. Mia was frozen. 'Hes your grandpa. Couldn't handle it when he found out about the old woman being a witch. Went crazy and started killing anything magic he could find.' 'Grandma was WHAT?' Mia gasped. The rest of the room looked uncomfortable. 'Not only the late lady, miss. You as well.' Shawn said, browns pulled together. 'Did she tell you nothing?' 'This is ritch!' Liz laughed. 'This is bad!' Holly snapped. Mia was freaking out. Hyperventalating. She sat down on the floor and put her head between her knees. This couldn't be real. She had known these people since she was a kid. They were normal. They were human. What happened? Mia ran her thumb across the ring her grandma had left her. It was the one Grandma had always worn. Every day of her life. It was a comfort, like grandma was still there in some small way. And it was glowing. 'Miss!' Shawn grinned. 'That's it!' 'That's what?' Mia asked, raising her head to stare at her glowing ring. 'Magic.' The troll said approvingly. 'Now think about food and flick your wrist at the back, like you're trying to fling a bug off your fingers.'Holly instructed. Mia did as she asked and a plate of roasted vegetables materialized and crashed into the wall. Liz laughed hard. 'Next time maybe think about the food making it into the back room.' 'Why?' Mia asked. 'Well, you have to carry out your Pa's sentence. Your grandmother pled for his life but only under the condition that she keep him imprisoned so he cant hurt anyone. You'll have to feed him.' Shawn explained. 'Just dont go in. He WILL kill you.' Holy warned. Mia frowned. She had one thought. Damnit, Grandma!	"Oh, shit" said the man with the pointy ears, putting out his blunt by quickly rubbing it on the ashtray on the counter "Are you by any chance the new management?" Jack nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Crap" said the beautiful blonde man sitting behind the counter "Uh... This was totally cool with your grandma. Promise." "Yeah, right." Jack heard a low, guttural voice coming from the cookie aisle. He turned his gaze from the pointy-eared man and saw a huge something (he couldn't quite describe it as a man) walking out of that aisle. This something was tall, about a head taller than the shelves of the market, with long, hairy arms; green skin, with the occasional boils across the body; an ugly and rough face, with pointy ears, a long, crooked nose and fangs jutting from his mouth; and the entire thing was wrapped in the same cheap polo, shorts, and badge that the man at the counter had. However, this one was carrying a large wooden club in his right hand. "The old lady used to squirt him with a water spell every time she caught him smoking" the huge monster smirked at the blonde man "Which was most times, come to think of it. So, you the new boss?" Jack wanted to answer. He opened his mouth and tried to get words out. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the current situation had left him quite speechless. Actually, it left him everythingless. He didn't know whether to run or to stay, to speak, to laugh, to scream, to cry. His brain seemed to have frozen, his synapses took a 10-minute coffee break and weren't coming back any time soon. Before Jack could just break down and cry, a very short man, dressed in green, came running out of a door that read "Management". "Oh dear, oh deary me" said the man with a noticeable Irish accent "I knew I should'a been here earlier. It seems you've had a shock, haven't ya, boyo?" Jack's brain finally rearranged itself and he managed to very quietly mutter something that the man with the world's largest ears might have somewhat understood as "Yes". "Yes, that's natural, I should think. Well, here's the lowdown as best as I can tell ya: Yer grandmother was a witch. She did all those witch things ya've heard about. Spells, broom flying, the works. Eventually, she realised the magic community around here needed basic supplies beyond Newt's Eyes or what have ya, so she opened up this here market, offering all the modern conveniences ya can ask for." Jack nodded. His grandmother was always a very secretive woman and, while she was very sweet and caring, he never fully got to grips with her. He decided this made about as much sense as anything else. "So, she's been running this place since... Oh the early Sixties, I shouldn't wonder. And now that she has unfortunately passed, the running of this place has become your charge. You can count on me to help you through this inital process. I'm Flitimus O'Hanrahan, the accountant. I'm a Leprechaun." "A Leprechaun?" Jack asked, wondering if he had misheard. "So... This place is run on a Pot of Gold?" "Well, initially, it was" said Flitimus, rubbing his hands together "I owed a favor or two to yer nan, so she got me to invest me pot of gold into the building of the place and gave me a tidy job. Now, at the end of me rainbow, you'll only find accounting books." Flitimus climbed on top of the counter and pointed to the blond man. "This here's Ewyn Caldifer. He's an elf. He's on the counter cause he's all pretty like and elfs have a kind of natural charisma, that attracts folks to them. Ain't that right, boyo?" Ewyn nodded. "Aye, he's a right one, he is. Gets all the lassies to come in here. Would much rather be flirting with them than working, wouldn't you?" Ewyn looked embarrassed but tried to play it off with a shrug. Flitimus jumped from the counter and moved to the tall, ugly man. "This here is Gronkus. He's a troll and the security around here. People tend to fear them, so only the ones with real nimble fingers try anything." "And their fingers aren't so nimble anymore once I'm done with them" Gronkus answered, smirking. "Aye, aye. And, of course, we have- Oh will ye come out here already!" From the door titled "Management" came a stiff and shadowy figure. He was very well dressed, sporting a kind of 19th-century gentleman getup, complete with a cape. He had extremely pale skin and looked very still and imposing. "That there is Werner-" "COUNT Werner" said the pale man, with a thick Eastern European accent. Flitimus rolled his eyes. "EX-Count Werner Von Schnize. He's a vampire. Got kicked off Transylvania in the mid-1800s and he's been kickin' round these here parts ever since." "Yes... Vut one day I shall return and reclaim vat is mine!" "He's also a theater major." Flitimus whispered "Very dramatic." Flitimus clapped his hands together. "Right then, that's pretty much everyone, apart from..." Flitimus looked over to the door at the back of the store, which read "Storage". The whole mood of the room shifted, and everyone got very quiet. Ewyn shivered. "I don't think the boss needs to go meet Crazy Steve just yet." "Yeah" agreed Gronkus "Let him get settled first before we throw him into... all of that." "Aye, it's best if ye acclimate a bit first." Jack nodded "Right, right... So, what am I supposed to do?" "All in good time, boyo, all in good time" said Flitimus "For now, just pull up a chair, sit back and watch how this whole place works. I'll tell ye about everything else later. Right-o, let's crack on." ...
[deleted]	[WP] You died. There are 2 options: "Respawn" and "Create new world"	The options flashed in front of me like buttons on a game screen. I was awash with emotions, primarily those of fear and apprehension; followed by an ever growing drunkenness on the power I perceived myself to have. After a few minutes, or millennia, I honestly could not tell; the emotions began to settle and I was able to regain some of my composure. I began to ponder what these buttons in front of me meant, and if there was any way of getting a clearer idea of what choice I was being given. As is responding to my thoughts, a smaller symbol appeared, below the overbearing words. '?', a Question Mark, the universal symbol for help in most video games. It only seemed natural to me to lean forward and select it, it didn't give me any instructions though, only context. Text flashed before my eyes, it explained the meaning behind this screen, the reason I was seeing it and the weight of my decision. These two words, this choice was given to every human being the came before me. Every farmer, soldier, scholar, serial killer, astronaut, artist; every single human being was asked if they wanted to come back into the world they had left or create a brand new one. As I read on it revealed that most people choose to make their own world, a chance to play god, to fix what they thought was wrong with the world. The rest who chose to come back did so with the belief that the world they left was worth coming back to. I write this now from the world of the living, but I don't think I'll be sharing my choice. After all, when it comes time for you to see those buttons, then I'd love it if you made that choice all on your own. Make your own choice, as I did, as everyone who came before you, and as all those who will come after.	My throat is sore from all the screaming and crying I had done in the past ten minutes, but my mind was at peace. I slowly opened my eyes to see pure blackness, I couldn't see my hand in front of my own face. To the best of my knowledge, I had been murdered. I am dead. Shuffling forward with my arms outstretched I explore my bleak surroundings. Only a few steps in I hit a wall. Stumbling parallel to the wall I encountere a door. I opene it and am enveloped in a bright, white light. When my eyes finally adjust, funny that they have to do that even in death, I could see two buttons opposite from each other, about two feet of space between them. The white light came from the walls where two options were projected, "Respawn" and "Create New World", an option for each button. "This can't be my choice" I think, searching for the now missing door that I entered in. "What will I do" My mind raced, all the possibilities of a new world, but what does that even mean? Would we start over with dinosaurs? Would humans even come to exist in this world? What would happen to the old world, all my friends, my whole family? But what about the other option, respawning in the 'old world'. Who would I become? Would I ever be able to see my darling baby sister again, or would I just be some creepy stranger to my family? Would I even remember my past life, all 14 years of memories? I can't pick, I won't decide. I need to pick, I must decide. But I can't. I move to the center of the two buttons, one by my right hand, the other by my left. I shut my eyes, finally ridding myself of the white light, and I spin. I slam my hand down on the button. I hear a voice from above "Your choice has been made".
	[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal.	“EMILY!” I screeched as I stared in horror at my phone. It couldn’t be ... could it? Wifi, in 1953? Impossible. Emily came careening out of the house and onto the porch, where I had been sitting, sipping lemonade, and attempting to beat the summer heat. “Good heavens, what is it?” Her eyes were wide with alarm and she placed a hand over her swollen abdomen. I felt guilty for scaring her, seeing how she was 8 months pregnant. “Sorry, Em,” I said, and hopped up to guide her down onto the porch bench next to me. “It’s just, I was scrolling through my old phone, looking at pictures and playing games that don’t need wifi as you do, and, well, look.” I turned the phone toward her, so she could take a gander for herself. She squinted at the screen. “Um?” “Oh, sorry,” I said, then tapped the upper right corner, “see, I have a wifi signal.” Her eyebrows creased, “Wifi? You mean the thing that makes your ... cellaphone work?” She rubbed her belly thoughtfully and took a sip of my lemonade. “Yeah.” I had explained cellphones and wifi and social justice matters to her when I first landed in the 50’s. She never fully grasped the whole wifi thing, but then again, neither had I when I lived in 2020. Internet just worked, y’know? “But I thought you said wifi and computers won’t be invented for a long while?” “I thought so, but maybe I was mistaken?” I shrugged. To be honest, history wasn’t my best subject. I had a vague idea of when things happened, but nothing concrete. I knew that the Vietnam war was going to happen in the next decade, and I really hoped to be home by then. Emily’s husband, Daryl, won’t survive the war. She will be stuck with five kids and no husband. Though I wanted to remain here and help her, I was also terrified that she would blame me for not forewarning them. We had agreed that I keep most future details secret, yet I still felt guilty knowing that tragedy was going to strike, and I didn’t do anything. It’s a moral conundrum, but who knew what would happen if I messed with past events? Besides, her last child, who will be born in 1960, will be my mother. And call me crazy, but I had no desire to hold and cradle my own infant mother. Gosh, this sounds insane, right? “Well?” Emily asked, her blue eyes steady on me. I thought for a second that she was asking me about future events, which she knew she shouldn’t do. After all, I don’t know how time travel works. What if it’s like that butterfly effect thing I read about in high school and I completely mess up the future? I refused to be the reason something crazy happened - like the Backstreet Boys never debuting and creating their “I Want It That Way” masterpiece. Emily sighed and nudged me, impatient that I hadn’t replied to her first prompt. “Allie, what does this mean?” I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m somehow picking up signals from the future?” I looked at her excitedly. “Maybe the future is calling me, and I’m about to go home!” I hopped up and stood at the top of the three porch steps, eyeing the sidewalk below. “Should I try hitting my head again? That’s what got me here in the first place.” Emily shuddered. “Not that again.” The first week or so that I had been in the 50s, I had attempted to go home by slamming my head off the ground. It proved to be a painful, ineffective method. “But the wifi!” I insisted. I bunched my legs under me, ready to spring off the steps, when a thought struck. “My charger!” I turned on my heel and headed for the door. After all, there was no reason to waste a perfectly good charger by leaving it in the past. “Stop!” Emily commanded. I didn’t listen and grabbed the door handle. “Allie, stop! Wait! As your grandmother, I’m telling you to stop!” I froze, one foot inside the house. I turned to her and frowned. “I hate it when you use the grandma card,” I complained. Though I was reluctant to share much about the future, I had to tell her and Daryl that they were my grandparents. How else were they going to take me in and let me live with them? And, of course, I had to explain a bit about technology. They were ready to smash my phone to bits when they caught me recording myself for my video diary. There was no way I would let my phone get crushed. But other than that, nothing. I hadn’t even told them which stocks to invest in. Apple and Amazon stocks would be able to make my future family rich, but it worked the same way as forewarning danger. I couldn’t risk messing everything up. “I know you’re excited to return to your time, but...” she trailed off, her hand caressing her stomach. “But I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore and... and...” her eyes filled with tears. “This is my first child and I’m scared. I have come to rely on you. If you leave suddenly, you leave suddenly. But do you really have to try to force it? Can’t you just remain here until after my baby’s born? If you can help it, that is.” She looked away from me as two tears trailed down her cheeks. I looked down at my phone, where the wifi signal remained steady, a reminder of home. Home. But what is home? I missed the future - everyday. But I had never expected to feel so close to my young grandmother either. She had become my best friend, like a sister. My finger drifted over the home screen and scrolled until it found what it was looking for. YouTube. I opened it, and suggested videos popped up like always. My eyes widened at some of the titles. It appeared the two years I had missed had been... interesting. I opened the search bar and found a video I was looking for. “Em, sit down, you’re pregnant for goodness’ sake.” Her head whipped toward me, barely constrained hope lighting her eyes. We both sat. “Now, I know that we have a rule that I tell you almost nothing about the future, except for the fact that you and Daryl are my grandparents. But, well, I mean, I have wifi, so obviously the universe WANTS me to show you something from the future. Right?” A small smile began forming on Emily’s face. “I suppose so,” she replied. I grinned at her. “Okay, I’ve had this song stuck in my head all week,” I told her. “You might’ve heard me humming it when we baked those cookies for the bake sale.” I turned my phone so we could both see the screen. “Well, it’s called ‘I Want It That Way’ and it’s by the Backstreet Boys. I think you’re gonna like it.” Then I pressed play.	The year was nineteen-fifty-three. The place was Santa Rosa county. The day, July 17th. A plane crash killed a lot of people. I don't actually know why I was there. I'd decided to go on a bike ride, because the 50s were boring as fuck, and I found my way to the outskirts of an airbase. By chance--or "chance", at this point I don't know what's what--I had decided to lay down for a while, put the bike aside, and just as I was laying on the grass, staring at the clouds, wondering how people survived without podcasts that you could binge and long librivox readings of public domain works, I heard it. The USMC R4Q Packet BuNo 131663, which was taking off nearby, hit some trees and crashed into a barn with an enormous boom. It nearly gave me a heart attack! Two years are not long enough to train out the reflex of taking photos of everything--especially in those rare times where nobody was around and I could reasonably take out my phone to begin with--and so without thinking for one second, I pulled out my phone and began documenting the burning barn as people in the distance ran towards it, desperate to save the no-doubt largely dead crew. As I was adjusting the frame, and doing my best not to think of how I could not share this with anyone, I saw it. My jaw dropped and I stared at the two little curved lines showing a perfectly good wifi signal. Could it be? I got on my bike and began moving ahead. The signal got weaker. I moved backwards. The signal got stronger. I kept staring, swerving when it got weaker, accelerating when it got stronger, until I almost crashed into an SUV. "Oh dear. Are you alright, dearie? You shouldn't text and bike you know--" an old woman with an accent I couldn't place said, poking her head out of the SUV's window. I realized immediately that the model was from the 2010s. "You're from the future! I mean the present! I--Please take me home!" I begged. "No can do, dearie, you know what you did." "I what?" "You're serving out your sentence. Paying your debt to society. Nothing I can do about it. I was just here to be sure the girls in red got the job done." "You mean... the planecrash?" I asked, looking back and forth between the crash and her. I didn't realize I was still recording. "The very same. Anyhow, not much else I can do about your situation, I'm afraid." "But--I--What sentence?" "What, you thought you could just commit some time and get away with it? No ma'am, the rules are there for a reason." "What crime?" I asked, a little testily, as she seemed to enjoy not giving out any information. "I haven't done any time crime whatever!" "Well not yet, you haven't," she said, and before I could say anything at all in response, the car had vanished. I screamed. I swore. I kicked at a nearby fence. As I went back to staring at my phone and stopped recording, I noticed a little notification. I had an email.
	[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal.	Instinctively, I pinged the router. It said the IP address was "1". Not [1.1.1.1](https://1.1.1.1), just "1". Incredible. I opened my browser and checked Google, but as usual, Google and all the other websites I tried did not exist, because the DNS wouldn't exist for decades. I wrote a quick script to ping every possible IP address, something that usually took a long time. There was one reply. No website, of course, because there was no HTML yet, but perhaps manually ... Holding my breath, I converted the packet from binary to text. It was gibberish. I subtracted 64 from each byte and tried again. "4 October, 1953. Hello, world. My name is Alan Turing. I live at 78 High Street, Hampton, London, United Kingdom. I am forty-one years old. I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over" The sentence abruptly cut off. My first thought was: I'm going to meet Alan Turing! My second thought was: This was crazy. There couldn't be internet in the 1950s; it wouldn't even be thought of for decades. I had to be in an alternate timeline. Turing was a brilliant computer scientist, but I couldn't remember anything about him having a hand in the development of the internet. In fact ... I stopped cold, remembering a little biographical sidebar about Turing from one of my discrete mathematics textbooks. He died sometime in the 1950s, still a young man. Cyanide. He wasn't involved in the creation of the internet at all, because he'd killed himself after the world discovered he was gay. Could he possibly have developed a public computer network, but died before he could tell anyone? The next morning, I of course went to visit 78 High Street. Turing answered the door. "Hello, young man," he said. "Are you a travelling salesman? I have an excellent algorithm for you ..." I knew I had to prove myself worthy of his time before he shut the door. So instead of trying to explain my time travel situation, I simply read the text from his packet aloud. "... I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over ..." "Good heavens," he said. "I think you had better come inside at once." I briefly explained my story so far, how I'd traveled back in time and had been living here for two years. He didn't want to believe it, of course, but I showed him my phone, or the bits of it I could use without internet. Fortunately I had some music and books downloaded, as well as Google Translate. "Either you really are a time traveler," he said, "or their are some devilishly clever engineers where you come from. Such a tiny device! No wires! No mechanical parts of any kind that I can see! How does it work?" I showed him the battery and gave him a quick history of computer science. "It sounds magnificent," he agreed. "But one thing sounds odd. Why is there such a delay in the creation of this internet? As you can see from my homemade device here, I've got most of the important details worked out, I think. Is there some trouble with patents or something?" I swallowed. "Alan," I said. "Alan ... you are going to die soon." He frowned. "Is that why you came from the future? To save me? How do I die?" I looked closely into Alan's face. "You can't think of any reason?" I whispered. He frowned, looking down at the floor. Maybe he wasn't sure, but he had an inkling. I rooted around my phone a bit until I found my ebooks from college. There in the discrete mathematics textbook was the sidebar about his life. We read it together. It listed some of his greatest achievements, his contribution to World War Two and the Turing Machine. It ended by saying that although they'd never ruled out accidental death or assassination, most people thought he'd committed suicide following his court ordered chemical castration. The author concluded that it was a terrible waste of such a brilliant mind, a shame he hadn't been born a bit later, in a more enlightened time. "A more enlightened time," Turing repeated aloud. "What does that mean?" I patted his hand. "Alan, things are better in the future for, you know, people like you. It's legal, it's mostly accepted. There are civil rights movements. In 1969, there's a riot, and then gay marriage is legalized in 2014, and ..." "2014," he said. "If I live, I'll be a hundred and two. Perhaps it's best for history to go on as it should." "But Alan!" I cried, seizing his hand. "That's in my timeline, not yours. One of the reasons the gay community came to be accepted was the internet. It allowed people to speak anonymously to others like themselves, to organize safely. If you live, and if you invent the internet, and who knows what else, and I'm here to help you with my knowledge ..." "Say no more," he said, glancing at his homemade router. "In fact ..." Deftly, Alan sprang up and went to the cupboard. He pulled out a pillbox, brought it over to the sink, and poured an evil looking capsule down the drain. "Put the kettle on," he urged me. "We've got some work to do!"	I never found out why I was brought here. I was going about my day to day life in the 2010's when something caused my bike to crash. I remember hitting my head hard, and I woke up in the 1950's. It would sound crazy to anyone, including myself, but I'm not lying. All I had were the clothes on my back, and strangely, my phone and it's charger. I decided to keep my phone charged, just to remind me of home. I had been living my life, slowly getting used to no air conditioning, no internet, and old cars. I had found a job, and an apartment. I was slowly building myself up. It had been two months. One, bright Sunday afternoon, I put down my book and decided to play a couple games on my phone. These games had never required internet or wifi, so somehow I could still play them. I was fifteen minutes into it when- My phone's notification bar showed a text from my mom. Cautiously, I tapped it. "It's been two months now, Ariel. I don't know where you are. No one does. You've been presumed deceased. I know that texting you won't do anything, but, I decided that it might help me to cope with you being gone. Should you be alive, though, please. Come back. Please" I stared in shock at the text. I was scared to text her back. I didn't know how to go back, and I didn't want to worry her further. I didn't know any way to tell her that I was ok without making me sound crazy. So I just went for it. "If I had known I could send texts I would've done so immediately. I'm so sorry. But I can't come back. I don't know how. All I remember is falling off my bike and hitting my head hard. And then I woke up, but.... You'll think I'm crazy, but I promise I'm telling the complete truth. I woke up in 1951. I never texted because I didn't think I could, for obvious reasons. I don't know how this is possible, sending a text through time." I didn't get a response for fifteen minutes. When I did, all she said was, "I'm coming for you, honey" My vision went dark. Everything was pitch black, except for a faint yellow glow in the distance. I slowly began to feel my way towards it. I stopped when my hands touched a figure. I was right next to the yellow, and realized that it was the figure that was glowing. "I told you I would come for you," my mom's gentle voice floated towards me. She was right in front of me, but her voice sounded so far away. She began to song me a lullaby from my childhood. I woke up in my bed, my mom leaning over me, smiling. A faint yellow glow was just leaving her eyes. "Welcome home, sweetie." To this day I never really knew if it was all a dream. If it wasn't, I don't know why I had my phone, or who my mom really is, but I will be searching for that my whole life. (If anyone has constructive criticism I will welcome it greatly)
	[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal.	I sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably as I leaned over the pastel kitchen counter, chopping up vegetables for tonight's dinner. As much as I had gotten used to the rhythms of this new life, I still could never feel comfortable doing anything in a dress. As I methodically sliced the carrots into small circles, I remembered the smooth feeling of denim sliding over my legs, how much easier it made it to run, to sit on a chair and pull my legs up underneath me. Every now and then, this feeling that I could only describe as nostalgia would wash over me - nostalgia for the future that had once been mine. It was 1pm; Henry was at work, and as usual I had the house to myself all day... every day. As I poured the vegetables into the pot of soup I was preparing on the oven, I remembered my fast-paced business career, the college education I had worked so hard to receive to get there. I thought back to the accident, for the first time in a long time. A simple bike ride. I had only looked down at my phone for a second, and the next thing I knew, the world was sliding sideways as my forehead smacked into the pavement. These longings for my former life were getting fewer and farther between, but as the memories washed over me, I slipped out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to my room. Peeling back the second left floorboard under the bed, I pulled out the iPhone. The cool metal felt strange in my hands, which had once grasped this device almost as if it were a part of my body. There were some positives to being here, in 1953. I could experience life more fully without the barrage of social media filters, text messages, and global news notifications. I saw the world around me as it was. I didn't stop to take pictures. I simply lived in it. I swiped my finger across the screen, marveling at the sleekness of the phone compared to the bulky TV that sat in my living room and aired new weekly episodes of I Love Lucy and the Ed Sullivan show (I could not wait for The Beatles). Closing my eyes, I played all of the iPhone's sounds in settings that had once irritated me, remembering how these alarms, timers, and pings had broken up my life into segments and defined it. I As I went to close the phone and get back to dinner, my moment of indulgence over, I saw it. A small semi circle, just to the left of the battery symbol. And another, on top of it. And then another. A small cry burst from my lips as I clicked the phone off and threw it to the ground, temporarily stunned. Had that been...A wifi signal? I shook my head, utterly confused. I hadn't slept much the night before. Surely my eyes had deceived me. I tentatively picked the phone back up, turned it on, my eyes daring to glance back to the top left corner. There it was. I rapidly opened the phone and went into the small settings app. Next to wifi, I saw the connection; a network name that sent a chill down my spine. "Impossible," the word slipped from my parted lips, barely even a breath. A tear stole down my cheek. "Hospital\_Wifi" I ever so slowly opened up Safari. A Google search bar popped up. I found myself entering my first and last name, my shaking fingers awkwardly fumbling over the keyboard. The results showed up instantly. "Beloved local business owner passes second birthday in coma."	I never found out why I was brought here. I was going about my day to day life in the 2010's when something caused my bike to crash. I remember hitting my head hard, and I woke up in the 1950's. It would sound crazy to anyone, including myself, but I'm not lying. All I had were the clothes on my back, and strangely, my phone and it's charger. I decided to keep my phone charged, just to remind me of home. I had been living my life, slowly getting used to no air conditioning, no internet, and old cars. I had found a job, and an apartment. I was slowly building myself up. It had been two months. One, bright Sunday afternoon, I put down my book and decided to play a couple games on my phone. These games had never required internet or wifi, so somehow I could still play them. I was fifteen minutes into it when- My phone's notification bar showed a text from my mom. Cautiously, I tapped it. "It's been two months now, Ariel. I don't know where you are. No one does. You've been presumed deceased. I know that texting you won't do anything, but, I decided that it might help me to cope with you being gone. Should you be alive, though, please. Come back. Please" I stared in shock at the text. I was scared to text her back. I didn't know how to go back, and I didn't want to worry her further. I didn't know any way to tell her that I was ok without making me sound crazy. So I just went for it. "If I had known I could send texts I would've done so immediately. I'm so sorry. But I can't come back. I don't know how. All I remember is falling off my bike and hitting my head hard. And then I woke up, but.... You'll think I'm crazy, but I promise I'm telling the complete truth. I woke up in 1951. I never texted because I didn't think I could, for obvious reasons. I don't know how this is possible, sending a text through time." I didn't get a response for fifteen minutes. When I did, all she said was, "I'm coming for you, honey" My vision went dark. Everything was pitch black, except for a faint yellow glow in the distance. I slowly began to feel my way towards it. I stopped when my hands touched a figure. I was right next to the yellow, and realized that it was the figure that was glowing. "I told you I would come for you," my mom's gentle voice floated towards me. She was right in front of me, but her voice sounded so far away. She began to song me a lullaby from my childhood. I woke up in my bed, my mom leaning over me, smiling. A faint yellow glow was just leaving her eyes. "Welcome home, sweetie." To this day I never really knew if it was all a dream. If it wasn't, I don't know why I had my phone, or who my mom really is, but I will be searching for that my whole life. (If anyone has constructive criticism I will welcome it greatly)
	[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal.	Instinctively, I pinged the router. It said the IP address was "1". Not [1.1.1.1](https://1.1.1.1), just "1". Incredible. I opened my browser and checked Google, but as usual, Google and all the other websites I tried did not exist, because the DNS wouldn't exist for decades. I wrote a quick script to ping every possible IP address, something that usually took a long time. There was one reply. No website, of course, because there was no HTML yet, but perhaps manually ... Holding my breath, I converted the packet from binary to text. It was gibberish. I subtracted 64 from each byte and tried again. "4 October, 1953. Hello, world. My name is Alan Turing. I live at 78 High Street, Hampton, London, United Kingdom. I am forty-one years old. I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over" The sentence abruptly cut off. My first thought was: I'm going to meet Alan Turing! My second thought was: This was crazy. There couldn't be internet in the 1950s; it wouldn't even be thought of for decades. I had to be in an alternate timeline. Turing was a brilliant computer scientist, but I couldn't remember anything about him having a hand in the development of the internet. In fact ... I stopped cold, remembering a little biographical sidebar about Turing from one of my discrete mathematics textbooks. He died sometime in the 1950s, still a young man. Cyanide. He wasn't involved in the creation of the internet at all, because he'd killed himself after the world discovered he was gay. Could he possibly have developed a public computer network, but died before he could tell anyone? The next morning, I of course went to visit 78 High Street. Turing answered the door. "Hello, young man," he said. "Are you a travelling salesman? I have an excellent algorithm for you ..." I knew I had to prove myself worthy of his time before he shut the door. So instead of trying to explain my time travel situation, I simply read the text from his packet aloud. "... I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over ..." "Good heavens," he said. "I think you had better come inside at once." I briefly explained my story so far, how I'd traveled back in time and had been living here for two years. He didn't want to believe it, of course, but I showed him my phone, or the bits of it I could use without internet. Fortunately I had some music and books downloaded, as well as Google Translate. "Either you really are a time traveler," he said, "or their are some devilishly clever engineers where you come from. Such a tiny device! No wires! No mechanical parts of any kind that I can see! How does it work?" I showed him the battery and gave him a quick history of computer science. "It sounds magnificent," he agreed. "But one thing sounds odd. Why is there such a delay in the creation of this internet? As you can see from my homemade device here, I've got most of the important details worked out, I think. Is there some trouble with patents or something?" I swallowed. "Alan," I said. "Alan ... you are going to die soon." He frowned. "Is that why you came from the future? To save me? How do I die?" I looked closely into Alan's face. "You can't think of any reason?" I whispered. He frowned, looking down at the floor. Maybe he wasn't sure, but he had an inkling. I rooted around my phone a bit until I found my ebooks from college. There in the discrete mathematics textbook was the sidebar about his life. We read it together. It listed some of his greatest achievements, his contribution to World War Two and the Turing Machine. It ended by saying that although they'd never ruled out accidental death or assassination, most people thought he'd committed suicide following his court ordered chemical castration. The author concluded that it was a terrible waste of such a brilliant mind, a shame he hadn't been born a bit later, in a more enlightened time. "A more enlightened time," Turing repeated aloud. "What does that mean?" I patted his hand. "Alan, things are better in the future for, you know, people like you. It's legal, it's mostly accepted. There are civil rights movements. In 1969, there's a riot, and then gay marriage is legalized in 2014, and ..." "2014," he said. "If I live, I'll be a hundred and two. Perhaps it's best for history to go on as it should." "But Alan!" I cried, seizing his hand. "That's in my timeline, not yours. One of the reasons the gay community came to be accepted was the internet. It allowed people to speak anonymously to others like themselves, to organize safely. If you live, and if you invent the internet, and who knows what else, and I'm here to help you with my knowledge ..." "Say no more," he said, glancing at his homemade router. "In fact ..." Deftly, Alan sprang up and went to the cupboard. He pulled out a pillbox, brought it over to the sink, and poured an evil looking capsule down the drain. "Put the kettle on," he urged me. "We've got some work to do!"	"What the heck?" I suddenly blurted out as I stared at the strange thing in front of me. No sorry, the strange person. Had I trully been a part of this time, I would've stared in utter confusion and disbelief. Oh wait, I am utterly confused and disbelieving. The other person held a questioning and terrified expression. A teen girl in an outfit straight from the 2000's media. I would've known, I looked at my phone regularly to reminisce the past... or the future, whatever. She looked at me, not ignoring my rather 'old fashioned' attire. "How did you get here?" I asked cautiously. This might just be an illusion brought by my own homesickness. Though not as intense as I first got here, I still have those days where I just sit down and wonder how things are back in my own time. This might be one of those, and I'm just really high. She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled at me. Then she held up a small electrical box. "Yeah... I sort of figured that out since I could watch Youtube again... In the fricking 50s." I said, a little bit blank but still all the more confused. The girl probably already concluded I'm the same as her. But why would she show me the router that she brought? Why did she bring one in the first place??? What situation in the future would make a teen go lugging wifi around? Then she yelled. "We almost got 'im!" I panicked for a second. "No, no, no, you don't do that! You'll attract attention, look at yourself!" I said as I rushed to her, attempting to take to a more secluded place to talk. "Hold on, Mr. Cruz, we'll get you out." She said. I paused. "What?" I asked. What is she talking about? "How did you know my name?" I asked again, a bit more wary now. Has she come to take me back home? Suddenly, everything was black. I spun around, trying to calm the panic rising within me. I turned to the girl and find that she was phasing from the teen I saw to a woman in white. "What are—..." I said, starting to back out. The woman reached out to me with the hand that still held the router. "Bring him back." She said and I ran away into the darkness. But as I ran mindlessly, my phone suddenly rung in my pocket. It wasn't a phone call, nor an alarm. At least not a sound I remember. It was a gentle beating rhythm that soon grew more familiar. I slowly skidded to a stop as I finally recognized the sound. A hand grasped my wrist. I didn't have to turn around to know it was the girl with the wifi. "Come on, come back." She said a bit desperately. Then the hand disappeared. I fluttered my eyes open to the sound of cheering and relieved sighing. It smelled like powdered air and alcohol. I was on a bed. And the first thing I saw was the sterile white of the hospital ceiling. (Please tell me where I can improve)
	[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal.	I sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably as I leaned over the pastel kitchen counter, chopping up vegetables for tonight's dinner. As much as I had gotten used to the rhythms of this new life, I still could never feel comfortable doing anything in a dress. As I methodically sliced the carrots into small circles, I remembered the smooth feeling of denim sliding over my legs, how much easier it made it to run, to sit on a chair and pull my legs up underneath me. Every now and then, this feeling that I could only describe as nostalgia would wash over me - nostalgia for the future that had once been mine. It was 1pm; Henry was at work, and as usual I had the house to myself all day... every day. As I poured the vegetables into the pot of soup I was preparing on the oven, I remembered my fast-paced business career, the college education I had worked so hard to receive to get there. I thought back to the accident, for the first time in a long time. A simple bike ride. I had only looked down at my phone for a second, and the next thing I knew, the world was sliding sideways as my forehead smacked into the pavement. These longings for my former life were getting fewer and farther between, but as the memories washed over me, I slipped out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to my room. Peeling back the second left floorboard under the bed, I pulled out the iPhone. The cool metal felt strange in my hands, which had once grasped this device almost as if it were a part of my body. There were some positives to being here, in 1953. I could experience life more fully without the barrage of social media filters, text messages, and global news notifications. I saw the world around me as it was. I didn't stop to take pictures. I simply lived in it. I swiped my finger across the screen, marveling at the sleekness of the phone compared to the bulky TV that sat in my living room and aired new weekly episodes of I Love Lucy and the Ed Sullivan show (I could not wait for The Beatles). Closing my eyes, I played all of the iPhone's sounds in settings that had once irritated me, remembering how these alarms, timers, and pings had broken up my life into segments and defined it. I As I went to close the phone and get back to dinner, my moment of indulgence over, I saw it. A small semi circle, just to the left of the battery symbol. And another, on top of it. And then another. A small cry burst from my lips as I clicked the phone off and threw it to the ground, temporarily stunned. Had that been...A wifi signal? I shook my head, utterly confused. I hadn't slept much the night before. Surely my eyes had deceived me. I tentatively picked the phone back up, turned it on, my eyes daring to glance back to the top left corner. There it was. I rapidly opened the phone and went into the small settings app. Next to wifi, I saw the connection; a network name that sent a chill down my spine. "Impossible," the word slipped from my parted lips, barely even a breath. A tear stole down my cheek. "Hospital\_Wifi" I ever so slowly opened up Safari. A Google search bar popped up. I found myself entering my first and last name, my shaking fingers awkwardly fumbling over the keyboard. The results showed up instantly. "Beloved local business owner passes second birthday in coma."	"What the heck?" I suddenly blurted out as I stared at the strange thing in front of me. No sorry, the strange person. Had I trully been a part of this time, I would've stared in utter confusion and disbelief. Oh wait, I am utterly confused and disbelieving. The other person held a questioning and terrified expression. A teen girl in an outfit straight from the 2000's media. I would've known, I looked at my phone regularly to reminisce the past... or the future, whatever. She looked at me, not ignoring my rather 'old fashioned' attire. "How did you get here?" I asked cautiously. This might just be an illusion brought by my own homesickness. Though not as intense as I first got here, I still have those days where I just sit down and wonder how things are back in my own time. This might be one of those, and I'm just really high. She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled at me. Then she held up a small electrical box. "Yeah... I sort of figured that out since I could watch Youtube again... In the fricking 50s." I said, a little bit blank but still all the more confused. The girl probably already concluded I'm the same as her. But why would she show me the router that she brought? Why did she bring one in the first place??? What situation in the future would make a teen go lugging wifi around? Then she yelled. "We almost got 'im!" I panicked for a second. "No, no, no, you don't do that! You'll attract attention, look at yourself!" I said as I rushed to her, attempting to take to a more secluded place to talk. "Hold on, Mr. Cruz, we'll get you out." She said. I paused. "What?" I asked. What is she talking about? "How did you know my name?" I asked again, a bit more wary now. Has she come to take me back home? Suddenly, everything was black. I spun around, trying to calm the panic rising within me. I turned to the girl and find that she was phasing from the teen I saw to a woman in white. "What are—..." I said, starting to back out. The woman reached out to me with the hand that still held the router. "Bring him back." She said and I ran away into the darkness. But as I ran mindlessly, my phone suddenly rung in my pocket. It wasn't a phone call, nor an alarm. At least not a sound I remember. It was a gentle beating rhythm that soon grew more familiar. I slowly skidded to a stop as I finally recognized the sound. A hand grasped my wrist. I didn't have to turn around to know it was the girl with the wifi. "Come on, come back." She said a bit desperately. Then the hand disappeared. I fluttered my eyes open to the sound of cheering and relieved sighing. It smelled like powdered air and alcohol. I was on a bed. And the first thing I saw was the sterile white of the hospital ceiling. (Please tell me where I can improve)
[deleted]	[WP] You’ve just graduated from high school, and are as proud as ever. Just as you are about to drive home from graduation, a loud voice booms through your head: “Your free trial of ‘Human Life’ has ended. Please pay to continue.”	I turn around instinctively, looking for the voice that had sounded so loud and so unusual. The voice was so loud it could only have come from inside my head, but that was obviously crazy. A warning horn coming towards me, forced me to whip my head forward again and swerve out of the way to prevent a head-on collision. On a straight path leading to collide with a telephone pole, I thought "Is this what the voice meant?" My hands gripped the wheel, I shut my eyes tight, and stiffened my body for impact. The airbag deployed and smashed my head back. The impact was hard, I think my nose broke. I definitely felt my skull bounce off the head rest on my seat. A concussion? My fingers were crushed between the wheel and the uplifted plastic of the dash board. My knees ground into the broken car parts I didn't know the name of; and I passed out. _________________________ The voice sounded again. "The free trial of 'Human Life has ended. Pay now to continue.' My eyes fluttered open with disoriented difficulty. I tried to move. It hurt. I pulled myself out of the shattered glass, crushed metal, and splintered plastic that was my car. I guess I wasn't going that fast, but I wish I had. My whole body was numb and bleeding with pain. I lay on the grass on the side of the road, unsure if I would live or die. Suddenly light surrounded me and the pain of my body started the heal itself. The open gashes on my body began to closeup. The dizzying headache started to clear and I was okay again. What had happened? A car coincidentally coming up this quiet road, had pulled over to check on the accident. A good Samaritan I guess. I walked up to them to explain what had happened, and maybe tell them about the miracle that had given me new life. The sunny day had made their vehicle a reflective mirror, but rather than seeing a wide eyed girl fresh from her highschool graduation, what appeared in the reflection was a goat. My free trial of a human life has ended.	How much? “Ten dollars per minute, an absolute steal!”, the voice in my head said. I checked my savings and I had enough to live for the next few hours. I tried to negotiate with the voice to see if maybe they would let me have a discount as a first time customer, but apparently because I had the trial I wasn’t eligible for any discounts. I thought it through and felt like I should probably be a little more frugal with my money. I’ve been wasting it on useless shit for too long. I think I’ll just go to sleep.
	[WP] After years of meditation, you make a startling mental discovery - you've gained root access to your own mind and body.	I am just starting my usual meditation session. At first I was not at all interested in it, but reading a few articles made me start to get interested, and a friend of mine recommending it to me was the last push i needed. I started out trying to just...empty my mind as that was the general public's understanding of what meditation is. That understanding was also mine. Turns out that I can't do that, and one thought suddenly just...showed up in my mind. At first i was just like "noo...go awaaaay" and kept trying to re-empty my mind, but after seeing that it was futile, i decided to just.. focus on that thought. And that then turned into my version of meditation. It was literally just deep thought, like in showers. Shower thoughts. But done in a time i specifically scheduled for deep thoughts. Unlike in showers where that was a time scheduled for cleaning my body. It was....nice. A few months then passed. I stopped just focusing on whatever random thoughts popped up whenever i tried to "empty my mind", and I started focusing on thoughts that I WANT to focus on. What best to eat out of my availble options? What best to drink? What was the message of that one specific story? What is the best way to beat this part of my game? I meditated on them all. Generally helped me manage my life. As the days, months, years go on, my life progressed and got more complicated, the subjects i meditated on changed. Shifted to things like "how do I best deal with this breakup?" "How shall i reconcile with my friends?" "Should i cut off my relationship with my family?". I was so glad i have my "meditation". Helped me sort it out very quickly. Back to the present then. Where was I? Oh yes. This time, I decided to try just...meditate on nothing. Tried to empty my mind. . . . beep beep beep My eyes bursts open in surprise. Wasn't that...my alarm? But I only set my alarm to go off...at the time i was supposed to wake..up...Did i really truly genuinely meditated on nothing that was so nothing that i truly felt and thought of nothing until i got a "stimulus from the outside world"(my alarm)? Holy shit. Have i really gotten THAT much control over my mind now? TURNS OUT MEDITATION IS STRONG! HELL YEAH! . . . I proceeded to test out my theory of me being able to control my mind so much that thinking about thinking about nothing caused me to truly experience....nothing until i got my alarm to un-nothing-ify my thoughts, by trying to manually tone down my excitement over this. Suddenly i felt....calm. Normal. As if i didn't just realise that i got an overpowered ability. "Huh...cool.." I said, without any hint of excitement. "So it worked?" I asked. "Apparently it did" still me replied. I then promptly reset my excitement back to it's normal state. The state where it isn't permanently "set to 0", which is what i just put it to, earlier. The state where it fluctuates and changes based on my reaction to new informations. "HOLY! SHIT! IT! WORKED!", i shouted excitedly, while throwing my arm as if to punch the air, with lots of excitement powering it. Wait Why is there suddenly a dent in my roof? ...did i just...manually increased my fist's power so much from my excitement that it actually sent a shockwave that dented the wall? "KEEP IT DOWN I'M FUCKING SLEEPING!", my brother yelled from across the house. ....well....time to think up some plans. Oh, I know! I can pick up new hobbies! Maybe...playing the piano? Becoming a chef? I mean if i can fully control my mind then i can just...like...set my focus to it's maximum value and set my frustration to a value of 0? And just try again and again without the burden of feeling stressed,right? (Not even 5 years later) I woke up at the time i told my body to wake up. It was earlier than usual. After all, i have a piano competition today. An international one too! I cooked myself a feast for my breakfast, as i usually do. With all the shit i force my body to do it definitely needs the energy. After taking a bath i put on my fanciest clothes, went out, locked my door, and ran to the competition building. Being able to train your body without feeling tired made me realize that i can safe a lot of money by just running instead of buying a car, the car's gas, etc. Made sure my body didn't sweat too. Gotta make sure the audience won't be disgusted by my smell. I feel excited for this! Thankfully, i don't experience any of the anxiety! Being in full control! IS! GREAT!	This all started as a stupid school study on the effects of meditation on the human mind, and the outside effects meditation can have on the human body. We weren't ready for what we found out. It started with a feeling like.. leveling up in a video game. I don't know how to explain it, but I was hit with a wave of god-like omnipotence. I felt at one, with my soul, body, and mind. I could feel every cell in my body, and I knew their every function. I could feel them die. I could feel new cells being born. I felt the electrical impulses from my brain, telling my nerves and skeletal system how, and what to do. It was insane. But that was just the start of it. What happened next, I couldn't believe.
[removed]	[WP] Death knocked at your door, badly wounded. They asked for help with their remaining breath. Luckily, you know how to cure that.	Jerald was alone in his cabin, slowing cooking a stew. He gleefully hummed to himself, and sat down to let his stew cool down. He fell asleep only to be awakened from a knock on his door. "Coming!" shouted Jerald. He ran over to his door and quickly opened it. "Ah! Good to see Death old buddy old pal! How are ya' doing? Why don't you come on in?" "Jerald... I need your help. I've been badly wounded. I... I think I might be dying." "It's a good thing you came to me then! I think I know just what to do! Why don't you sit down." Jerald jumped over to his stew and poured the entire meal into a nearby cauldron. He began running around his house, taking many of his houseplants and throwing them into his cauldron. "Say Death, I've seemed to run out of some cloxoid leaf, can you get some for me?" "Do I look I can get some for you?" responded Death, laying motionless on Jerald's couch. "Now that you mentioned it, you look deathly pale!" Jerald guffawed loudly. "I don't think I need it anyways." A few minutes later Jerald once again asked Death for another favor. "Hey Death, can you get me some grim?" "What does that even mean?" asked Death. "I thought you knew, seeing how you're the Grim Reaper!" Jerald spent many minutes laughing at his own joke. "Jerald I am about to die, the effects this could have on the universe as a whole would be detrimental as society and nature would being to collapse, so finish your damn stew!" "Well aren't you a bit grim." Jerald stifled a laugh as Death rolled his eyes. Shortly after, Jerald's stew turned a bright green. Jerald scooped some up in a spoon and walked over to Death. "Have this. You should feel the effects in soon." Death slurped up the stew and gagged. "That was the worst meal I've ever had in my life." "Good thing it's not your last meal." "Jerald, I'd kill you if I could."	What is happiness without sadness? What is relief without pain? What is darkness without light? Can the shadow exist without the light? I sat in my worn armchair, contemplating the Universe over a fine whiskey, a fine malt from 1812. My thoughts were interrupted by a weak, urgent rapping on the door. I got up and looked through the peephole. Silhouetted against the flash of lightning was a gaunt, hooded figure. I threw open the door, and the figure stumbled into the room, then fell to their knees. "Help me, my old friend." The figure rasped. I looked carefully at the long haired, androgynous figure on the ground. "Old friend...we go a long ways back...and yet...". I looked woefully at the hourglass slowly trickling the last dregs of sand from the upper half. I sigh and pull out my own little personal and saw that my own hourglass had run dry. It was no surprise. I knew this epoch would come. "So little time to spare, so little time to spare. " I hold my dear friend's hand as we sit together on the settee. They gently brush long strands of hair from my cheek. Bits of it crumble in between their fingers. Their eyes widen in understanding. "Without life, there can be no Death. Without time, there can be no life. Faced with overwhelming change, even the immutable is mutable." I whisper faintly. The Universe expands, then contracts. Each cycle, destroying all matter hence all life. Without life, Death has no purpose. Without space, there can be no Time. I hold on to my friend's hand, as we start dissolving and dissipating in the heat death of the Universe.
	[WP] A high fantasy world where social media exists. People die from taking dragon-selfies, Kings and nobles debate on twitter, and funny unicorn videos trend Youtube.	God, I hate this Job. It sounded amazing at first, personal bodyguard for one of the most popular up and coming celebrity singers. Given the diversity of concert locations, travelling through all seven realms would be a dream turned into reality. Not to mention, benefits included getting free concert tickets from my boss, making me rather among my circle of friends. Or the ladies. All I had to do was protect my employer from any obsessed fans. I did that know young people were pretty crazy these days. The most ridiculous trend I last heard about was the "dragon-selfies". People would sneak into one of them dragon caves and attempt a selfie with the sleeping beast "for the gram". Well, needless to say, they weren't always sleeping, resulting in some additional meals for the hungry dragons...so yeah, people don't always think straight. But hey, I was an arch wizard graduate of the elemental magus institute, with an S rank in water affinity mind you. How much harm would a couple of kids pose to me? Easy job, easy money. I was a fool. "Princess Penelope!!!!" screamed a rando from across the street. That was my employer's stage name. The source of the screaming appeared to be a fat nerdy man with Penelope's face on his shirt. He started charging through the road, ignoring all incoming traffic. Unicorns neighed in and basilisks hissed. Their riders joined in in cursing the disruption. He looked like the type that couldn't run for 10 seconds straight without catching his breath but holy shit he was fast. Must be using an enhancement spell. I thought this dude was here for an autograph but he whipped out a knife, clearly targeting my employer. Proluvies bullitus! I unleashed my water craft, encasing him within a bubble of water within seconds. Threat neutralized. I undid the area around his head to let him breathe. "I THOUGHT WE WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER PENELOPE!! HOW CAN YOU WALK WITH ANOTHER MAN? I SOLD MY KIDNEY TO THE NECROMANCERS TO SEE YOUR SHOW!!" I rolled my eyes. Another one of them crazies. I turned the water surrounding his body to Ice and pulled out my communication crystal to inform the High guard to collect the assailant. "Are you all right madam?" I asked my employer for the umpteenth time in my career. "No worries Gerald. You always do such a great job." she replied cheerily although a slight frown followed. "but I told you many times to address me by my name. We need not such formalities." "Sorry Penelope. Shall we continue to the hotel venue?" My employer nodded gently in response. Now don't get me wrong, the petite black-haired beauty in front of me isn't the reason I hate this job. In fact, she's lovely. And that punk stuck in a block of ice on the street. That I can easily handle. But there are some threats that aren't as easily as solved with a simple spell. A strong, powerful magic had emerged in recent years. The dreadful might of social media. At first I didn't pay much attention to these digital platforms. A man like me in his thirties. For god's sake I still use a crystal for important matters although I do have a smartphone. But my GOD the stuff they share and comment online! I thought it was just a place for people to post updates of their life y'know? Like my cousin Jonathan showing us his time supporting the wyvern warriors at dragon soccer. Or even King Drumpf bitching about the elvish rebellion. But man, People can be really mean! There was this one time, I got an appreciation post from Penelope on Instagram saying how good a bodyguard I was. The comments were littered with remarks about how I look like a troll, or worse a chupacabra! Not to mention most of these morons cant even spell chupacabra. Like c'mon guys they aren't that rare how can you not even know the spelling. The next day I even got death threats saying I'm the reason they can't get close to Penelope and they want to "shove a manticore's tail up my...", god I don't even know how they got my email. I'm no tech wizard, but they probably hired one to discover mine. Initially I tried to ignore it. I was living the dream! She does a lot of sightseeing which means I get to do a lot of sightseeing. Woohoo! The Ancient ruins of eldritch. The temple of the hibernating hydra. My friends were definitely envious of my adventures. But still! I know its a little un-macho for a middle-aged man, but some of these comments really hurt my feelings! And its not only these keyboard wizards, tabloids are monitoring everything we tweet or post! And MAN do they take things out of context. Some punk reporter wrote and article about how Penelope has a racist bodyguard and is therefore also racist by association because I didn't enjoy my elvish cuisine meal. What a PUNK!!! Sometimes I wish I could just conjure up a typhoon and blow all them haters away. I can't protect my employer from these comments either. And she gets it way worse. Death threats, rape threats, photoshopped nudes, you name it! But even then she goes to every concert with a smile, for the real fans that love her. "Gerald look!" interrupts Penelope, "it's your favourite burger chain! Let's grab some takeaways before we head over!" Despite all the fame and fortune, she's still a down-to-earth sweet girl that cares about a lowly bodyguard. So yeah, what they seem to call "cyber-bullying" these days really gets me. And I hate this damn job. But there no way I'm leaving the one I call my employer, and the one I call a friend to fend for herself. So screw you Goblin_titties_420, who commented yesterday that I look so fat the only thing I can protect Penelope from is the sun, I'm gonno get myself an extra large hippogriff burger with fries.	"Before we start..," Ace grinned at his crew. The group of eight ranged in age from 19 to 27, with Ace in the middle at 23. They all stood in the middle of what seemed to be an endless wheat field. "I've got great news! This is our first sponsored episode!" "No way!" Debbie cheered loudest; though, everyone had a positive reaction. Sponsorship meant Debbie wasn't financing their show entirely out of pocket. "That's awesome!" She wanted to find out more, but Ace put on his work face and started getting them organized. "I'll go first like we planned," Ace said. "Then, before I pass it on to you...," he pointed at Debbie. "...I'll just say a quick intro for the sponsor for Mike to put the ad spot in later. " Seven heads nodded in agreement and Ace smiled. "Alright guys, let's get started." Ace walked through the amber wheat until he stood about 15 feet away from Mike the cameraman. After the two shared a countdown, Ace spoke into the camera. "Hello and welcome to, AlterNet Advice where we share everything you need to know to make the best of your class. In this episode, we'll be covering Bards, Spellslingers, Dancers, Librarians, and Card Mages. I've been wanting to do this episode for a while because as most of you regular viewers already know...," Ace held up his hand. A single white card materialized in his fingertips. "Card Mage is something I know a little bit about." He fluttered his fingers and the card disappeared. "Like always we'll take turns covering the basics of our classes, then we'll have a second round of more advanced advice for certain souls." "Unlike most other classes, the Card Mage only has two recognized sub-specializations. Those are the Gambler, and the Card Mage proper. A word of advice here, do not spec into Gambler if you are not Unique Soul #25, El Borracho." "Gamblers are entirely luck-based, and every other Gambler you meet will be a Borracho able to control their luck, and yours." Ace reached into his pockets with both hands and then brought them up in front of the camera to show two decks of cards. "A Card Mage's abilities are defined by their decks. They can use a maximum of two different themed decks at the same time. I like to use Robot and Ninja decks, but there are many to choose from. Pirates, Steampunk, Magic and Clowns just to name a few." Both decks disintegrated out of his hands. "So, what does a Card Mage do, you might ask," Ace said. "Thanks to their deck variety, a Card Mage can fill any spot on a derby team. However, their main skillset revolves around controlling the flow of the game." Ace held up a card and Mike zoomed in on it. The card showed a green forest. \[Zone: Fairy Forest\] a deep voice announced. The amber around Ace disintegrated at the same time that tall green pine trees shot up out of the ground. In seconds the amber field was replaced with a dense forest full of bright, tiny dancing lights. "Zones let you control your play field for various bonuses. The Fairy Forest grants a boost in resource-gain for your team. The earlier you get this zone out, the better it is for your team in the long run." \[Zone: Fairy Graveyard\] the deep voice announced again. The vibrant green trees withered down to black and brown trunks. The multicolor dancing lights all changed to a single color: red. "The Fairy Graveyard heals your team members a small amount for every lap they complete. You'll find there are cards for everything; from these examples to some powerful cards that damage the opposing team when they complete a lap. "Spell cards and Summon cards are exactly what you'd think. Use Spell cards to buff your teammates or your own monsters called with a Summon card." "And finally there are Trap cards that can be activated under specific circumstances or as reactions. Learn to use them." The dead forest melted and became windswept wheat again. "That's it for the Card Mage basics, we'll go more in detail in a bit," He nodded at Debbie off-camera so she would be ready. For now, I'm going to pass it over to Debbie so she can talk to you all about the Dancer class. But before that, here's a word from our sponsor- Raid: Shadow Legends." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #179. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
	[WP] A high fantasy world where social media exists. People die from taking dragon-selfies, Kings and nobles debate on twitter, and funny unicorn videos trend Youtube.	God, I hate this Job. It sounded amazing at first, personal bodyguard for one of the most popular up and coming celebrity singers. Given the diversity of concert locations, travelling through all seven realms would be a dream turned into reality. Not to mention, benefits included getting free concert tickets from my boss, making me rather among my circle of friends. Or the ladies. All I had to do was protect my employer from any obsessed fans. I did that know young people were pretty crazy these days. The most ridiculous trend I last heard about was the "dragon-selfies". People would sneak into one of them dragon caves and attempt a selfie with the sleeping beast "for the gram". Well, needless to say, they weren't always sleeping, resulting in some additional meals for the hungry dragons...so yeah, people don't always think straight. But hey, I was an arch wizard graduate of the elemental magus institute, with an S rank in water affinity mind you. How much harm would a couple of kids pose to me? Easy job, easy money. I was a fool. "Princess Penelope!!!!" screamed a rando from across the street. That was my employer's stage name. The source of the screaming appeared to be a fat nerdy man with Penelope's face on his shirt. He started charging through the road, ignoring all incoming traffic. Unicorns neighed in and basilisks hissed. Their riders joined in in cursing the disruption. He looked like the type that couldn't run for 10 seconds straight without catching his breath but holy shit he was fast. Must be using an enhancement spell. I thought this dude was here for an autograph but he whipped out a knife, clearly targeting my employer. Proluvies bullitus! I unleashed my water craft, encasing him within a bubble of water within seconds. Threat neutralized. I undid the area around his head to let him breathe. "I THOUGHT WE WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER PENELOPE!! HOW CAN YOU WALK WITH ANOTHER MAN? I SOLD MY KIDNEY TO THE NECROMANCERS TO SEE YOUR SHOW!!" I rolled my eyes. Another one of them crazies. I turned the water surrounding his body to Ice and pulled out my communication crystal to inform the High guard to collect the assailant. "Are you all right madam?" I asked my employer for the umpteenth time in my career. "No worries Gerald. You always do such a great job." she replied cheerily although a slight frown followed. "but I told you many times to address me by my name. We need not such formalities." "Sorry Penelope. Shall we continue to the hotel venue?" My employer nodded gently in response. Now don't get me wrong, the petite black-haired beauty in front of me isn't the reason I hate this job. In fact, she's lovely. And that punk stuck in a block of ice on the street. That I can easily handle. But there are some threats that aren't as easily as solved with a simple spell. A strong, powerful magic had emerged in recent years. The dreadful might of social media. At first I didn't pay much attention to these digital platforms. A man like me in his thirties. For god's sake I still use a crystal for important matters although I do have a smartphone. But my GOD the stuff they share and comment online! I thought it was just a place for people to post updates of their life y'know? Like my cousin Jonathan showing us his time supporting the wyvern warriors at dragon soccer. Or even King Drumpf bitching about the elvish rebellion. But man, People can be really mean! There was this one time, I got an appreciation post from Penelope on Instagram saying how good a bodyguard I was. The comments were littered with remarks about how I look like a troll, or worse a chupacabra! Not to mention most of these morons cant even spell chupacabra. Like c'mon guys they aren't that rare how can you not even know the spelling. The next day I even got death threats saying I'm the reason they can't get close to Penelope and they want to "shove a manticore's tail up my...", god I don't even know how they got my email. I'm no tech wizard, but they probably hired one to discover mine. Initially I tried to ignore it. I was living the dream! She does a lot of sightseeing which means I get to do a lot of sightseeing. Woohoo! The Ancient ruins of eldritch. The temple of the hibernating hydra. My friends were definitely envious of my adventures. But still! I know its a little un-macho for a middle-aged man, but some of these comments really hurt my feelings! And its not only these keyboard wizards, tabloids are monitoring everything we tweet or post! And MAN do they take things out of context. Some punk reporter wrote and article about how Penelope has a racist bodyguard and is therefore also racist by association because I didn't enjoy my elvish cuisine meal. What a PUNK!!! Sometimes I wish I could just conjure up a typhoon and blow all them haters away. I can't protect my employer from these comments either. And she gets it way worse. Death threats, rape threats, photoshopped nudes, you name it! But even then she goes to every concert with a smile, for the real fans that love her. "Gerald look!" interrupts Penelope, "it's your favourite burger chain! Let's grab some takeaways before we head over!" Despite all the fame and fortune, she's still a down-to-earth sweet girl that cares about a lowly bodyguard. So yeah, what they seem to call "cyber-bullying" these days really gets me. And I hate this damn job. But there no way I'm leaving the one I call my employer, and the one I call a friend to fend for herself. So screw you Goblin_titties_420, who commented yesterday that I look so fat the only thing I can protect Penelope from is the sun, I'm gonno get myself an extra large hippogriff burger with fries.	I lay prone deep in the tree branches, my camo net and uniform blending my humanoid form into the surrounding tropical jungle. I slowed my breathing down to moderate my excitement at seeing the unicorn frolic near the stream nearly beneath us. I tapped Pat on their arm. Using the infra-red laser I indicated where Pat should be pointing the device at. Pat blinked twice in succession to acknowledge. Even a word or a sudden movement might startle the unicorn. I blinked twice to show I received. As we'd practiced earlier, Pat turned on the device. A red light came on, just visible to humans but no in the visual spectrum of unicorns, who could only see everything more energetic than the color orange in the electromagnetic spectrum. I snapped on a dynamic smiley-face filter on the laser and switched its emitting band to Visible Green, then drew a circle around the unicorn's feet. It danced in beautiful coordinated rhythm to try to keep track on that curious emoji on the ground. I moved it around erratically . Pat and I smirked as we watched the unicorn try to put its hooves on the image. With the unicorn fully distracted, I started vocalizing. "Welcome! This is Pat and Chris here on the air! Today , we are live streaming to you straight from the Amazon rain-forest where we have a special guest, a unicorn!" I moved the pointer around and up on to a tree branch, whereupon the unicorn pawed at the tree. From my vantage point, I swapped the laser band again to multi and a rainbow was painted on the ground. I swirled it around in front of the unicorn in a precise, predetermined manner. Her dark eyes dilated even further and I could make out on my holo-implant display, her eyes turning into a swirl of the rainbow itself. After 3 precise loops, she stood completely still, then started to drool. I flung off the camo net and it dangled off a hook on the branch above me. Rappelling below, I cautiously approached the entranced beast. Unicorns were known to be violent. Last week, a unicorn has stopped by a 7-11 store in Chicago and unloaded an entire clip from an AK-47 into the store, its motives were rumored to be gang violence. Thanks to our tracking technology we were able to track it down and have a mage deliver a stern reprimand. I held up the auto-tagger and plunged it into the unicorn's shoulder. It just stood there, its eyes swirling with the rainbow inside. I looked up, worried. The next part was harder. I had to collect a fairly large sample of ...saliva ... from the drooling unicorn for documentation purposes. Dark clouds were already forming in the hot tropical afternoon. The rainstorm would break the mesmer on her. Then she'd be very very upset and want to gore me to death. I set the large smart-container beneath her drooling jaw, fully aware the world tuning in on Youtube would see me gored to pieces if she awoke enraged. I touched the scars on my abdomen. It wasn't very fun the last time, and I hadn't survived, but as a zombie-lich hybrid I wasn't going to be able to die anymore even though I was biologically alive, which was perhaps a good thing. I sat down on a fallen tree log and watched alongside the world
	[WP] A high fantasy world where social media exists. People die from taking dragon-selfies, Kings and nobles debate on twitter, and funny unicorn videos trend Youtube.	God, I hate this Job. It sounded amazing at first, personal bodyguard for one of the most popular up and coming celebrity singers. Given the diversity of concert locations, travelling through all seven realms would be a dream turned into reality. Not to mention, benefits included getting free concert tickets from my boss, making me rather among my circle of friends. Or the ladies. All I had to do was protect my employer from any obsessed fans. I did that know young people were pretty crazy these days. The most ridiculous trend I last heard about was the "dragon-selfies". People would sneak into one of them dragon caves and attempt a selfie with the sleeping beast "for the gram". Well, needless to say, they weren't always sleeping, resulting in some additional meals for the hungry dragons...so yeah, people don't always think straight. But hey, I was an arch wizard graduate of the elemental magus institute, with an S rank in water affinity mind you. How much harm would a couple of kids pose to me? Easy job, easy money. I was a fool. "Princess Penelope!!!!" screamed a rando from across the street. That was my employer's stage name. The source of the screaming appeared to be a fat nerdy man with Penelope's face on his shirt. He started charging through the road, ignoring all incoming traffic. Unicorns neighed in and basilisks hissed. Their riders joined in in cursing the disruption. He looked like the type that couldn't run for 10 seconds straight without catching his breath but holy shit he was fast. Must be using an enhancement spell. I thought this dude was here for an autograph but he whipped out a knife, clearly targeting my employer. Proluvies bullitus! I unleashed my water craft, encasing him within a bubble of water within seconds. Threat neutralized. I undid the area around his head to let him breathe. "I THOUGHT WE WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER PENELOPE!! HOW CAN YOU WALK WITH ANOTHER MAN? I SOLD MY KIDNEY TO THE NECROMANCERS TO SEE YOUR SHOW!!" I rolled my eyes. Another one of them crazies. I turned the water surrounding his body to Ice and pulled out my communication crystal to inform the High guard to collect the assailant. "Are you all right madam?" I asked my employer for the umpteenth time in my career. "No worries Gerald. You always do such a great job." she replied cheerily although a slight frown followed. "but I told you many times to address me by my name. We need not such formalities." "Sorry Penelope. Shall we continue to the hotel venue?" My employer nodded gently in response. Now don't get me wrong, the petite black-haired beauty in front of me isn't the reason I hate this job. In fact, she's lovely. And that punk stuck in a block of ice on the street. That I can easily handle. But there are some threats that aren't as easily as solved with a simple spell. A strong, powerful magic had emerged in recent years. The dreadful might of social media. At first I didn't pay much attention to these digital platforms. A man like me in his thirties. For god's sake I still use a crystal for important matters although I do have a smartphone. But my GOD the stuff they share and comment online! I thought it was just a place for people to post updates of their life y'know? Like my cousin Jonathan showing us his time supporting the wyvern warriors at dragon soccer. Or even King Drumpf bitching about the elvish rebellion. But man, People can be really mean! There was this one time, I got an appreciation post from Penelope on Instagram saying how good a bodyguard I was. The comments were littered with remarks about how I look like a troll, or worse a chupacabra! Not to mention most of these morons cant even spell chupacabra. Like c'mon guys they aren't that rare how can you not even know the spelling. The next day I even got death threats saying I'm the reason they can't get close to Penelope and they want to "shove a manticore's tail up my...", god I don't even know how they got my email. I'm no tech wizard, but they probably hired one to discover mine. Initially I tried to ignore it. I was living the dream! She does a lot of sightseeing which means I get to do a lot of sightseeing. Woohoo! The Ancient ruins of eldritch. The temple of the hibernating hydra. My friends were definitely envious of my adventures. But still! I know its a little un-macho for a middle-aged man, but some of these comments really hurt my feelings! And its not only these keyboard wizards, tabloids are monitoring everything we tweet or post! And MAN do they take things out of context. Some punk reporter wrote and article about how Penelope has a racist bodyguard and is therefore also racist by association because I didn't enjoy my elvish cuisine meal. What a PUNK!!! Sometimes I wish I could just conjure up a typhoon and blow all them haters away. I can't protect my employer from these comments either. And she gets it way worse. Death threats, rape threats, photoshopped nudes, you name it! But even then she goes to every concert with a smile, for the real fans that love her. "Gerald look!" interrupts Penelope, "it's your favourite burger chain! Let's grab some takeaways before we head over!" Despite all the fame and fortune, she's still a down-to-earth sweet girl that cares about a lowly bodyguard. So yeah, what they seem to call "cyber-bullying" these days really gets me. And I hate this damn job. But there no way I'm leaving the one I call my employer, and the one I call a friend to fend for herself. So screw you Goblin_titties_420, who commented yesterday that I look so fat the only thing I can protect Penelope from is the sun, I'm gonno get myself an extra large hippogriff burger with fries.	There are quite a few things a wise noble never expects to wake up to. &#x200B; A happy dragon, for one. Sure, we had tamed and befriended them years ago, and supported them as they threw away our standards of gender faster than they threw away our offerings of human food. But that doesn't mean Myst can strike fear into a warrior-in-training in the blink of an eye. No, as the rulers, may the pallbearers dance on their graves, learned quickly, Myst needs about 12 cans of FairyFuel and an hour of watching a livestreamer "react" to an old reality show about moat construction, by which I of course mean sit on a throne silently while the peasants and dragons emoted away, before they could get going. I might not appreciate that state of being, but I sure relate to it sometimes. &#x200B; Even rarer to wake up to is a satisfied maiden, but that might be asking a lot with how fast her expectations of me shoot through the ceiling. Just yesterday she proposed that I get our unit a unicorn so we could start paying our clients in "exposure" instead of giving away Myst's gold. For someone who chose to propose to me through a cryptic quest that mostly involved me staying at home and searching for secret codes, she sure seemed to want to be around them more than me sometimes. &#x200B; Rarest of them all, though, is a positive social feed. Once in a blood moon, something would happen that the public would decide is worth celebrating, enough so that their seemingly endless cries of despair and "cringe" would come to a planet-shattering halt. But, by some enchanted spell, today was one of those days. &#x200B; I knew that finding out why, and wading through the short videos of the town jester's act edited to a tune I never will know the name of, was not worth the effort or time. But, the situation seemed rare enough that I persisted. After all, I had to know, who instigated this effort, how it grew, and what it might lead to. &#x200B; After all, what could go wrong if I organized a physical manifestation of the promised "King Is Over Party?" &#x200B; "Do it. I've been waiting to treat myself for weeks and a secret ball would do me wonders." &#x200B; Sure thing, Myst. Sure thing.
	[WP] One day, all the citrus fruits in the world turn animate and start to follow humans around. Society initially panics, but eventually get used to the new status quo. Soon, guilds of "citrus trainers" begin to appear all over the world, training the fruits to fight each other like Pokemon.	The future was absurd. 2020 began with threat of fire and Armageddon, entered its full-stride with a second wave of a highly virulent respiratory disease, and came to a close with the sudden emergence of twisted, mutated citrus fruit. I would love to say I was kidding, but I am presently holding a wild and slavering Citreon at arm's length with little more than a steel pole. Sweat trickling down my forehead, I readjust my grip. The papers weren't kidding -- these little bastards are strong! The Citreon, some confused medley of a lime with a bulldog, cast a confused look as it slunk back, as if my pole was a complex riddle to solve. Bewilderment turned to ignorant resolution, and the Citreon attacked again, this time roaring from the depths of what presumably was its lungs. With a heave, I receive the charge and prod the pole once more into its weird green flesh. Push, pull, push, pull -- the Citreon was relentless, yapping all the while like a little chihuahua. Some freak hobbyists somewhere were trying to train these things to bond to humans. The fools think they can designate a fight pit league for the savage beasts. A Fight Pit! For mutants. &#x200B; You had to laugh. Two weeks ago, I had read in the Times that a group of kids from Japan once blew up their school when a grapefruit the size of a bus. They had been keeping the thing in the cafeteria! Feeding it! Supposedly, the grapefruit matured and 'ripened' into a flower-creature that blooms in the form of a caustic acid spew that can eat through drywall. I'd felt like the black and white photographs on that sunbleached paper did not do the thing justice. I knew a threat when I saw one. The Citreon was reduced to a panting little lime, now. It looked up at me with doleful eyes and a puppy dog smile. &#x200B; "C'mere you lil guy." I coaxed, soothingly. &#x200B; It dropped its once proud shoulders and sat on all fours. Just like a dog. I made a note to remember this behavioural characteristic for my studies on these new species. "What are you... a boy or a girl." Craning my neck, I tried to capture the full image of this thing. Lime green, weird and slobbering, the Citreon lazed over on its side and seemed finally comfortable with my presence. I set the pole down, and dropped to my haunches. Whipping out a notepad, I began to draw a picture of the beast. Citreon - Lime/Bulldog. Lime Green; 2'3". Looks to be eighty pounds, or so. Playful nature either belies extreme kindness or stupidity. I took out my GPS and set the location, which also was marked and noted. One must not shake the rigors of the scientific method, of accurate, fair data collection and an unbiased representation of one's findings. The Citreon let out a fart. Definitely humorous temperament. I added, in hasty chicken scratch. "Okay, let's just hope the name sticks." I muttered, as I pulled out the tranquilizer dart. "They're going to love you in the lab." Fin.	Ember Mustard takes a deep breath, as she stands outside the gate of what could possibly be her first Citrusmon battle. "There's no turning back now.", she whispers, twirling a Citrusball with her fingers. Ember knocks at the gate, but upon recieving no response, she bangs her hand against it, but that doesn't help either. "Okay, I am a strong confident woman, I will go in now." "I'm sure you are honey, but would you mind moving? I've got a gym to run." Ember quickly turns around, a blush creeping up her neck. Yellow eyes stare at her amused, with a red eyebrow quirked up, and Ember thought about how it would have been so much easier to convince her to be a trainer if someone had told her gym leaders were this pretty. "So, are you here to battle?", she asks, resting a hand upon her hip. Ember nods her head, "Yes, if that's alright with you." "My my, how polite.", she teases, playing with a strand of red hair that seems to have escaped from her two buns, "Is this your first battle?" "Yeah, how did you know?", Ember asks, straightening her posture. The pretty Gym leader laughs and it might just be her new favourite sound, "Darling, your nerves are everywhere. They're ruining my mojo. Plus, don't you look a little too old for this to be your first fight?" She looks away from her gaze, "I'm seventeen, it's not that old." "I'm seventeen too, so maybe it's a little bit old." Ember huffs, "I had a career change, okay?" She laughs again, "Well, since you're here already, why don't we begin?" "Begin, as in battling? Right now?", But before Ember can finish her sentence, the gym leader shouts, "Annoying Orange, I choose you!" "Eh?" "Before we begin, I'm humid. You?" "It's Ember." "Well then, Ember, ready to get plummeted into the ground?" "Um, sure. Lemony snickett, I choose you." A lemon rolls out of her citrusball, looking disgruntled. "Lemon snick lemon snick", it croaks. Ember is sure that if it could speak, it'd probably tell her to go screw herself. Humid's Annoying Orange looks even more annoying now that it's seen the state of her Citrusmon. "A.O. use orange peel." It jumps in the air, it's peel coming off and rushing towards her Lemony Snickett like ninja blades, giving Ember zero time to think about how cute Humid sounds when she says A.O. "Lemony Snickett, use Unfortunate Squeeze.", She orders, noting with horror how quickly the orange's peel grows back. Her Citrusmon looks just as terrified, now with scars all over plus juice leaking, and ends up giving a tiny squeeze of juice, which does not affect the enemy at all. Ember looks down, ashamed that Humid will have a bad impression of her, but instead of hearing her laugh, she hears nothing. She raises her head slightly to meet Humid's concerned gaze, "It's okay, you know.", She says. "Everyone messes up.", She continues. "Thank you, and I'm sorry for wasting your time." "No! I mean, it's okay, you didn't waste anything.", She sounds flustered, and Ember allows herself to hope. "I'll leave now.", She coaxes her Lemony back into it's ball and walks past her. "Wait!", Humid calls after her, "If you would like, you can stay. I mean, stay to learn techniques. I have a lemony too and yours could learn from mine, if that's cool." Her jaw hangs open, surprise evident on her features, ad Humid plays with her fingers, "I would love that." Joy takes over her, and she smiles brightly, "Cool." "Yeah, cool.", Ember responds, and she thinks maybe the humiliation was worth it.
	[WP] One day, all the citrus fruits in the world turn animate and start to follow humans around. Society initially panics, but eventually get used to the new status quo. Soon, guilds of "citrus trainers" begin to appear all over the world, training the fruits to fight each other like Pokemon.	Satoshi had grown weary with age... Unlike the generations before him, Satoshi has grown up with the Pokémon. Those things which had been citrus fruits to an age passed. Satoshi wanted to be a trainer- he wanted it more than anything. To catch the Pokémon was his life. “Gotta catch em all” But this was his past, another generation had come. His cause to train these creatures led him from a small boy in Pallet Town to a legend. He was the best, and no one loved Pokémon like Satoshi. He had held that his heart was true, but now he sees a generation that thought bigger. As the hologram in-front of him rearranges, he sees the vote start at the United Nations. For generations people had treated the Pokémon as theirs. They had trained them, fought for them, and loved them. But this vote would change all of that. As the the vote comes in, Satoshi looks over at Pikachu beside him, all those years and they had never left each other’s side. Satoshi, leaning over with tears in his eyes, smiles at his best friend. Pikachu intently staring at the hologram moving in front. UNSCR 987628, or as the people called it- the “Resolution for Pokémon Rights.” When it passes, Pikachu smiles, walking out on the balcony to let out a thunderbolt with the Pokémon cheering in the streets. Satoshi smiles, hugging Pikachu when he comes back into his lap. There’s a guilt that Satoshi feels- he always loved the creatures that were once citrus fruit. He had fought all his life for them, but he has since learned that these creatures did not wish to fight. He had retired many years ago, as the times started to change. But it didn’t take away the regret of committing his best friend to years of pain. Pikachu hugs him back, with the little “pikachu” lemony noise that tells Satoshi not to cry. The world was growing now, and Pikachu knew that people with hearts like Satoshi’s would need to stay fighting for a better world- even if Ash didn’t see that yet.	"Hello, child. My name is Citra. I was the one who made all of these fruit the way they are," the 10 foot tall man said to me. I had absolutely no damn idea what he was talking about until I looked down at the floor and saw all the oranges peeling and consuming each other. I tried picking one up, but the man grabbed onto my arm, preventing me from doing so. "Don't. You'll share their fate," he warned. I tried speaking, but I couldn't, due to my country's ban on civilian speech. Instead, I made words appear at the bottom of his vision, asking Why am I here? Why did you make psychotic oranges that fucking kill anything they can? AND WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING DON'T YOU KNOW THERE IS A BAN ON VOCAL SPEECH? He chuckled, "Dearest child, do you think I'm within the law with these things? The hundreds of presidents that I've lived through have all granted the title of 'Wanted Criminal.' I'm probably going to get hanged the second I leave my hideout. So I'm granting you my powers so you can become the greatest orange fighter™ to ever live. Do me good, boy." And with that, he dropped to the floor, and permitted the orange who won the clash of the oranges on the floor to eat him. I woke up in a cold sweat. I got up out of my chair, turned on my ZSNES, and booted up a really old game called Pokémon Yellow. The game was barely playable due to how glitchy it was, but my mom loves it. My childhood friend then burst into my room, and said, Hey, I have a bag of oranges, let's take a couple and have them fight each other. I said no, and handed him a controller, challenging him to a Pokémon battle. When I beat him, he emptied the bag of oranges onto me, consuming me alive. But, due to my new orange magics, I instead transported to Citra's old lair. I noticed that the orange there was twice Citra's size, in a humanoid form. As I'm writing this, it is approaching me menacingly. Wait what is that thing on its stomach let this book be my memoir Brother oranges, join me. I will absorb you, so you can be a part in the fight against humans. This Earth will be orange by 2200. I know it. ~~King Orange
	[WP] One day, all the citrus fruits in the world turn animate and start to follow humans around. Society initially panics, but eventually get used to the new status quo. Soon, guilds of "citrus trainers" begin to appear all over the world, training the fruits to fight each other like Pokemon.	Satoshi had grown weary with age... Unlike the generations before him, Satoshi has grown up with the Pokémon. Those things which had been citrus fruits to an age passed. Satoshi wanted to be a trainer- he wanted it more than anything. To catch the Pokémon was his life. “Gotta catch em all” But this was his past, another generation had come. His cause to train these creatures led him from a small boy in Pallet Town to a legend. He was the best, and no one loved Pokémon like Satoshi. He had held that his heart was true, but now he sees a generation that thought bigger. As the hologram in-front of him rearranges, he sees the vote start at the United Nations. For generations people had treated the Pokémon as theirs. They had trained them, fought for them, and loved them. But this vote would change all of that. As the the vote comes in, Satoshi looks over at Pikachu beside him, all those years and they had never left each other’s side. Satoshi, leaning over with tears in his eyes, smiles at his best friend. Pikachu intently staring at the hologram moving in front. UNSCR 987628, or as the people called it- the “Resolution for Pokémon Rights.” When it passes, Pikachu smiles, walking out on the balcony to let out a thunderbolt with the Pokémon cheering in the streets. Satoshi smiles, hugging Pikachu when he comes back into his lap. There’s a guilt that Satoshi feels- he always loved the creatures that were once citrus fruit. He had fought all his life for them, but he has since learned that these creatures did not wish to fight. He had retired many years ago, as the times started to change. But it didn’t take away the regret of committing his best friend to years of pain. Pikachu hugs him back, with the little “pikachu” lemony noise that tells Satoshi not to cry. The world was growing now, and Pikachu knew that people with hearts like Satoshi’s would need to stay fighting for a better world- even if Ash didn’t see that yet.	"I don't care what fruit stand you're from, that has gotta hurt." The crowd grimaced as a stream of lemon juice squirted into the eyes of its trainer. The grapefruit across the parking garage began peeling itself to take a victory lap naked around chalk outline of the ring all the while soaking in the praise from the crowd. The fight hadn't been fair. The young grapefruit wasn't ripe yet, still hard enough to squash the aging lemon with ease. Walking across the ring the grapefruit trainer stood next to the teenage boy with his eyes clenched shut, still struggling to get the burning to subside. "Here take this", he said handing the boy a cold glass of water to help cleanse his eyes of the remaining lemon juice. Accepting the water, the boy tilted his head back and poured the water directly onto his eyes. Dabbing them dry with the bottom of his shirt he hesitantly opened them to find that the worst of the pain was subsiding. Thanking the man he turned to look at his lemon. Flayed citrus was hanging from broken spots in its skin and seeds were strewn around the ring. The lemon was gone. Tearing up the young boy told the man it was his first citrus tournament. The lemon had told him he wanted to go out fighting rather than turn into compost sitting in the kitchen. The young boy could still remember the day his father plucked the lemon off the tree and handed it to him. Helping the boy to his feet the man reassured the boy that there would be other tournaments and he fought with honor. Inviting him to watch the next match he promised a good show. "Apparently the lime we're fighting in the next round is half orange. Should be an interesting fight. His exterior is orange but word on the street is he is sour to the core."
	[WP] For about a week now, you’ve been getting ominous messages written in “blood” on your mirror. Turns out they’re from an awkward ghost who’s crushing you, hard.	\BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP\ &#x200B; Just another minute. &#x200B; \BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP\ &#x200B; I was having such a wonderful dream. &#x200B; \BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP\ &#x200B; I was happy there. &#x200B; \BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-\ &#x200B; Jus- wait what? &#x200B; Cautious shuffling brought me to face the alarm clock. Off. Not unplugged or muted just...off. Not even the time was displayed. &#x200B; A spike of panic jolted me upright, better at getting me out of bed than that cursed machine ever could. Weird things like this had been happening to me lately. The TV would change channels on it's own, usually to some form of motorsports channel. I'd occasionally find Plates, cutlery, and food thrown across the kitchen floor when I got home and every morning, I'd find weird messages written in what turned out to be ketchup on my bathroom mirror. So far I'd gotten "Morning sleepyhead!", "Have you noticed yet?" and yesterday I got "I'm behind you...". Yeah, they even spent time on the dots. &#x200B; ...So, yeah. This apartment is haunted. &#x200B; Cool. &#x200B; I'm not panicking at all. &#x200B; &#x200B; With a heavy and deliberate sigh, I yanked myself out of bed, displaying to the world the glorious body of a land nerd in boxer shorts. Getting changed came after cleaning this morning's message off...and if yesterday's message was true maybe also beating up the ghost. &#x200B; My senses were slowly coming back but eventually, as I rounded the corner, I read "What's up with you today?" &#x200B; Barely missing a beat, I mumbled "You've been terrorizing me for a half a week, lay off." &#x200B; "Terrorising you?! Why you littl-" The voice was muffled but I had already turned, heart skipping a beat at the foreign voice. &#x200B; What stood...well more like floated before me was a girl doused in the palest of blue glows, a simple white hospital gown covering a young figure. She couldn't have been more than twenty, a real blonde beauty were it not for the myriad of scars and open wounds. Stitches held a few of her fingers to her hands and a more prominent set kept her head attached to her body. Though, as she slowly bobbed and swayed in front of me, there was the slightest glimpse of cold, dead flesh underneath. The girl's pout had dissipated, her expression replaced by one of mixed anxiety, anticipation and a hint of sorrow. &#x200B; I stumbled for a response. "O-Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare at...those..." &#x200B; Almost copying me, the girl held up her hands to me instinctively, only to recoil and pulled away. "N-No it's okay! Honestly I'm just glad you aren't running....Wow that makes this sound even weirder!" Her face had lit up to a deep purple under her ethereal veil and just like that, it all made sense. &#x200B; I let out another sigh, though this time followed up by a playful smile. "You've destroyed my kitchen twice now, you've already made it weird." &#x200B; The pout came back. It was cute. "I-I-I was trying to make you dinner!" &#x200B; "And the tv?" &#x200B; "I saw your posters and wanted to put on something you'd like! P-Plus, while you were at work it got me a little interested...." She was a mess. An adorable, fumbling, blushing, undead mess. &#x200B; "Okay. What about the ketchup messages? You're right here." &#x200B; She paused, staring like a deer in headlights. It took a minute for her long-dead brain to come up with a response. "I...I don't know! I thought you'd get scared...P-Plus I didn't even know I could do this!" &#x200B; "So you haunted me? With 'blood messages' and smashing up my stuff?" I couldn't help it anymore, this was too fun. &#x200B; That one earned a growl though. "THAT'S IT! I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE AND BE ROMANTIC ABOUT IT BUT YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE! I'M JUST GOING TO GO HAUNT SOMEONE ELSE!" &#x200B; At this point i couldn't stop the laughter, the neighbors were going to think I was insane but this was too good. "Awww, but we were getting on so well!" &#x200B; Her hair, loosely falling behind her slowly started to raise, hovering behind her head to compliment the ominous look in her eyes. "On second thought, I haven't tried possessing anyone yet...Let's see if we can't take a dive off the roof..." She floated closer, arms outstretched in what could best be described as an attempt to be creepy. &#x200B; One more. &#x200B; "Wait, i thought i was supposed to be inside of you..." &#x200B; "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" &#x200B; And that folks, is how i met Melissa, My Ghastly Girlfriend.	# Grief For Love Mike lied in his bed, as he had been doing for the past half an hour, loathing himself for not being able to bring himself to work. It had been days that he hadn’t had any progress with his novel, and it felt like his worth had been left behind, along with his productivity. Since he had abandoned the project, as though this wasn’t enough, messages written with the usage of blood started to mysteriously appear on his bathroom’s mirror. Those were not messages you’d expect to come from such a daunting context, though, as all of them seemed to exist solely to motivate him. The problem in the messages wasn’t as much for their scary aspect, but as in how they made him feel even more frustrated every time he ignored them and just kept playing Animal Crossing until he fell asleep, around six in the morning. He knew that something or someone was watching him, and he hated that “it” was judging him, as if he didn’t do that enough himself. But that night, during the lowest moment of gloom, the thing spoke, in a sweet and calming tone: “It is ok. You are not worthless for not being a machine!” Mike jumped off his bed so quickly that his muscles hurt from the movement. He looked around his room until he found it. It was immeasurably surprising to see his best friend standing there, in front of him. He was a bit translucent, not overly so, as he had a dark coloration to him, like an old bottle of wine. “Charlie! I thought… I thought…” Charlie kept staring at him, with a warm and accepting look of compassion. “... I thought you had died!” “I did.” for what seemed like a bit more than half a minute they stared at each other, Charlie lovingly so, while Mike maintained an expression of mixed surprise and terror, as though he was seeing a ghost. Charlie broke the silence. “Look. I’ve been watching you for sometime, and I can’t stop staring at those ocean eyes everytime you feel like you are not worth it. I know you since we were kids and you’ve always been perfectionistic to a fault. You shouldn’t assign your self worth to how you perform creatively and professionally.” Mike did not move a muscle. “So you are dead?!” he said, barely moving his mouth. “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t matter now. The only thing I want to understand is that you are worth it and you are loved.” “Ha! Who the hell loves me?” Mike said, suddenly forgetting the weirdness of the situation. Charlie started to tear up, his sweet smile getting affected by such fact. “I… have always…” Mike understood. It had always been obvious that they felt more for each other, that being “best friends” had never been enough. “I’m sorry!” said Charlie, as he bursted into tears. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. My mother never truly accepted me and…” “I know... I just wish I had been there to talk you out of it.” There they stood, feeling grief for what had been a wasted potential for a great, loving relationship. It seemed like death had really done them apart... and they hadn’t even got the chance to marry.
	[WP] You, the owner of an outrageously successful tech startup, are invited to an exclusive club/society for the world's wealthiest people. You realize that they are all actually dragons, and they assume you are one too.	"It was clever of you to use the Chinese zodiac, we haven't had an earth dragon among us in a long time. You earth types have always been at the forefront of new technologies and we have great expectations for you." Looking around I was finally beginning to understand what, until now, I had not been able to place as uncanny. My first thoughts were the conspiracies of lizard people might not have been as far off as I'd previously laughed about. Perhaps I'd been distracted by all those famous faces I'd have given anything just an hour ago to meet. Now I only hope the fire breather cooking at the grill is just a magician and this is all an elaborate joke. I couldn't hear the host speaking right next to me for the torrent of thoughts consuming every ounce of my cognition. How had dragons managed to stay so well hidden for so long and to what ends does this secret group meet for? What other secrets was I about to learn? Why was I invited and how did they not realize I wasn't actually a dragon as well? That's when my stomach fell out as I began to wonder what would happen when they realize the truth. "So now that you've created a paradigm shift in both the service and gig economies what do we have to look forward to youngling?" My focus on what I'd previously perceived as wrinkles I now realized were scales was suddenly drawn to answer his question almost instinctively as it was a staple in interviews. As I began to speak though I realized I'd followed him onto a stage. I couldn't recall how we'd transitioned from an outdoors barbecue to this place. It was simply magnificent and the singular most opulent and decadent place I could imagine. Golden plates and silverware with glassware that sparkled like rare gems. Somehow I found it comforting and relaxing. "Thank you for the introduction Aiden. As you may already know I recently started a new development arm of my company focused on revolutionizing interactive entertainment." My mouth was on autopilot as I scanned the room. The feeling was creeping back that something wasn't right. Even now that I knew what to look for it was as though I was once again seeing only part of a bigger picture. That's when I noticed it like a mirage those were heat waves emanating throughout the room. How hot was it in here? "Let's hear if for the newest dragon everyone!" Aiden exclaimed snapping me out of my thoughts as he sat me down at a reserved table next to an actress I'd had more than a passing fantasy about in the past and by some miracle I managed to act relatively normal and introduce myself. The waiters brought in small personally engraved platters for each guest. I noticed written on her platter was a different name. "Who is Malinda?" only to realize I'd spoken aloud. "Malinda is my true name, and it's very rude to spy like that you know. Now it's only fair you tell me yours." "You know she has a point, and I must admit you've left everyone guessing all night." Aiden gently nudged my arm. "The problem seems to be that nobody knows your parents. I suppose that's because your public story must have some truth to it?" I was in full blown panic mode. If I wasn't sweating before I certainly was now. I needed a name and a backstory and I needed to be convincing. I had to stall for time to think and the only thing my stupid mouth could utter is "How did you even know I am a dragon?" Aiden began making an argument so convincing even I was beginning to believe him. "The clues were there in your public profiles. At first I wasn't sure as a simple birthday is hardly a clue, though I couldn't help but notice your particular choice of colors among various themes in your company, wardrobe, and accessories. This was the first signal that convinced me to dig." He continued for some time as I decided to take queues from his investigation into me to develop my own backstory. "Of course I couldn't be 100% certain until I had you up on that podium there. No human could've gone through that without practically melting. It's so hot in here I can barely stand it and I'm a black dragon for Tiamat sake." That's when my world view was uprooted. The smell of sulfur suddenly flooding my nostrils. Could I indeed be a dragon and not have known it myself? \[Couldn't decide how to proceed from here, so I'll leave it as is unless somebody actually wants more\]	The limousine came to a stop. The mansion was in the middle of nowhere. The driveway was illuminated with torches. This should be interesting. Sophie was expecting weird. Her invitation was delivered by a man in chain mail. No address or GPS, just a hand drawn map. She climbed the stairs and was about to knock when the massive doors opened. There he was. Mark Zuckerberg. In his typical sweats and hoodie. "Come in, Sophie. I thought it would be best if a fellow tech billionaire showed you around. That's a lovely dress. A shame it will be ripped, but hey, we can afford it." What was that supposed to mean? Zuckerberg continued, "The gang's all here. Congrats on going public. Your AI puts Siri and Google to shame. Some real Westworld stuff going on. You collect more data in an hour than I in a week! Here comes Oprah, she can be a bit much." Oprah walked over in a rush. The wore an expensive white pantsuit and had a small cloth bag in her hands. "Oh. My. God. You guys." said Oprah. "Have you tried these Moroccan spiced mice? I can't stop eating them." She with drew a live mouse from the bag and shoved it in her mouth. She gleefully chewed. "I. Love. Mice." She proclaimed. "I wake up everyday thinking about them. I LOOOOOOOOOVE MIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiice!" Zuckerberg interrupted, "Oprah you save some room for dinner!" "Dinner," she replied. "Can you give me a hint, Mark? I know it's supposed to be a surprise." "Chef Puck has sworn me to secrecy, but I can tell you it's endangered an in the pool out back." "I can't WAAAAAAAAAiiiiiiiiiiiiit," sang Oprah as she walked away. I knew the ultra wealthy were strange, but Oprah eats mice? Must be some new diet trend." The pair continued down the hall. Mark stopped at a door and said, "I hope you're a fan." Mark opened the door and inside was a large hot tub. It appeared to be filled with gold coins. Rolling around on top of the coins was George Lucas in an undersized R2D2 print speedo. When he noticed the pair he spoke up, "Guys, check it out REAL Spanish pieces of eight. I don't know how Elon gathered so many. It's not as big as my hoard at home but it feels unique. You must be Sophie. Jump in; feels great." "I....uh.....need the ladies room. Maybe later." Mark and Sophie left the room. Mark offered, "I'm more of a Trek guy myself. Don't get him started on Jar Jar." These people are crazy. I hope my wealth doesn't drive me insane like these people.* A loud clanging was coming from the room across the hall. "Do you spar?" asked Marc as he pushed open the sliding doors. Inside the large room a man and a woman were fighting with swords. They spun around one another deftly as metal struck metal. They stopped when they entered the room and removed their fencing masks. "Sophie, we're glad you made it. I'm Bill, of course, and this is my wife Melinda. You must tell me your secret to AI. Out of curiosity only, I won't steal your idea." Sophie quipped, "Did you use that line on Wozniak?" The group laughed. Melinda said, "I like her." The couple put their masks back on and resumed dueling. Sophie and Mark continued walking. Mark offered, "I know. Us? Swords? It's a delicious irony." A gong rang through the halls. Mark explained, "Elon is ready. Let's get to the ballroom." This should be interesting. The Ballrooom was the size of a basketball court. Wealth was casually strewn on the floor. Gold cups, gems, coins, jewelry, and even art littered the floor. The billionaires streamed into the room. Elon stood on a stage and spoke into a microphone. "Welcome to the reunion. Thanks to Bezos for hosting us in his guest house. Thanks to chef Puck for acquiring rare treats for dinner. And a very special welcome for our newest member, Sophie." They all applauded. Elon continued, "Now the moment we've all been waiting for. Let's change into something more casual." The billionaires began writhing and convulsing. They made horrific snapping and squishing sounds. Clothing ripped and skin split to reveal scales beneath. What the hell? Finger skin fell away revealing claws. Mark's mouth opened unnaturally wide revealing rows of sharp teeth. Oprah's white pantsuit fell away as she spread her wings wide. The remains of Elon's tuxedo hung on his tail. Dragons? The George Lucas dragon roared, "I feel SO much better. Human skin is so uncomfortable. Hey, Sophie, why haven't you changed?" All gleaming eyes were on Sophie. They were all about her size, but no less intimidating. "I....uh....am a bit modest. I don't want to ruin my dress." The dragons began to crawl towards her. Sophie eyed the glass double doors that lead to the back patio. She slipped of her heels and bolted for the door. The dragons looked powerful, but were not fast. "She's a human!" roared the Zuckerberg dragon. The dragons hissed and roared and then chased her outside. The patio was lit by torches. Sophie did not look back as she ran as fast as she could. Manatees swam lazily in the swimming pool below. She jumped over the rail and into the hedges. "Find her!" roared the Elon Musk dragon. "She knows our secret!" Sophie's dress was in tatters. The dragons flew overhead. "There she is, " hissed the Melinda Gates dragon. They were on her in moments. There was no where to run. She was helpless. "Wait! Don't kill me. I'll....I'll... give you the AI tech, please!" The Gates and Musk dragons hissed in delight. Bill spoke up, "yes, this will bring much treasure" The Oprah dragon protested, "No, you have enough treasure. She will expose us!" The dragons growled at each other and separated into two groups. The Zuckerberg dragon said, "We want that AI tech! She can...." He was interrupted as the Oprah dragon spit a torrent of flames in his face. The scene erupted as dragon fought dragon. Pillars of flame lit the night as tooth collided with claw. Sophie ran for the tree line and didn't look back.
	[WP] You, the owner of an outrageously successful tech startup, are invited to an exclusive club/society for the world's wealthiest people. You realize that they are all actually dragons, and they assume you are one too.	"It was clever of you to use the Chinese zodiac, we haven't had an earth dragon among us in a long time. You earth types have always been at the forefront of new technologies and we have great expectations for you." Looking around I was finally beginning to understand what, until now, I had not been able to place as uncanny. My first thoughts were the conspiracies of lizard people might not have been as far off as I'd previously laughed about. Perhaps I'd been distracted by all those famous faces I'd have given anything just an hour ago to meet. Now I only hope the fire breather cooking at the grill is just a magician and this is all an elaborate joke. I couldn't hear the host speaking right next to me for the torrent of thoughts consuming every ounce of my cognition. How had dragons managed to stay so well hidden for so long and to what ends does this secret group meet for? What other secrets was I about to learn? Why was I invited and how did they not realize I wasn't actually a dragon as well? That's when my stomach fell out as I began to wonder what would happen when they realize the truth. "So now that you've created a paradigm shift in both the service and gig economies what do we have to look forward to youngling?" My focus on what I'd previously perceived as wrinkles I now realized were scales was suddenly drawn to answer his question almost instinctively as it was a staple in interviews. As I began to speak though I realized I'd followed him onto a stage. I couldn't recall how we'd transitioned from an outdoors barbecue to this place. It was simply magnificent and the singular most opulent and decadent place I could imagine. Golden plates and silverware with glassware that sparkled like rare gems. Somehow I found it comforting and relaxing. "Thank you for the introduction Aiden. As you may already know I recently started a new development arm of my company focused on revolutionizing interactive entertainment." My mouth was on autopilot as I scanned the room. The feeling was creeping back that something wasn't right. Even now that I knew what to look for it was as though I was once again seeing only part of a bigger picture. That's when I noticed it like a mirage those were heat waves emanating throughout the room. How hot was it in here? "Let's hear if for the newest dragon everyone!" Aiden exclaimed snapping me out of my thoughts as he sat me down at a reserved table next to an actress I'd had more than a passing fantasy about in the past and by some miracle I managed to act relatively normal and introduce myself. The waiters brought in small personally engraved platters for each guest. I noticed written on her platter was a different name. "Who is Malinda?" only to realize I'd spoken aloud. "Malinda is my true name, and it's very rude to spy like that you know. Now it's only fair you tell me yours." "You know she has a point, and I must admit you've left everyone guessing all night." Aiden gently nudged my arm. "The problem seems to be that nobody knows your parents. I suppose that's because your public story must have some truth to it?" I was in full blown panic mode. If I wasn't sweating before I certainly was now. I needed a name and a backstory and I needed to be convincing. I had to stall for time to think and the only thing my stupid mouth could utter is "How did you even know I am a dragon?" Aiden began making an argument so convincing even I was beginning to believe him. "The clues were there in your public profiles. At first I wasn't sure as a simple birthday is hardly a clue, though I couldn't help but notice your particular choice of colors among various themes in your company, wardrobe, and accessories. This was the first signal that convinced me to dig." He continued for some time as I decided to take queues from his investigation into me to develop my own backstory. "Of course I couldn't be 100% certain until I had you up on that podium there. No human could've gone through that without practically melting. It's so hot in here I can barely stand it and I'm a black dragon for Tiamat sake." That's when my world view was uprooted. The smell of sulfur suddenly flooding my nostrils. Could I indeed be a dragon and not have known it myself? \[Couldn't decide how to proceed from here, so I'll leave it as is unless somebody actually wants more\]	"Nice to meet you, Jason Kchranaut" said a man wearing extravagent clothes and a grin on his smug looking face. Jason naturally knew who this strange man was. He is a multi-millionaire CEO well known for his brand of jewels and gold, Richard Viette. "It's a pleasure to have you Mr. Viette. But may I ask you what you have came into my home for?" Jason asked politely. They were currently in a well stylized mansion, that looked fit for the rich and wealthy. It had spiral staircases running down the second to the first floor, and paintings that looked like they were worth a fortune. "Well Mr. Kchranaut, I came here today because I would like to invite you to a gathering, for rich and wealthy dragons." Viette said as he made himself comfortable on a posh chair. "Hmm? What do you mean by... dragons?" muttered Kchranaut. "Playing dumb are we? Well Jason, I have got to admit that you have quite the amazing hoard." exclaimed Viette. "You have pieces of art, from all the parts of history! You also have technology that even Mrs. Rubert a dragon who has almost everything does not have!" Viette flailed his arms wildly as he had a joyful expression plastered on his face. Jason gazed at Viette with an expression of looking at a crazy person. Viette coughed, and then sat down elegantly with no trace of the joy from before on his face. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Kchranaut, you see um- I get a bit worked up when talking about hoards." "I-I see, well Mr. Viette do enlighten me about this so-called 'dragon gathering'" said Jason with a confused look on his face. "I'll take you up on that offer then, Mr. Kchranaut" said Viette with a calm look on his face. "Well as I would expect you to know already, this club is for dragons. Ever since our planet was destroyed, we were all separated, but now we will gather once more! Gem dragons, fire dragons, dragons of all kinds gather in our club. I guess you could call it a secret society." Viette momentarily paused as if he was thinking deeply, then resumed his speech once more. "Well Mr. Kchranaut may I ask what type of dragon you are?" Jason looked confused for a second then regained his skeptical look. "Well, can you give me proof that you are what you say you are first?" "Very well then" Viette then muttered "I would think that the explanation would be enough- oh well" Suddenly, bony red wings sprouted from Viette's back, and stretched out to reveal his majestic form. "I'm sorry I can't totally show you because if I did this mansion would be in ruins- but this should be enough proof right?" Viette said as he fluttered his bird-like wings. Jason had a look of total shock and horror on his face. He then proceeded to run out of his mansion and into his shiny red sports car. He drove away at the fastest speed possible. Viette looked disappointed. He had a depressed expression, as he sighed. "Another one, huh. I can't believe what Mrs. Rubert intends to do. Well, all in a days work I suppose."
	[WP]You try to explain to your vampire daughter than going vegan isn’t for the undead.	"Hey dad, I'm going out with the girls to the mall. I'll be back before sunrise." "The mall is a difficult place to discretely lure a meal. Return at once should you feel the urge to feed." "Actually, Jess has been talking about this great restaurant she's been wanting to take me to. She says their vegan food is amazing." "Ugh. A vegan is hardly a satisfying feast. Barely quenches the thirst. Trust me. If you must eat out, anything besides a vegan will do." "Dad, I'm not going to eat a vegan, I'm going to eat vegan food. At the restaurant. Like normal people. You know, like fruits and vegetables." "That's nice dear. A little oregano works wonders with the AB+ blood types, if you can manage it." "Yeah, whatever dad." ... "I should have stopped it then. But how could I have foreseen my daughter becoming confused with this vegan nonsense. The humans are our sustenance; we feed on them. But those damned human pets of yours convinced you to eat like one! How repulsive! We are above that." "I will eat what I want, and they aren't my pets they are MY FRIENDS!" "I will not allow my daughter to starve herself. Do you know what it means to starve to death as a vampire? Do you understand how easy you have it now? A millennia ago a vampire had to travel from village to village, country to country, to avoid getting caught and finding a stake in your heart. Or you work hard, claim land, and raise a herd of humans in a village of your own. Now you can have a meal whenever you want. To starve to death is a vampire's greatest shame. To be so weak as to be bested by our prey." "People are not my prey; they're my friends! I can't continue sucking people's blood. I'm not going to treat them like they're some animal to be exploited." "Humans ARE animals! You know what? Make do with pig's blood, if humans have endeared themselves to you to such a ridiculous degree." "No! It doesn't matter what species, taking their blood is wrong! That's half the point of veganism; to stop hurting innocent creatures!" "No human is an innocent creature. Our ancestors all died at their hands. You disgrace their names with fraternal love for the enemy and food of your people." "Argh!" "Don't you leave! I did not give you permission to leave!" "Eek eek e eek!" Translated from bat reads as 'I don't need your permission to eat, and I don't need your permission to go to my room!' ... "How is she nurse?" "She's awakened and recovered. You'll have a chance to speak with her soon." "What a relief!" "We're running some blood tests to see if everthing is okay. We want to check off anemia as a possibility." "Oh? Is that so. I, uh. Hmm." "Uncomfortable around blood? Don't worry, we finished drawing before you arrived." "Yes, of course. Drawing blood makes me a bit faint. I guess she takes after me." "Have you noticed your daughter being more anxious lately, due to a test or nervous fitting in with her classmates?" "I don't think so." "Hmm. Has your daughter been pushing herself lately, or not getting enough fluids?" "Yes. YES! She hasn't been drinking enough lately." "That could be reason for her fainting spell. Has she ever fainted before?" "No. I would like to see her, now." "I should warn you she hasn't regained the color in her face, but she should regain it in a short while." ... "Hello my darling. How are you feeling?" "I'm fine. Everyone is making a huge fuss over nothing." "Have you spoken with the doctor yet?" "No." "..." "...Dad." "Please, I beg of you. End this vegan nonsense." "I'm not in the mood for this conversation." "It pains me to see you like this. For years I have kept you fed, and now look at you." "I said I'm fine! This is nothing to worry about." "But don't you see? This is just the beginning; this is killing you." "Yeah, well I don't want to be the one killing." "..." "..." "It just occured to me that they take your blood here." "Yeah dad. We are in a hospital." "I know, I know. They take blood without harming anyone. They took your blood!" "Okay." "My dear, you can't live on fruits and vegetables, and you can't stomach hurting the food. So don't. You don't have to!" "You want me to draw blood, with a syringe?" "No! I mean, yes, er. What I mean to say is if I can ensure blood is taken without harming a human, would you take it?" "I. I dunno." "Please consider it. I promise you can have all the lettuce on the side that you want, but whether the human lives on or not you NEED blood." "I guess that could work, but can you really get all that blood without hurting anyone?" "My love, if a human can do it, I can too."	"Dad, I've decided I'm gonna go vegan," my daughter said. I still couldn't believe that she didn't understand the problem with that. "Listen, Catherine, you've been a vampire for the past five years, right?" I began to explain. She nodded. "And you know vampire's need to drink blood to survive, right?" "Um, yah," she responded in her usual valley girl stereotype way of talking. She lived in Philadelphia, but she talked like that just to annoy everyone. "Right, and blood is something you can't eat if you're a carnivore." "Makes sense to me," she agreed. "Okay then, so how about I make a bloody steak for you?" I offered. "Sounds good," she answered. I then jammed a bloody wooden stake into her heart because I was ashamed of having to explain that to her yet again.
	[WP]You try to explain to your vampire daughter than going vegan isn’t for the undead.	"Hey dad, I'm going out with the girls to the mall. I'll be back before sunrise." "The mall is a difficult place to discretely lure a meal. Return at once should you feel the urge to feed." "Actually, Jess has been talking about this great restaurant she's been wanting to take me to. She says their vegan food is amazing." "Ugh. A vegan is hardly a satisfying feast. Barely quenches the thirst. Trust me. If you must eat out, anything besides a vegan will do." "Dad, I'm not going to eat a vegan, I'm going to eat vegan food. At the restaurant. Like normal people. You know, like fruits and vegetables." "That's nice dear. A little oregano works wonders with the AB+ blood types, if you can manage it." "Yeah, whatever dad." ... "I should have stopped it then. But how could I have foreseen my daughter becoming confused with this vegan nonsense. The humans are our sustenance; we feed on them. But those damned human pets of yours convinced you to eat like one! How repulsive! We are above that." "I will eat what I want, and they aren't my pets they are MY FRIENDS!" "I will not allow my daughter to starve herself. Do you know what it means to starve to death as a vampire? Do you understand how easy you have it now? A millennia ago a vampire had to travel from village to village, country to country, to avoid getting caught and finding a stake in your heart. Or you work hard, claim land, and raise a herd of humans in a village of your own. Now you can have a meal whenever you want. To starve to death is a vampire's greatest shame. To be so weak as to be bested by our prey." "People are not my prey; they're my friends! I can't continue sucking people's blood. I'm not going to treat them like they're some animal to be exploited." "Humans ARE animals! You know what? Make do with pig's blood, if humans have endeared themselves to you to such a ridiculous degree." "No! It doesn't matter what species, taking their blood is wrong! That's half the point of veganism; to stop hurting innocent creatures!" "No human is an innocent creature. Our ancestors all died at their hands. You disgrace their names with fraternal love for the enemy and food of your people." "Argh!" "Don't you leave! I did not give you permission to leave!" "Eek eek e eek!" Translated from bat reads as 'I don't need your permission to eat, and I don't need your permission to go to my room!' ... "How is she nurse?" "She's awakened and recovered. You'll have a chance to speak with her soon." "What a relief!" "We're running some blood tests to see if everthing is okay. We want to check off anemia as a possibility." "Oh? Is that so. I, uh. Hmm." "Uncomfortable around blood? Don't worry, we finished drawing before you arrived." "Yes, of course. Drawing blood makes me a bit faint. I guess she takes after me." "Have you noticed your daughter being more anxious lately, due to a test or nervous fitting in with her classmates?" "I don't think so." "Hmm. Has your daughter been pushing herself lately, or not getting enough fluids?" "Yes. YES! She hasn't been drinking enough lately." "That could be reason for her fainting spell. Has she ever fainted before?" "No. I would like to see her, now." "I should warn you she hasn't regained the color in her face, but she should regain it in a short while." ... "Hello my darling. How are you feeling?" "I'm fine. Everyone is making a huge fuss over nothing." "Have you spoken with the doctor yet?" "No." "..." "...Dad." "Please, I beg of you. End this vegan nonsense." "I'm not in the mood for this conversation." "It pains me to see you like this. For years I have kept you fed, and now look at you." "I said I'm fine! This is nothing to worry about." "But don't you see? This is just the beginning; this is killing you." "Yeah, well I don't want to be the one killing." "..." "..." "It just occured to me that they take your blood here." "Yeah dad. We are in a hospital." "I know, I know. They take blood without harming anyone. They took your blood!" "Okay." "My dear, you can't live on fruits and vegetables, and you can't stomach hurting the food. So don't. You don't have to!" "You want me to draw blood, with a syringe?" "No! I mean, yes, er. What I mean to say is if I can ensure blood is taken without harming a human, would you take it?" "I. I dunno." "Please consider it. I promise you can have all the lettuce on the side that you want, but whether the human lives on or not you NEED blood." "I guess that could work, but can you really get all that blood without hurting anyone?" "My love, if a human can do it, I can too."	"Because little girls like you need some meat in them!" I yelled. She gawked at me awkwardly. "I- didn't mean it like that." My daughter, Gretchen has been going through some, _Odd_ changes. See, She made a few friends at school, and today I've just met them. They were okay, they didn't disturb me while I watching the Knicks, nor did they ask too many questions. They just have some _VERY_ selective choices. I think they may be brainwashing my daughter. "Well, dad, they've shown me a new way of eating!" "What's wrong with the way I feed you? I feed you well, EVERY DAY!" "I KNOW, DAD! But guess what? there is a line! Would you do the same to Chewy?" I gasped. Chewy was our 6-month-old chihuahua. "How dare you put chewy with them! Chewy does not come from the junkyard EVER!" "Where do you think I found him?" I hesitated. She DID have a point. "Look, the point I want to make is this, YOU are a vampire. YOU can't eat anything that oversteps your boundaries." She whipped around. "Really. Why not." She was so deadpan she looked like my afternoon snack. "Well, because anything that is not meat is disgusting to us. You know this very well." "Yea. I do." She then proceeded to dig inside her pocket for something. She dug inside her back pocket. She pulled a bag of Oreos out and ate one. I watched, puzzled. "Is.. this a trick?" She shook her head no. "They're vegan." "IT WAS A TRICK!" I shrieked. "Guess what, they're delicious! HISSS!" she hissed at me. she HISSED at me. "HISSS!" "HISSS!" "HISSS!" While the hissing and fussing continued, Her friends overheard everything from the other room. "Kayla lets never speak of this again." "We were never here."
	[WP] After a devastating battle with his arch nemesis, crowds cry out for the greatest superhero to get up and keep fighting. Except this time, he doesn’t get up, now nobody, including the villain, knows where to go from here.	The dust was beginning to settle. I tightened my grip on my staff, waiting for the “whoop!” of his jungle cry that preceded most attacks. Every muscle in my body was tense, almost trembling, but I tried to maintain an angry calm. My villainous side-kick, Nero the Jungle Cat, twitched his tail in agitation. I could almost hear all of Rio holding their breath. We stood there for what felt like hours. Nero glanced at me, nose twitching. “What’s happening here, boss? When’s he coming back?” I grunted. George always came back. Usually with a yell and a new animal friend, or with one of his regular buddies, their friendship renewed and strengthened in a wonderful moral arc that made my mouth taste like stomach bile. And yet. And yet. The crowd was beginning to chant, “George! George! George!” in louder and louder voices. Windows began to shake in their panes. People stamped their feet, pounded on the walls of their houses. “GEORGE! GEORGE! GEORGE!” Renewed adrenaline surged. I could almost hear the triumphant swell of brass and strings as the hero rose from the treeline, bathed in the dying sunlight, ready to fight for his people and his jungle. But it never came. I cleared my throat, and slowly began to lower my staff. Was… was this it? Did I succeed at last? I opened my mouth to begin the speech I had prepared years and years ago, declaring my rule and my will upon all on the island. But what came out was a laugh that ripped through my belly and stole all my words as I realized I was about to begin monologuing. And of course that would bring George back. Even my maniacal laughter (and yes, it was maniacal, the chants had died and the people withdrew in fear from their front stoops to watch me from their windows) was a sure-fire sign that the battle was to begin anew. Nero glared at me. Darkness settled around us. I had walked through the vacated streets, searching. There were few candles inside the houses. Mostly I swatted mosquitoes and peered through the darkness. When dawn came, I found myself on top of the vacated City Hall, watching the town go about their day. Most had risen with the sun, and were drinking coffee while getting ready to tend the fields. A daring teenager even waved at me. I rubbed my tired eyes. “Well… What now?” Nero yawned. I fingered my staff, staring at the blue power inside. All of my dreams, all my ideas of how to bring automation and innovation to this city, to the world… “I guess we rule.”	Someone always knows where to go. It comes from unlikely places. But everyone knows where to go. What to do. The question is who has the balls to actually make it happen. The battle had been intense, rockets, laser swords, from proverbial pillar to equally proverbial post. The Villian recovered the fastest attempting to kill the immediate surrounding people. Without power the people fled. They were powerless after all, and without that power there was fear. Cowardice. But as i said, it comes from unlikely places. "TitanFall." Someone said into their smart watch. Someone who didn't know what else to say. The word just filled his being as the villain launched his wild assault. The word caused the Villain swords in hand to spin around...and back away for it was already too late. The hero's power had been shot into the sky and there was no way to know how it would manifest again. If it had manifested so soon this would get very interesting. And sure enough as if from a video game, the familiar shape of a Vanguard Class Titan, armed in the ronin package. The gear of a pilot formed around the man who had spoken the words and a powerful shotgun appeared in his hand...he looks up to the Titan who is now looking down at him. The Link, already established Both knew what had to be done. He would deal with the villain the titan would contain the damage. The battle began anew the sounds of the titanic EV-8 spitting lead all over the place vs the screams of the Villain who realized now the situation had evolved beyond his control. These new powers would take time to figure out. Time he likely was not going to get.
	[WP] A recent scientific breakthrough has led to the halting of the ageing process. However, the world is soon horrified when the first people to reach 150 years old begin screaming.	“It’s another one”, someone in a suit snorts next to me. His sneer doesn’t hide his discomfort, that little pinch around his eyes and mouth. I’m not sure why people react this way. Not him, not the pretty woman hanging on to his arm falsely tittering, her own eyes shiny with fear. Like...it’s normal to react to horrific pained shrieks with empathy right? Surely you don’t HAVE to dismissively shout over someone’s cries of pain. Yet in the restaurant the young couples’ reactions were not rare. Another couple in the corner turns back to their plates. I can see their reflections though. They aren’t really enjoying their food, they are just picking at it, softly stabbing it with their silver utensils. The screaming woman in the shiny dress still hasn’t stopped screaming. Just...curled in the fetal position on the floor, hands all tied into her dark brown locks, pulling and grasping at something we can’t see. But we would one day. I went up to the manager, frantically demanding the police or an ambulance or something to come because it’s one of them again and he already had a few bad reviews from something like this. How comforting. He could at least step away from the lady and the waiter kneeling by her side. The poor kids face was white with fear, and he was already wearing a white suit. He looked more dead than the person that should be dead already. Ha. Gallows humor. I kneel next to her too. It’s the least I can do, right? Am I really better than them, if I don’t do my part? “Hey”, I say. I poke her a bit. Sue me, you have to get their attention somehow. I know from experience. I imagine the shrieking goes down a notch. “Do I have your permission to search you for identification”, I loudly ask. I’m not a creep, you should always ask these things. I take the shaking as a nod of the head. The screaming doesn’t stop. I lean over and grab her matching red purse. The gold chain is kind of wrapped under her. I tug a little more firmly, freeing it. I also get off my knees because that shit hurts. Sighing, I sit with my legs crossed and I delicately put the purse in my lap. Let’s see, cell phone, keys, ah wallet. I open up the synthetic leather folds. Idly I notice it doesn’t match the purse. It’s orange. Must be a personal thing then. Maybe a favorite color? Anyway her name was Susan. And yup, looks like today was her birthday. One last meal. I personally wouldn’t have come here for it, but everyone has their preferences. She certainly got all pretty for it. I can see remnants of her smeared make up on her tear stained, screaming face. Perhaps perversely, I can’t help it. “Happy birthday, Susan”, I mutter. She screams a thank you. I like to imagine it was a thank you. I look up and meet the waiters eyes. He looks back at me, looking green at this point. I can see the question there. Jeez kid I have no idea. You’ve seen the news. This should be normal right now right? Or wait...maybe it shouldn’t be. Sometimes I forget how I should feel about things like this. I’m getting old I think. “Hey Susan”, I ask. “Do you see them?” “Do you want to go home?”. And for a moment. Just a blessed moment, the screaming stops. I see her clutching her heart, tearing and clawing at the fabric. “Yeah I know”, I say softly. I do know. When I was little, a priest told me that everyone has a set time on this planet determined by a god. I’m still not sure about that. But apparently, we do have a limit. Some part of us wants to go somewhere. Like...I don’t know, maybe we are late for a party or something. Or that feeling you get when you have to back home because you can’t remember if you left the stove on, and you didn’t even WANT eggs so it’s like a double pain in the neck. All that trouble for something you didn’t even get to enjoy. Anyway, we were not meant for this. I don’t think. I like to think the thing calling us when our time comes is something cool. Like...maybe that’s why it hurts so much to be stuck in a cage like this. This prison. Your...whatever that makes you, you, all tied up to something for far too long. Free the birds and all that jazz. I think that’s why they scream though. I don’t actually know. I do know that they never stop. 150 and BAM. They scream until they die. But they can’t actually die, you know? Not like that. Doctors have tried sedation, freezing, comas. They never stop screaming. Even when their mouths bleed and their vocal cords fry until they can’t scream anymore. She needs to go wherever she wants. Whatever is making her scream needs to stop hurting her like this. Like it hurts all of us. The restaurant patrons are so much help. Most of them had wandered away in the exchange, softly padding away on the maroon carpet, back to eat under gaudy gold chandeliers, surrounded by red velvet drapes and overpriced food. They can eat with the screaming. They can live with it, they will live it themselves soon enough. You know, I think everyone should enjoy their life. Live it to the fullest. Even when times get tough. And they have for me, trust me. I’d carry on, because this is a world worth living in. It really is. But now? For her anyway. For all of us one day. It stops. It’s kind of funny, but technically she’s already dead. They know that, at least. Everything that was them is gone now. That...spark we could never figure out. It’s been half torn away. This is just...a shell without a purpose. Like a very noisy fleshy hermit crab shell. It still follows commands, it still breathes and stuff, but it’s not actually Susan any more. Most of her has gone...hell I don’t know. I hope it’s not hell though. That’s a slip of the tongue eh? They still do things on their own, the shells. Like I said, half torn away. She’s tearing at her own skin now. She’s bleeding. The manager is being an ass, fluttering on the phone. It’s a red carpet, it won’t stain. She shouldn’t have to do it this way though. Too painful. Anyway, I’m helpful. I try to be. Everyone deserves a present on their birthday. I have a permit. I give her my gun. Happy Birthday, Susan.	She was nearly identical. I remember meeting her on that cool Summer night in that small house-turned concert venue. Her hair was down to her waist and so bright. It darkened over the years, and grayed; just as I did. She remained beautiful for over a century after we met in that Bohemian ballroom of punk rock band posters and $5 tabs. Just minutes ago, on her 150th birthday, she began convulsing. I was worried this was the end. We paid a lot of money for our procedures but we were some of the first for the injections, and people disappearing around this age weren't unheard of. I wrote it off as the pharmaceutical companies saving face after the immortality only prolonged life, but I wasn't going to complain. We lived happily and I was by her side and would follow her out. She opened her mouth and I saw what looked like fingers coming out of her throat. Her screaming subsided when her jaw was dislodged. She was torn from her ear lobes to her collar bones like a flower opening for the sun. The screaming returned but from deeper within her. The hands were clawing at her ribs and I saw her face gasping for air as the cocoon of bone finally gave. She rolled onto the floor, exhausted and filthy. All she was missing was that flowing floral shirt and the clang of silver jewelry. And a shower. But she was the girl I met all those years ago. We rented a carpet cleaner the next day and reminisced until dusk. She remembered everything. We chuckled about how we could never figure out why we were gaining so much weight lately and I patted my belly only to feel it pat back.
	[WP] A recent scientific breakthrough has led to the halting of the ageing process. However, the world is soon horrified when the first people to reach 150 years old begin screaming.	It turns out there's a reason no one ever lived past 130. It was an innate flaw in our systems, claimed the scientists. Just something that shouldn't exist. An automatic kill switch type deal. So they found a way to shut it off by shutting off our sense of timing at any age past 30. Once you turned 30, you got your clearance to go shut aging off and thus remove the trigger for the switch. Oh, we thought we were so brilliant. Unfortunately for us, man's reach and gaze both extend far beyond his caution. On the morning of the 150th year of their life, every human, no matter how healthy or happy, began to scream as if the very air they lived in burnt them. This was the true defect, not in ourselves but in our atmosphere. As the nitrogen and oxygen combined in our bodies, on our skin, it left residue. A protective shield of fire that prevented further harm to the body. It fueled us, converting air into sustenance. We were now effectively immortal and irreversibly insane. Many, upon reaching their 140th birthdays began trying to kill themselves, but this proved futile, as the residue had been protecting them long ago. We never questioned why so few over 100 died from disaster. Their health usually took them out long before. With aging stopped, we'd stopped procreating. The law prohibited it, to prevent overwhelming the earth. Every year we would analyze the deaths from the year prior and we would replace them equally. Those numbers grew fewer and fewer as technology advanced, resulting in an aging population, with a median age of 80. We didn't think 150 would be a hard cut off. Now the year is 2218. No children have been born in decades. Nobody thinks it's a good idea anymore. The world will simply be reduced to a burning rock of those in agony. We played God and smote ourselves. Most of the last generation have elected to continue aging, so even thought they are all in their 40s-60s, they are younger than the rest of us, foolish, eternally youthful, who approach our old age in terror while they approach their deaths with dignity. Oh, we shouldn't have kept the de-aging process but we were vain and trusted in our scientists who promised for so long that they were finding a cure. Now there are so few scientists left who haven't' reached 150. We know now that it is futile. It is precisely 70 years before the last of the immortal generation reach 150 when the ship lands. A heavily protected being exits. Only a few greet him. Most of society has dissolved into chaos. "Oh dear, dear, dear, my children!" His voice is troubled, pained. "Why did you not listen to me? Why did you have to take matters into your own hands!" He talks and we listen. And what we learn, amusingly, stymies our remaining scientists who had long thrown out the concept of Intelligent Design. The idea that one being, however powerful, created our planet and us seemed foolish, even in the face of such an obvious kill switch built into our code. We ask what we can do, if there's any hope. The man regards us with pity, we can see it through his mask. Then he nods. "Pick your strongest, pick your wisest, pick your most determined. Come with me. We have a long journey ahead of us if we want to save your people." ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	She was nearly identical. I remember meeting her on that cool Summer night in that small house-turned concert venue. Her hair was down to her waist and so bright. It darkened over the years, and grayed; just as I did. She remained beautiful for over a century after we met in that Bohemian ballroom of punk rock band posters and $5 tabs. Just minutes ago, on her 150th birthday, she began convulsing. I was worried this was the end. We paid a lot of money for our procedures but we were some of the first for the injections, and people disappearing around this age weren't unheard of. I wrote it off as the pharmaceutical companies saving face after the immortality only prolonged life, but I wasn't going to complain. We lived happily and I was by her side and would follow her out. She opened her mouth and I saw what looked like fingers coming out of her throat. Her screaming subsided when her jaw was dislodged. She was torn from her ear lobes to her collar bones like a flower opening for the sun. The screaming returned but from deeper within her. The hands were clawing at her ribs and I saw her face gasping for air as the cocoon of bone finally gave. She rolled onto the floor, exhausted and filthy. All she was missing was that flowing floral shirt and the clang of silver jewelry. And a shower. But she was the girl I met all those years ago. We rented a carpet cleaner the next day and reminisced until dusk. She remembered everything. We chuckled about how we could never figure out why we were gaining so much weight lately and I patted my belly only to feel it pat back.
	[WP]"Your wish is my command", the genie booms. "You have unlimited funds, however you may not purchase even a grain of rice for yourself, and if you talk of this wish to anyone, it will all disappear". With his last speech complete, the genie vanished back into the lamp. Your stomach rumbled.	I paused there for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop, before I realized that was it. That was the catch. Unlimited money but I couldn't spend it on myself. Kind of a supernatural "Brewster's Millions" bit. And I couldn't talk about it. If those were the only strictures, well...this was honestly kind of anti-climactic. Compared to Paul, I thought to myself, this boy weren't shit. You see, there's something Mr. Genie didn't know about me. I've been playing D&D for a very long time. And at some tables it's considered de rigueur to corrupt any wish a player character makes. I've played under good DMs and I've played under bad ones, I've seen Wishes corrupted well and I've seen them corrupted horribly--especially by Paul--and it's left me with a very particular set of skills. Resource management is first nature to me. I can assess the outcomes of a course of action very, very quickly. And, I'm ashamed to say, I've picked up a bit of notoriety as a rules lawyer. As my stomach rumbled, I smiled and pulled out my mobile phone, and started texting. --- "A fuck-mothering genie?" Jason asked, with a slice of mozzarella bread paused midway to his mouth. I'd had him go all out, a couple stuffed crust pizzas, cheese sticks, wings, some sodas. Wasn't like money was any object. And I hadn't bought shit. He had. I nodded, which seemed to be safe. I took care not to grunt or vocalize. I had the Samsung in my hand, ready to text anything complex. "And you have the power to produce infinite money, only you can't spend it on your own direct benefit. Like the Shadow Man, from The Princess and the Frog. Except you don't need money because that is the power...and you don't owe it to any demons." Doctor Facilier, I texted. "I think they really wasted his potential, as a villain," I said aloud. "Yeah, probably. And what did his friends on the other side need more money for, anyway? Like, was the rent due? Was someone going to evict them? Out of hell? Where would they even go?" "I dunno," I said, pouring another tumbler of Mountain Dew. "Detroit?" "Right, right. And also, you can't talk about this?" My thumbs flew in a whir. Nope, but textings kosher, I responded through the ether. RAW. Ah, 'rules as written'. One of my favorite phrases, right up there with plausible deniability. Give me a loophole, and I will abuse it, maliciously. Try and come at me with the errata if you dare, see if I'm gonna read that crap. Jason seemed to remember his bread, and took a bite as he ruminated over events. "Okay then; so from here on...now what?" It took me a whole lotta texting to explain 'what now'. How much money each member of the game group could spend extra before the IRS got suspicious, per my back of the envelope math. About lotto jackpots, and how many tickets the lads would have to buy to get the initial winnings to set up a BS holding corporation to give everyone else cushy jobs as 'consultants', so we'd all have credible explanations for our bank accounts. About how I still wouldn't be able to buy things directly, but how you could rent and lease quite a lot of things; and when it came to necessities like food and clothes, well, the boys could always shop on my behalf. About how much time we'd all have to game once we had the fine details worked out. I didn't have all the minutia in order yet, but I had enough of a rough outline to set things in motion. Like I said, I've taught myself to work this stuff out very quickly. I couldn't help but feel as though I could sense a distant air of resentment, as though I'd just derailed someone's campaign. But unfortunately for Mr. Genie, I was something he'd just not anticipated. He'd never dealt with a power gamer before.	Two wishes left. Well, if I wasn’t able to buy food for myself... hmm. There’s a solution. I rubbed the lamp once again. Out came the genie, awaiting my second wish. “I wish for a never-ending, never-spoiling, always-edible, tasty meal.” “Your wish is my command.” Before me appeared a very humble meal... a ham and cheese sandwich. I excepted something more... grandiose. “...What’s the catch?” “This meal shall be the only kind of meal you can eat for as long as you live. While it may sustain you and satisfy your health, you cannot change what you eat... so if you do, you will fall under incurable ills.”
	[WP] You have the ability to mentally hear the honest answer to any question by looking at a person and thinking the question. It was all fun and games until you looked in the mirror and asked a question you shouldn’t have.	"Hey there mirror , I know that we havent spoken in a while since I don't need you but hey , someone thought I looked nice today and I want to see what they meant." I examine myself , its true that I dont use mirrors much anymore , I usually just hear what people think and go by that but someone just thought I was 'nice' . What is nice even? Oh , wait , lets ask! "What does nice mean ?" Not what I want , maybe I want more Hmm . If thats what I think , then maybe I should just roll . Kind of greedy though. I finish fixing my clothes and hair. I even did the little finger guns to the mirror like in ads and movies. Maybe I should have stayed quiet. "Who's this handsome devil here?" Truth "What?" Truth , I am truth "What does that mean?" I am Second Son Of Virtue , Truth "This is my own thoughts right? What does that mean? Who is virtue?" No but yes , these are messages . It means that you are a child of Virtue . Virtue is the one who leads all "Who leads all. What does... no. Where is virtue? Where I can't reach "What is so special about Virtue?" He is my father , King of Odds "King? King ... king. Wait ! King?! Like King Sol? The guy in the tower?" Yes , like King Sol "Is Virtue King Sol?" I dont know "Ok , figured as much . Then , what is an Odd?" I am an Odd I need answers , ones that I cant hear with just my ability , ironic. Maybe Fryris can forgive me for missing his big day , I have a tower to climb and a mob boss to see...	I was born with this unique abilities. I could see the answer to any question just by thinking at some one I thought might know. Results vary of course depending on the persons knowledge. Not all answers are clear either, depending on the persons level of self delusion. It varies from person to person, but it has always been a great advantage. I learned long ago though not to ask the wrong questions. Some times the answers you get are not what you want. Some times you don't want to know. Some times the answers can ruin a friendship. Some times many friendships. The questions are hard to stop once you get started. The answers hurt. The truth is pain. The voices just keep coming. They don't stop. I beat my head against a wall till the skin is raw and blood drips down, but the voices don't stop. Some times they go on for hours. Then, eventually, they grow quiet. That's what I get when I ask to many questions. I'm alone now. Here in my hotel room. Im in the bathroom getting cleaned up. The shower hides the tears that have dripped down my face. The mirror is cloudy. I can see myself. I wipe it with my towel and study my face in the foggy reflection. I sit there starring at the man in the mirror. Then I ask a question I shouldn't have. I asked myself “who am I?” And my world span. For a moment I was beyond time and sight and stars. The world was all white and infinite and I could see through to the edge of forever. My body began to convulse, the shock to my mind to great. Then as if snapping all things into clarity I see him, shining like the sun. I am overwhelmed, and I feel filthy before the sight of the figure. I get on my knees and weep. “My child.” Sais the figure. “Rise, now! You are mine and I have set good work before you. Go and seek truth, and know the truth of my words. I then looked at him. I knew truth in that moment. Perfect, clear, unfiltered truth, truth that can set a man free. I awoke, my body sick from convulsion. I knew who I was. I was a seeker of truth.
	[WP] You have the ability to mentally hear the honest answer to any question by looking at a person and thinking the question. It was all fun and games until you looked in the mirror and asked a question you shouldn’t have.	The days have been getting longer lately. Being able to peek into people's minds, to hear the honest answers to questions they didn't know they were being asked, it was a temptation I couldn't resist. At first, I asked silly, childish questions. After a while the questions got more serious. They got darker. So, I started shutting myself away. A little at a time I removed myself from society. The ability to know. The curiosity. It was too much. Occasionally I'd find myself strolling to the park. Just for a little while I'd tell myself. Just enough to scratch the itch. To remind me why I had to keep myself locked away. But, like any addict. I never knew when to stop until it was too late. Until after I gleaned some bit of information from someone that should have been left to rot in the recesses of their mind. I always went one question too far. Then, I would know. I would know some deep, dark secret. With a burden like that. Knowing some horror they visited upon the world. Well, once I knew, I had to do what I could to see that justice was served. The problem though, is that in knowing this information, in arriving at it the way I do, well, no one was taking it seriously. Do you know what that's like? No, don't delude yourself. You don't know. Not truly. I knew where all the bodies were buried. Metaphorically and literally. Sharing that information with people I thought could help, only made them suspicious of me. This isn't a guess. After all, I can just ask what they think of me. It's almost never good. The last time I tried... well, that's what this is about, isn't it? That's the story you want to hear? Don't bother answering. I know what you want to hear, regardless of the words you'd choose to use. Hell, why don't we ask the good folks behind the one way glass here? What do you think? Am I guilty?	I was born with this unique abilities. I could see the answer to any question just by thinking at some one I thought might know. Results vary of course depending on the persons knowledge. Not all answers are clear either, depending on the persons level of self delusion. It varies from person to person, but it has always been a great advantage. I learned long ago though not to ask the wrong questions. Some times the answers you get are not what you want. Some times you don't want to know. Some times the answers can ruin a friendship. Some times many friendships. The questions are hard to stop once you get started. The answers hurt. The truth is pain. The voices just keep coming. They don't stop. I beat my head against a wall till the skin is raw and blood drips down, but the voices don't stop. Some times they go on for hours. Then, eventually, they grow quiet. That's what I get when I ask to many questions. I'm alone now. Here in my hotel room. Im in the bathroom getting cleaned up. The shower hides the tears that have dripped down my face. The mirror is cloudy. I can see myself. I wipe it with my towel and study my face in the foggy reflection. I sit there starring at the man in the mirror. Then I ask a question I shouldn't have. I asked myself “who am I?” And my world span. For a moment I was beyond time and sight and stars. The world was all white and infinite and I could see through to the edge of forever. My body began to convulse, the shock to my mind to great. Then as if snapping all things into clarity I see him, shining like the sun. I am overwhelmed, and I feel filthy before the sight of the figure. I get on my knees and weep. “My child.” Sais the figure. “Rise, now! You are mine and I have set good work before you. Go and seek truth, and know the truth of my words. I then looked at him. I knew truth in that moment. Perfect, clear, unfiltered truth, truth that can set a man free. I awoke, my body sick from convulsion. I knew who I was. I was a seeker of truth.
	[WP] The four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have just found out that they have a younger brother. He’s a pony called Happiness and they all instantly dislike him.	While War, Famine, Pollution and I were hammering out our plans for the apocalypse, Happiness was out frolicking. We hated him from the moment he arrived. He refused to partake in our meetings, instead playing his stupid harp and singing la-de-la-de to the trees. The worst part was that the trees would actually answer him, all the critters coming out and singing right along with him. He was more Disney princess than Horseman. A true disgrace. On our fifth meeting, while War and Pollution were bickering over what clothes we were going to wear when we brought the rapture--War wanted us decked out in battle uniforms while Pollution wanted us wearing these ugly ensambles he’d knitted out of waste--I slipped out for a much needed breather. I was exhausted, sick of the back and forth, and just wanted a place to sit and collect my thoughts. Unfortunately, my feet betrayed me and decided to bring me to the end of a nearby forest, where Happiness had gathered a small army of woodland critters and seemed to be teaching them the Hokey Pokey. I looked on with disgust and mild amusement as they listened to a tee to his commands. It was almost like he had them hypnotized. “Why do they listen to you?” I asked with a yawn. Happiness rolled one of his shoulders in a half-assed shrug. “I guess I just know which buttons to press. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all.” “Huh.” I looked on as Happiness carried on with whatever it was he was doing. At one point though, he gave a command and suddenly all the critters scooped up rocks and pelted a nearby tree with them. It made a ra-ta-ta-ta-ta noise, like a gun firing, and for a moment I didn’t even realize what I was seeing. The critters had transformed. Gone was their cute and fluffy demeanors. They had become killers, their eyes alight with malice and the intent to harm. I held back a gasp as I watched this happen. “So you see, I haven’t entirely been wasting my time out here,” Happiness said, turning to me with a grin that I could now see darkness behind. “I’ve just been doing things my own way. All we need to do now is replace the rocks with guns and we’re good to go.” I nodded at him. “I’ll tell the others.”	The five horsemen sat in an abandoned bar next to a highway motel. It was customary for them to meet up before each end of the world, to have a last drink together before they rode out and ended it all. Four of them - Antichrist, War, Plague, Death - had been surprised when the fifth younger brother Happiness showed up. It changed their dynamic, and they weren't sure what exactly it meant. Plague sipped from his beerglass, and spat out the various chunks of mold that were rapidly fermenting in his glass. He didn't mind the chunks, it came with the job, so to speak. He was worried about the horses outside though - the white, red, black and pale horses were all par for the course. But a sparkling unicorn? It was just too embarrassing, Plague thought quietly to himself. Antichrist took a deep gulp from his beerglass. The beer was real bad. It was, in fact, ALL bad. But it had looked so inviting, like out of a human commercial. And that made Antichrist feel happy. Which was not a common state of mind for him. Except now it was a part of him? It was all so confusing, and usually Antichrist was the one doing the confusing of others. War was trying to drink from his beerglass, and for the moment failing. The beerglass, in order to protect its natural resources (beer), had taken up arms in revolt against War and declared a corner of the table an autonomous region. It was currently giving a rousing speech to a couple of drink coasters about freedom, but the coasters - not being alive - were incapable of being impressed. That's how War currently was feeling. He knew the other horsemen from the previous iterations, and while they didn't participate in the noble violence of combat, they were good at what they did. He eyed Happiness out of the corner of his eye and... just didn't feel impressed. Death's beerglass was, as expected, empty. Death was not a big drinker on account of being anthromorphised as a skeleton. He used to joke that the drink went right through him, which it literally did. But Death wasn't joking today, because he didn't want the other three original horsemen to think he was cozying up to Happiness. He wondered to himself if he had successfully killed off his own humor, and surely that was a pretty Death-thing to do? Well, it was bound to end sooner or later, as things did, Death thought to himself without a trace of irony. Happiness wasn't drinking beer. He was drinking champagne out of a drink-appropriate glass. It bubbled. It danced. It made people happy. It was a good drink for Happiness. If he was being frank with himself, he was just happy to be there. Part of the team. His brothers. "Look, when I give someone cancer or some nasty new bat virus, I don't expect them to be happy about it", Plague stated. "Right!", War continued. "When a human bashes a skull in it's usually because he's afraid or angry or psychotic. And the songs they sing in battle are usually very violent and grim!" Antichrist spoke next; "And I'm all about false worship and abandonment of virtue. The humans sure aren't happy once they realize that." The three turned to look at Death. "What?", Death responded. "They're dead. They're not emotional about it. Although most do smile..." he trailed off. Had he just made another joke? "I hear what you guys are saying", said Happiness. "But I think you're coming at this from the wrong point of view. Healthcare is better than ever. Wars are practically non-existent. And the democratic system works, people are already electing bad people into office because that's who they want to represent them - not much to do there for you, Antichrist! And yeah, people still die, but the average length of a life is going up quickly. I know, guys, you all ride out and turn all that around, make everything worse. But the reality is... the humans have just gotten used to you. It's not much of an 'end of the world', is it?" "But aren't the humans supposed to feel bad about the world ending? Their tiny existences coming to an end, sort of thing?", Antichrist wondered. "That's where I come in," responded Happiness. "Sitcoms and talkshows. Popping pills for no reason at all. Participation in social media. And so much more that the humans have invented - all designed to give short bursts of happiness. But becoming addicted to those short bursts, humans miss out on the opportunity to live meaningful lives! To help others! To enact positive change! To prevent the end of the world! Instead, they'll be a bunch of happiness-filled zombies, and you four will have free reign." I might make you laugh, but I'm not a joke. The four horsemen look at each other and nodded. "Fine," said Plague, "but the unicorn has to go."
	[WP] Some assassins are paid extra to make deaths look accidental. Your job is the opposite. You're hired for those rare instances in which accidental or natural deaths need to appear as if they were murders.	[POEM] Sometimes It’s An Accident — Sometimes it’s an accident, When you fall and bump your head. Sometimes it’s an accident, When people end up dead. — Sometimes it’s an accident, When people slip in the shower. Sometimes it’s an accident, When they choke on a bag of flour. — Sometimes it’s an accident, When we can’t say who or why. Yes, sometimes it’s an accident, But yours won’t be when you die.	The first two clients demanded a refund. I told them in no uncertain terms that wouldn’t be happening. I know the odds are technically in my favor, but I’m still not taking chances. It’s a two-digit percentage that get caught, and I don’t aim to give Fate any help. The refund demands got louder and louder until the third job. Then came blessed silence. My services are offered by referral from past clients only. My name, face, and voice are known to no one. My fee is the same every time: two weeks’ wages on the victim’s salary. My work is astoundingly simple - so simple, in fact, that I probably shouldn’t even be doing it myself. I make accidents look like murder. I do this in a way that ensures that I will never become predictable. In a way that makes it impossible for someone to get a step ahead of me. It’s genius, really. All I do is go to the scene of the accident and use a red thumbtack to affix a blank 1040 into something near the victim’s head and then send an apology card to the family signed by “The Tax Man”. That’s right - I’m a serial killer. All my victims are killed by accident, so there’s no pattern. All my cards are produced by a stenographer-calligrapher in Malaysia, and I don’t even sign them myself. When I’m gone, someone else will receive a box with the remaining cards and a list of referrals. The work will continue. Because in this life, only two things are certain: Death and Taxes.

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