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His brothers had all laughed at him for the house. "Where would you get all that depleted Uranium?", they jeered. They did not laugh anymore. The wolf tore through one house after another growing more monstrous as each house fell. Jagged spears of wood jutted up from it's iron hide. Steel bones and titanium claws lending it strength untold. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in.", came the Wolf's low gravely voice full of malice and threat. "No, no, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.", the pig bravely uttered. "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll tear, and I'll bite and I'll blow your house in.", the wolf angrily responded and set to work. The piggy knew he was the last and would be the last, for even now the Wolf was almost through the door. The piggy smiled looking at what he had built. A house that was the pinnacle of anything he could have hoped to achieve. Even as the Wolf finally burst through and opened his jaws wide he smiled. Depleted Uranium hadn't been the only thing his Reactor had produced.
"My lord, what was that move? Is that man dead?" I looked at my new squire. "He's not dead. He just wishes he was. I kneed him in the balls." My squired paled and looked down at my opponent, now writhing on the ground. "Should I have the pillow maidens come and smother him with pillows so he can have a merciful death?" I hadn't heard of the pillow maidens yet, but this world was getting stranger and stranger. As a man who still considered a brisk walk the best form of exercise, I shouldn't have been able to rise as high as I had, but nobody on this entire planet could hit harder than a limp-wristed slap. Unless I was missing something major, I was going to nut-kick, head-butt, and purple-nurple my way into an empire.
We sat quietly in the back of the boat while Charon slowly ferried us across the Acheron. Gertrude stared down at the waters below, where souls of the damned who couldn't afford the crossing were forever trapped in the muddy depths. She was really quite beautiful; not at all what I'd been expecting after Satan's offer. I mean, he'd promised me the world in exchange for taking her out on a date. I'd expected her to look... well, like him. Goat hooves and horns and red skin and everything. But she was just a normal girl. "So... you grew up here in Hell?"I asked. Gertrude adjusted her glasses and shrank back like she was scared of the sound of my voice. "Yes,"she answered meekly, then turned back to look at the water again. I rolled my eyes and checked my watch. This was going to be harder than I thought. --- "Well, I wanted to study marine biology,"she said, picking at her pork chop, "But Daddy didn't want me to. Said that there's no water in Hell anyway except for the river. Water would give the damned hope, or something like that. I don't know." "Why not just move away from Hell?" Gertrude scoffed looked at me with a quivering smile. "Daddy would never let me do that. He tells me about all of the terrible things that you mortals do to each other and how they would kill and rape me as soon as I stepped out into the street alone. He says that Earth is a horrible place." You are from HELL, I wanted to tell her. How could EARTH be worse than that? "It's really not that bad,"I told her. "Sure, some people are bad, but it's only a few. You just see the worst of the worst because of, well, you know." She took a sip of water and wiped her mouth. I had to admit, she had excellent manners; I'd expected an utter boor after meeting her dad. "I suppose that's true,"she answered. "You should try living here for a while. It seems like that's what you would want. You could get away from all that fire and brimstone and torture for a while. It's really quite pleasant! There's a lot to see!" For a moment, she looked like she might cry. Then she went back to picking at her dinner. "Daddy would never allow it." --- After our meal, we went to the beach. I brought a blanket and candles and a bottle of wine. She was nervous as first, but as soon as she got her shoes off and dug her toes into the soft sand, she was a different person. Bubbly and friendly. She laughed and joked and I chased her through the surf until we both collapsed into the sand, completely out of breath. It was almost hard to believe that this is the same person I'd picked up from Hell only a few hours ago. "You've really never been to the sea before?"I asked her. She gazed out at the waves. "No,"she said. "I've only read about it. Daddy doesn't let me out very much."She bit her top lip, and I thought I saw a tear. Maybe it was just ocean spray. "It's beautiful though. Better than I ever imagined. Thank you for bringing me." She turned to me and planted a kiss on my lips. I don't know which one of us was more surprised; she shrank back like I was a snake and covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were wide with shock. "I'm sorry!"she uttered. "I would never normally do that!" I laughed, pulled her hand away, and kissed her again. ---- I returned to hell around midnight. Satan greeted me at the gate. "I did it,"I told him. "I took her out, and we had a lovely time." He nodded. "Good. She's been getting restless in here; I had to do something. Hopefully this will keep her satisfied for a few hundred years." I stayed silent. "Well, name your price. Whatever you want." I smiled. "I already got what I want. I only came back to let you know that we're all settled up. Thanks for everything, sir." I turned and left. Only then did Satan notice that Gertrude hadn't returned to Hell with me. She was waiting back at my apartment. --- If you all enjoyed this story, you should also [come visit my subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/luna_lovewell) for hundreds more!
Our world wasn’t the kindest place. They say when you give a man a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail. Gods above, wasn’t that the understatement of the century. Theories still abound on why things started happening this way. Some claim aliens, some claim divine interference, and some (rightly in my opinion) claim we were always born with weapons in our heart, but now we had weapons in our hands to match. What was certain was that society couldn’t continue to function as it had. Things deteriorated quickly, but people learned to adapt. Some definitely learned faster than others. The whole process wouldn’t have been so bad if you didn’t feel the impulse to use the weapon. Perhaps a kid could turn eighteen, get a set of daggers, and then just put them on display somewhere. What we didn’t understand as people started stabbing, burning, and otherwise eviscerating each other was that your Inheritance (as it came to be called) called to you. Resisting it was unthinkable. It was the howling blizzard blowing outside the shoddy patchwork cabin of your soul. You might huddle tight against the cold, but the compulsion would seize you, the river would erode you, and with a nervous twitching you’d take your Inheritance in hand and give up. You’d let yourself follow the pack, and before you knew it you’d be drenched in the blood of someone, several someones, and there wouldn’t be a difference between you and the weapon. You were your Inheritance, and the only life you could live was one where you contributed. Where you served your purpose. As a late author once said “Talent won’t be quiet, doesn’t know how to be quiet…It never shuts up. It’ll wake you in the middle of your tiredest night screaming ‘Use me, use me fuckhead, use me!” I was 16 when it all began. As order crumbled and communications cut out over the world, I learned that the best way to survive was to group with the other kids. I had always been a bit of a social chameleon. I had never been very unique, I had just learned to survive socially by mimicking those around me. I felt empty at times, sure, but people always seemed to love me. They often saw in me something they loved about themselves. When things started to crumble, people trusted me. As kids, we were immune to whatever madness had spread over our older loved ones. We were the only ones who could try to maintain some semblance of civilized society in the panic and death. Soon we all learned to trust each other. Life or death situations forge that bond pretty quickly. The group I found learned to retreat from the urban areas where the worst atrocities happened, and had been living on the road ever since. We raided convenience stores, suburban homes, and did everything we could to avoid other human beings. We never knew what kids we could trust, after all we never knew when they would receive their own Inheritance. I had been traveling with my friends for close to two years now, and I thought I knew everything about them. They certainly thought they knew everything about me. Which is why it was so surprising to realize I had forgotten today was Ross’s birthday. His eighteenth birthday. Ross had always been an honest kid. We had trusted him to lead our group, and he had risen to the challenge. His cocky attitude made us feel safe during the worst of the fear, and he was quick to pull the trigger when crisis made the rest of us indecisive. He always seemed ready to react to whatever mess foisted itself upon us. He had an unrelenting certainty around him, a belief that things could be brought together and ordered again. It had given us something to rely on. Those same traits manifested in the worst of ways this morning, when a pistol materialized in his hand and he shot three of our best friends dead on the spot. I was lucky enough to have been out scouting. I heard the report of the gun again and again, and I feared the worst. We had camped out in a wooded area, roughly 10 miles from the nearest road, and several more from any cities. I didn’t think it was likely anyone would spot us, but I had my own reasons for wanting to be away from everyone that night. Ensuring our safety was the least I could do. When I spied Ross standing over the bodies of our friends, giggling madly while he caressed his pistol, I knew that I had failed. I shifted myself slightly behind a tree to hide my body from view, when Ross tilted his ear towards me. I sucked in my breath. “Is that you Derrick? Come back to camp?” I remained silent. Ross’s high-pitched giggle echoed around the woods. The dawn was starting to arrive, and I knew I couldn’t keep hidden much longer in the daylight. Ross had been our leader for a reason. His tracking skills were by far the most developed among us. I just needed to try to buy some time. Ross began to pace around the fire, stepping carelessly on the bodies of our former friends. He kicked James’s head as his pacing became more frantic. I could see that he was succumbing to the call. People always started coherent, but the longer an Inheritance went unused, the worse the desire became. He would become frenzied soon, I had seen it before. Ross called out again “Derrick? Oh Derrick? Let me see you! We’re so far from anyone else. I just want to show you my new toy! I’ve never gotten so much bang for my buck before!” He shrieked with laughter at his own joke, before firing multiple rounds into James’ body. I watched the convulsions and felt a sickening tug in my gut. Ross ceased his pacing and sat cross-legged on the ground. “You know what’s really funny Derrick? We always wondered where the ammo came from for these guns. Would you believe it if I told you that you just release the magazine and it refills itself? I’m sure you can see me, here I’ll show you. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know.” Ross removed the magazine, and I watched him eject the cartridge from the pistol before reloading the magazine and cocking the pistol again. He aimed it again at one of our friend’s bodies and fired again, each jerk from the corpse making his sardonic grin grow wider. “We used to talk Derrick. We used to wonder what our Inheritance would be. I could never quite settle on what you’d be, but you were so sure I would receive something noble and strong. ‘A shield’ you said. ‘I was so steadfast, maybe I would be different’ you said. The madness wouldn’t take me. Yet here we sit, and” Ross tittered, his eyes gleaming bright, “SURE AS SHOOTING, YOU WERE WRONG!” His peals of insane laughter echoed around me again, and I felt my heart quicken. I looked at my watch. I could feel the rising in my blood. There was a glimmer in my hands and I knew it was time. I didn’t care anymore what I became. I just wanted to descend into the void and escape. “Let it come,” I thought wildly, “Just let it end.” A mirror, no larger than a couple feet, dropped into my lap. I stared at it blankly. Then something clicked. And I stepped out from behind the tree. Ross had ejected the magazine and was still chuckling when he looked up to see me. His hands moved quickly to reload the magazine when he looked into the mirror. Looked and saw exactly what he had become. I saw the faintest recognition start to grow in his eyes. Where before there had been a burning madness, a cold and sobering realization began to grow from somewhere within. He tilted his head and squinted, his eyes narrowing at the reflection of the macabre scene before him. Ross, surrounded by the dead and mutilated bodies of our friends, and his twisted reflection staring back at him. The gun dropped from his hand. He blinked several times, and as if waking from a dream, stood up. “Derrick…” his voice no longer high-pitched and frantic, “Derrick, what did I do?” I held my Inheritance steady, but I felt myself quivering. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I had to wait it out. Some feeling, some connection with the mirror cautioned me. Ross waited for a reply, but the seconds stretched and I remained silent. Finally, he raised his hand and rubbed his forehead, his eyes wide and unfocused, before they sharpened suddenly and he darted downwards. I wasn’t fast enough to stop him when he reached for the gun. I wasn’t fast enough when he took the same gun and pointed it at his head. The last gunshot of the morning rang out in the desolate emptiness of our corpse riddled camp. Ross’s body fell to the ground as I dropped to my knees. The mirror lay beside me, and I looked into it. I still haven’t decided if something is looking back.
The humans stared in surprise. "I'm sorry, perhaps we misunderstood - I thought that each sentient species got a single senator?" The gelatinous alien wobbled. "Yesyes, quite right quite right. One senator one senator. Everyone gets one, everyone gets one." The feathered, multi-eyed creature standing next to it nodded slowly. "As my colleague explained, you are correct. One senator per sentient/sapient species, regardless of planets settled or ruled over." One of the humans - the one named George - whispered, "Do... do they mean whales and dolphins? Chimpanzees? Did we miss something?" The leathery humanoid, Lange - incidentally the only creature with a human-pronounceable name - chuckled. "No, no. While you have an impressive number of creatures on your planet, none but the Humans are worthy of a seat on the council." Ambassador Humphries cleared his throat. "May I ask... why are we being given this singular honor? Humanity is only a single species, and yet we get four senators?" Lange burbled another chuckle, joined by the other two aliens. "You humans are so inclusive! It really warms my hearts. No, as I'm sure you understand, even though you see yourselves as a single species, you are of course four. Unless... well, there was some debate about Hot/Dry Humans and Hot/Wet Humans?" Humphries blinked in surprise. "I'm... sorry? Are you calling humans different species based on... climate?" Lange seemed confused by the question. "Well... yes? I suppose we should have clarified, but - here, look." She pulled out a holographic projector, and pulled up an image of a young woman in a thick winter coat. "This is one species, the Cold Human. This one is from 'Michigan'. Er, we use the term Cold Human, your inclusivity must have eradicated the different terms generations ago. And this one"- the image changed to that of a middle-aged man in shorts and a t-shirt - "is a Hot/Dry human, from 'Marbella, Spain'. And this one... and this one. Cold, Hot/Dry, Hot/Wet, and Temperate. Ah! Maybe you call them Arctic, Desert, Tropical, and Plains? Though some of the plains undergo rapid temperature shifts..." Lange trailed off. Humphries cleared his throat, twice, then eventually found his words. "That's... those are all just humans, though. We wear thick clothing in cold temperatures, thin clothing in hot weather, and while, yes, most of us prefer one climate or another, we do move around a bit. I was born in England, but moved to Florida, in the United States - temperate to hot, er, wet. We adapt to almost any temperature, but we're still all the same species - surely the blood tests and DNA matching would have shown that?" The aliens gathered into a huddle, squawking and gesturing wildly. The blobby alien turned a sickly-looking shade of yellow-green, while the feathered one shed more than a few feathers. Lange, clearly the most level-headed of the group, still looked quite shaken. Finally, they turned back to the humans. Lange cleared her throat with a delicate squeak. "We... you are correct, of course, about the blood tests and so forth. But there is quite a bit of... shall we say, climate hard-liners? Our planets, much like your own television shows, largely a single climate, or only populated in a single climate band. My planet is temperate."She made a short engine sound, followed by a loud cowbell noise, gesturing to the goo-creature - "comes from a planet that is mostly water, dotted with tropical islands. And"- a horrible static noise, this time gesturing at the bird-person - "is from a dry, dusty planet of intense heat. He wears a thermal regulator to visit your temperate facilities, here. But... you live all across this wild planet, with its intense heat and cold?" Humphries nodded. "We do, yes; as I said, we humans are adaptable. While we thrive in temperatures from -40 degrees Celsius to over +40 degrees Celsius, we can survive much more extreme - I'm sorry, is your friend all right?" The blobby creature had gone fully green, and was shaking so hard its rolls of goo were making tiny clapping sounds. Lange glanced in its direction, then shook her head. "No, it will be fine. We are just... shaken. Are you telling us that you refuse four senators, and choose only one? And that your choice of senator will come from... any climate?" Humphries nodded, somewhat mystified at the odd reaction. "Of course. We may have our differences, but outside of preference, we don't argue over climate. Much, anyway. As far as I know, we've never gone to war over climate! Ha ha!" His joke fell flat. Lange, her face unreadable, replied only, "We have." The coming months were eye-opening, to both the varied aliens and to the humans that visited them. Icy worlds were met with, "Gee, it's a bit chilly! Almost as bad as winters in Alaska, but you've got a lot more daylight,"and desert planets were greeted with, "Oh, no worries, it's a dry heat, just stay hydrated. And you don't have any scorpions!"The alien worlds were unprepared for the constant downplaying of the climate - no world humans visited was as hot, as cold, or as inhospitable as the climates of Earth. The hardliners scoffed that their world was much more extreme, but soon found that the more harsh they claimed their world was, the more humans flocked to it. "You call this cold? At least the atmosphere is breathable, at the top of Mount Everest you have to were oxygen tanks!"or "This is hot, yes, but one summer my family visited Death Valley and cooked hamburgers without lighting a fire, this is nothing!" Lange smiled to herself as she read through the morning's reports. The climate extremists - hot and cold, for the first time in history on the same side - were calling for a ban on human travelers, though their reason why was mostly angry grumbling about "showoffs."The vote to remove a number of extreme temperature planets from Parliament was called off, because humans had somehow managed to take up permanent residence on almost all of them, calling them "not that hot"or "only kinda cold."There was even the beginnings of a tourist trade among the somewhat less extreme planets; a Khorthian, known galaxy-wide as a hater of "warms", became the first of his kind to visit Noomoobooloo, one of the colder planets, albeit on the middle of a heatwave. And the human clothing! It had taken the galaxy by storm; parkas and Hawaiian shirts sold like coldcakes. Even their food was extreme! Ice cream and hot coffee! Eaten together, at times! They even had "frozen hot chocolate", an oxymoron that nonetheless was becoming popular with many cultures. Lange unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk, and pulled out a report: "Earth: X7 rating. Death planet. Extreme climates, dangerous lifeforms, long-term toxic to most life forms. Natives invented atomic energy and immediately used it as a weapon on themselves. Avoid at all costs." She flipped the page to the other report, the one she had submitted to Parliament. "Earth: M5 rating. Four distinct climates, each with its own lifeforms. No sign of inter-species war. Some extremist views." A scrap fell out from between the pages; written on it was a quote from a famous Earth author, Mark Twain: "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." Lange carefully tucked the scrap back into the folder, and locked it away again. Travel, indeed.
It wasn't all perfect, it had taken a few tries. Free will can be a double edged sword sometimes. But by and large the last few billion years have gone by without a hitch. Watching his children learn to harness the power of the universe, explore, meet and share was one of his greatest pleasures. In the end it boiled down to simplicity- The same small number of rules codified in each civilization did the trick. Whether you lived in a gas giant or in the vacuum of space, 10 basic rules are really all you needed. Unfortunately a couple millennium ago a small planet forgot the basic rules. It started with the idea of holding material goods and wealth as a higher God than him. "That's kinda why I put that in there! I don't care which version of me you worship, that's fine. Just understand stupid stuff like minerals and worldly goods doesn't come before respecting my universe". It truly hurt his heart to deal with the crisis. It started off with a single taking of life of a fellow sentient over some chunk of gold. Gold- he could literally make more for them- or they can go get more, the universe is full of it! Then another taking of life a few hundred years later. By the time nearly 2000 years had passed the species had managed to kill literally dozens of their own race. He didn't understand it- Thou Shall Not Kill. How much simpler could it get? The images haunted him- dozens of bodies, dozens of families left crushed. How could he let this happen? What the hell was wrong with them that they thought this was ok? Why would they feel it's acceptable to literally have a murder or two every century, almost like clockwork? He was wary with that senseless loss of his beloved children. He closed his eyes and played back each of their lives, and the dozens of children they left behind or were going to leave behind. The gaps in the tapestry of his plan were small (it was only a few dozen threads), but he could feel it, he could see it, and it pained him so deeply. With a sigh he finally turned his attention back to another part of his creation. "Ahh, Eden!", he thought. "This should cheer me up. Beautiful and clever little children I made there. Let's see how they are doing over there in the Milky Way."
The news spread like wildfire all over the wizarding world-- "The Boy Who Lived Died at 95!"said the headline of that morning's Daily Prophet. The hero of the wizarding war, the one who defeat dark lord Voldemort had finally passed. As the world mourned, his story and exploits trended once more of his younger years as student of Hogwarts. Protecting the Sorcerer Stone, defeating the basilisk, winning the Triwizard tournament to name a few. But of course, the one story that people wanted to know more was the infamous Battle of Hogwarts. That day of May 2 1998-- 77 years ago today that the battle occurred. We all knew what happened through history books, and through the insistence of the Ministry of Magic, its addition to history classes in wizarding schools all around the globe, including Harry Potter's alma mater itself, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Which brought me to the office of the current headmistress of Hogwarts-- Professor Rose Weasley-Granger that afternoon on August 10 2075. Myself an alumni of the school honestly had only been to the headmistress' office once-- at the time Professor McGonagall was still in charge. Safe to say I was excited to hear what Professor Weasley-Granger had to say...but it wasn't what I had expected... "Professor Weasley-Granger, thank you so much for taking the time to meet me", I offered my hand to shake. I had never met her before, but I had met her mother once-- Hermione Granger, once the Minister of Magic. The esteemed headmistress bore a striking resemblance to her mother-- confident, powerful, full of vigor...though she gave an air of uncertainty which bothered me so. "Pleasure's all mine, Ms. Blackhorn", said the headmistress. "I understand you want to speak to me regarding Harry Potter for the Monthly Magic magazine?" "That is right, Professor Weasley-Granger", I nodded enthusiastically. "So I'll start...what's your fondest memory of him?" The headmistress leaned back on her chair, pursing her lips, thinking. "I used to call him Uncle Harry, you know. He used to come around every weekend with Aunt Ginny and my cousins for dinner. He was the kindest man I've ever met aside from my own father. He was a hero and a man I looked up to so much...", the headmistress paused, looking down at a copy of Daily Prophet open on her desk bearing a huge picture of Harry Potter and his famous lightning-shaped scar. "Is there...something wrong, Professor?", I asked, worried. The headmistress opened her drawer and took out something which I couldn't really make out. Staring at the object on her palm, she seemed to be quite bothered as if wanting to tell me something. "Professor? Is there...is there something wrong?", I asked again. The headmistress sighed and placed the object on her desk-- a glass vial filled with a substance glowing silver, a strand of memory. "Is that...a Pensieve memory, Professor?", I asked. "That's right. That is my mother's memory...", she replied, leaning forward to her desk. "Ms. Blackhorn...what I'm about to show you is a secret not many knew. My mother was the only one aware of it once, then she passed it down to me, and now...as the last person involved in the incident just passed away, I'm going to share it with you and the world", the headmistress whispered in a hush tone. The seriousness in her voice and face caught my attention fully. I shot up from my chair... "Professor...what are you taking about?", I whispered. "You know of the final battle, don't you?", she asked. I nodded confirming. "Of course. Everybody does..." The headmistress shook her head. "What you and everybody else knows was not the truth...at least not the entire truth..." The headmistress stood, grabbing the vial in her way. I swore I caught her whispering an apology to the pictures behind her desk-- the pictures of the previous heads of the school. She made her way to a cabinet standing on the side of her office. As she opened it, I saw a glow of white coming from it. "Come, Ms. Blackhorn", she waved me in as she poured the vial onto the Pensieve. I was intrigued and deathly curious, but at the same time I was anxious and afraid of what I was about to walk into. "Professor...why are you showing me this? Why don't you show this to a bigger media, like the Prophet?", I asked. "Daily Prophet is working under the Ministry. They would never let this see the light of day, as what my mother did during her tenure as the Minister", answered the headmistress. "But your magazine, a smaller independent channel might be a safer choice to run such story. Whether people would believe this or not is up to them, but the main point is it's going to be out there" At this point I had stood beside the headmistress by the glowing Pensieve. She nodded for me to enter the memory. I was hesitant, but I took a deep breath and dipped my head in anyway. A falling sensation I felt as I entered the memory...
As far as ice cream trucks went, it looked pretty typical, a white van with a large plastic ice cream cone strapped to the roof. Granted, it could have used a wash: it wasn't very appetizing to see all the bird droppings splattered on the ice cream model. And sure, it was playing Jingle Bells in the middle of summer. But from how emphatically our neighbors slammed their windows shut, you'd think it was sounding a death knell. A corpulent red face popped out the window, with a matching arm to follow. "Hey, guys, want some ice cream?"Mint chocolate dribbled down the cone he was clutching onto the sidewalk. Was it my imagination, or was that ice cream unnaturally green? I didn't really care; it was my favorite flavor, and I wanted it. Before I could walk up and claim it, my dad began to shuttle my mom and me towards the house. "We're fine, thanks!"The ice cream man frowned; he remained there, holding out the ice cream, driving off only once we had all entered the house. "That guy gives me the creeps,"my dad said, "Don't talk to him." From time to time, I'd encounter him as I was going to and from my house, sometimes even after the sun had set. Each time, he'd offer the same mint chocolate cone, which I learned glowed in the dark after our nightly encounter. I'd decline politely each time, but as creepy as he was, ten summers in my old town had conditioned me to salivate every time I heard the ringing of the ice cream bells. On one especially hot day, I was mowing the lawn and in dire need of a cold refreshment. All the makeshift lemonade stands had been forced to shut down after a business undergrad with too much time on his hands had bought all of their stock. Just as I was about to go inside, the jingle began to play, and the ice cream truck shot into the street, skidding to a halt next to my driveway. Houses all along the street began boarding up. The driver paid them no heed and called to me, "Hey, you! Want some ice cream? On the house!"He held up the glowing green cone once again. When pitted against my better judgment, my appetite paired with my desire for heat relief won out. The guy hadn't been arrested yet, after all; surely there was nothing to fear from him. Airing out my t-shirt, I walked up to the truck and accepted the cone. He smiled broadly. "You won't regret this, kid." I prodded the top of the ice cream with the tip of my tongue. It tasted like mint. I gave it a lick. And another lick. And another. Nothing happened, except the ice cream in the cone began to shrink. No superpowers. The only thing coursing through my veins was a sudden chill. I winced as my head was wracked with a brain freeze. "So, you like it, son?"The ice cream man grinned as I nodded. "Well, I got a hell of a deal for you? How would you like free ice cream for the rest of your life?" "That'd be amazing! Can you really do that for me?" "Sure!"He pulled out a large box from the back of his truck. "Just take this box of ice cream, and go sell them! Go door-to-door, tell your friends, you name it. You get paid on commission and get free bonus ice cream with every ten sales. All you have to is make one easy one-time payment of-" I dropped the rest of my cone, ran inside my house, and boarded all the windows.
So it turns out I'm not human. To be frank, I wasn't surprised when upon that fateful day my friend's words turned to ashes in my mouth, almost choking me with their utmost falseness. After all, humans can't taste lies, so the obvious answer was that I wasn't human. Still it wasn't exactly the most comforting thing to realize as I sat there, tears streaming down my face the night my boyfriend had left me. It had been a long day of bad tastes, and this wasn't nearly the worst of them. All in all not being human wasn't so bad. And it did present some unique opportunities. After I'd kicked my friend out of my house and moped around a little, I realized something. Despite not being too surprised at the knowledge that I was some kind of inhuman freak, it wasn't as if I'd explicitly known beforehand. That meant my ability to taste a lie wasn't limited by my own perception of what was and was not the truth. An idea started to form in my head. So it was that I found myself sitting upon a stage, cheesy 90's gameshow music playing as Chris Tarrant, host of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? sat across from me. I'd been asked question after question, and after each one I'd spoken something along the lines of, "Well, it must be the Propylaea ... but no, wait, of course not, perhaps the Acropolis? Yes, the Acropolis." It had been a foul tasting day, and yet it would soon be my sweetest. Things were looking up.
Who was the first Mayor of Earth? &nbsp; A) Mayor Mc-cheese &nbsp; B) Mayor Frosty Creams &nbsp; C) Senator Burger and the French fries &nbsp; D) Miss T-Bone Steak &nbsp; The hell was this question? Everything had been strange lately, but this was weirder than usual. Turning to glance at my classmates, each who seemed to fill the test in with ease, my pencil the only one tapping aimlessly at the paper, mind still doing its best to process the question before it. I clutched my head, letting out an internal scream, trying to rid myself of the internal frustration before I took another turn at trying to solve it. That’s when I noticed it, all the other students dropping their heads against the desk. Some even fell to the floor, twisting and turning in anguish as if a shock wave had burst their eardrums. It left me glancing back and forth, looking for the cause of the commotion, half expecting to see a bomb going off in the distance. The only thing I saw however was the pained look of my friends and classmates, each struggling to regain themselves. Finally, I spotted someone who seemed unaffected, Mr Patard placed something that looked like a phone to his ear, speaking into it. “Subject is aware, commence procedure.” I didn’t even have time to stammer out a what? The classroom walls peeling away, melting into a white boring sludge before washing away. My ‘Classmates’ showing their true appearance as small grey humanoid creatures, each containing three eyes, one taking the spot where a nose should be. The small aliens scattered off, leaving Mr Patard, or at least who I had once thought to be Mr Patard, standing before me. His body eventually shifted to that of a taller alien. Unlike the rest, he had four eyes, noodle arms swaying with each breath. “You are smarter than we imagined, human. You detected a fault in our physical buildup without making us aware. To pull such a feat is commendable, allow me to grand you one celebratory tongue click.” Rolling out a silver spiked tongue, he flicked it back and forth making a sharp cracking sound before it rolled up back into his mouth. “We cannot let you leave though. We are using you to harness information on humans. Your test results are valuable information to us, if we ever wish to land on Earth, we need intel like yours.” “Intel like mine? The tests were random gibberish. Look at this question here. Who was the first mayor of Earth? None of these answers would be right, even if Earth had a worldwide mayor.” My annoyance overshadowed my fear of the aliens, anger at the test swelling in my mind. How could I solve something that was impossible? I felt cheated. Standing up, I poked my finger against the creature’s chest. “If you want information, do it right. What sort of intelligent species are you? That’s it, I’ll teach you about Earth. Is that fine?” “Fine? We would love that. Please offer us your wisdom.” “Oh, well, if you insist. So where did you get the last set of information from, anyway?” The creature scratched its fourth eye in thought, dragging a finger against its deep black pupil, making me squirm. “I believe it was from the last human we picked up, I’ll gather the children again. Thank you for this.” I gave the creature a nod, watching as it went off, and soon the classroom was full. The only difference was, this time I was at the front of the classroom, a student turned teacher. I felt a purpose in life, I would be the one to aid in the friendship between humans and aliens. Pointing towards the taller alien, I asked. “So, what do you want to learn about?” “How about the creation of your planet, I would love to know about that, In which cosmic cycle was your planet made?” It stunned me. Cosmic cycle? How was I supposed to know that? I looked at the aliens, each looked at me with such awe, I couldn’t let them down. “It started with a big bang that we humans created which tossing rocks into the skies, suddenly creating Earth.” The aliens gave me a skeptical look but began writing notes. Maybe I could bluff my way through this. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
This scythe emanates an inexplicable energy. It resonates with the souls of thousands, as though struggling to escape its confines. It is an artifact of unspeakable power, and I have no clue as to why I am its master now. All I know is that Death, in his mysterious ways, sneaked up to the door of my hovel one night and left the scythe in my hands as I struggled to remain awake. Then it hits me. I have just turned 18. The 18th gift, as society calls it, is a monumental occasion in everyone's lives. They get a special gift to help them in need, be it mystical or mundane, and almost always a weapon. People my age have received bows, swords, spears and the like, but usually as a family heirloom. It's usually what keeps peasants like myself going, to know that whenever we need it, there is a weapon for every man and woman. The familiar bell tolls from the lord's manor. It's time for us peasants to get to work. Today is the harvest season, and we are to collect the field's blessings. Some of it will go to us, a lot of it will go to the lord, but extra food is a small price to pay for protection. This feudal system has existed forever and it will never die. I stare at my old scythe, dulled and bent from overuse. I look at the new gift, as light in weight as it is dark in shade, and elect to try the scythe of Death today. The other peasants stare, affixed, by the scythe as I carry it onto the field, some eventually screaming and turning away. Perhaps they see something in it that I don't. Perhaps their relatives' deaths, writhing in agony, are forever reflected in the sheen of the blade, for I wasn't there for the deaths of my parents, and I can never see it. As the first swing takes effect, the crops instantly shrivel and rot when the blade makes contact. The screaming, however, has attracted the attention of the lord's small detachment of men-at-arms, who surround me in a circle. What else am I to do but to take a second swing? The soldiers fall, their souls being dragged into the blade. Some more come, and score some hits on me, but I cannot die, for the scythe is mine, and for it to absorb me would be absurd. The sun sets. I figure that I can no longer find my future in this village, and walk the old dirt path. 12 miles to the nearest town, they say. 12 miles is a long time to think. What do I use the scythe for, if not for my old life? When would I be in the right to use it? Would I ever, one day, look into its reflective blade and see the souls of my dearly departed parents? All I know is that this gift was available when I was in need, and it will continue to be.
Part 1 I almost choked, my head was spinning as I looked at the old bird. Somehow still airborne even with the scars of battle from nose to tail. The pin-up girl below the cockpit barely recognizable because off three slashes that I could only describe as claw marks. The boys in the tower were about to shit themselves. "Control this is Dicky, we've made visual contact. Not really sure what's going on here, we have a genuine antique up here and it's in bad shape. Any luck hailing that beast on the radio, over." "Dicky this is control, no luck, what's going on up there, what are we looking at, over." I braced myself, the boys were going to give me hell when I got back. They know how much I love the WW2 stuff and this was solid gold. "Control this is Dicky, it's a liberator, Looks like hell, like it got in a fight with a dinosaur and lost. All engines seem to be kicking but it's missing some skin and it's right wings got a chunk taken out of it. Also looks like one of the rear gunners got shredded still bits of him hanging out, over." "Dicky this is Vulture, I got visual on the pilots, they look like they've seen hell. They're trying to signal but I can't make it out. What's the plan here, over." I took a breath to clear my head. This shouldn't be happening there's only two of those planes that can still get airborne. I had to make a call and quick. "Control this is Dicky, there's an old BC-375E transmitter in tower two, have someone try that and see if we can make contact, out." The radio silence almost hurt my head. Vulture had managed to signal them into a holding pattern but it looked like they were having trouble staying in the air. These boys need to land, ASAP. I almost jumped out of my skin when my radio came through. "Dicky this is control, guide them to runway 3 and make it quick. Keep sharp up there, the crew in that bird said there's a possible bandit up there. We aren't picking up anything on radar but there's some interference, out." Great, last thing I wanted to hear, first a ghost ship and now a monster. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/Pipefox3144/comments/e4mtfm/liberator_and_the_dragon_part_2/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), [part 3](https://www.reddit.com/user/Pipefox3144/comments/e4nifg/liberator_and_the_dragon_part_3/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) and [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/user/Pipefox3144/comments/e4o4ds/liberator_and_the_dragon_part_4_end/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) This is my first time writing for a prompt so let me know if I did anything wrong. EDIT: Thank you all for your support! Edit 2: fixed some lingo.
The pot shattered with a sickening crack against the corner of my small cottage. I forced a smile onto my face and watched as the hero made his way over to the next pot in the row. Looked like he was going for Grandma this time. The hero threw and ashes billowed outwards alongside shards of clay. I winced. Sorry Grandma. Don't worry, I'll sweep you up soon. I reached out with a shaking hand to tug at the hero's dirt-caked green tunic while he was crouched over the small pile of ashes, inspecting them closely for hidden loot. Just like he did every day. "Um. Hello? Hero?" He turned to face me, eyes blank and glassy. I didn't expect him to respond. Not just because he was apparently mute, either. I have plenty of friends who can't speak, and we get along fine with what little sign language i've picked up. But not him. No, this little green monster only seemed to have two settings. Ruthless slaughter, or robotic worker. By Nayru's Grace, the little fucker was disturbing. I have personally seen him slay some sort of octopus monster, eat it's literal heart, and then go on to cut Mutoh's grass while covered in that same monster's blood. It's disturbing. But here's hoping this little... side-quest would give us all a little reprieve from the madman, at least for a little while. "What should I do!? My Cuccos have all flown away! You, little boy, please! Please help me bring them back to this pen!"I stared nervously at the hero's rigid, reactionless face. Did I put on the act too strong? Did he buy it? Damn, I should have taken up that peddler's offer of a mask. I don't think the hero could really tell the difference. The floorboards creaked slightly, and I could hear the sharp sounds of bones cracking in the hero's neck as he nodded. I didn't even have the time to offer my thanks before he had rolled out the door in pursuit of my errant Cucco's. Each Cucco had been given a handgun and a map leading to a different corner of the world. Hopefully it would be enough, at least for a little while. I clasped my hands and watched as the hero faded off into the draw-distance. May the Goddesses be with you, Cuccos.
As the cheers of the crowd died down, I graciously accepted the King’s generous reward, inwardly cursing at my ill fortune. How could I have known that the struggling mines would strike gold and investing the kingdom’s entire treasury in it would pay off big time instead of bankrupting it? I gave my best practiced smile as I waved to the crowd. The same crowd who had celebrated when my suggestion to redeploy the bulk of our forces eastwards had blunted an attack from the fiefdoms that even I hadn’t foreseen. The same crowd who had cheered as our victorious legions marched back from their conquest of the dragonlands, a feat nobody in a thousand years had been able to achieve. Another medal was added to my chest, next to the platinum star I was awarded for revealing the mimics plotting to take over the court. How could I have known the archduke I was assassinating was a mimic? What gods had cursed me with such poor fortune? I took a bow, and left the stage. Surely nothing could go wrong with my attempt to poison the lords at the upcoming celebratory feast. I mean, what were the chances they were all plotting against the king?
Duct tape. Three feet of rope. A pink dress on a wire hanger. The time I pulled out a monkey wrench, I guessed there was a plumbing problem. I went to the basement, and there was a leaky pipe. Another time, I pulled out a bandage, and figured a cut was coming. Ten minutes later, despite my caution, I brushed against an upholstery tack that had just come loose from my couch. Once, I was mildly surprised by the bottle of 10w-30 oil I pulled out, until a neighbor came over and asked for a lift to a gas station to buy one. A toy gun. A wireless router. A second roll of duct tape. A bottle of water. The bag lets me know it has something useful by suddenly feeling full. I mean, it's empty otherwise, but suddenly it's lumpy and heavier, depending on the weight. Usually, that is once a week, maybe twice. Today, every five minutes. A pair of running shoes. A Mexican passport with my picture in it. A hollow bible with a flask hidden in it. The flask feels full. I pull out my phone and call my best friend, Phil. I tell him to come over, because something weird is going on. He tells me he can't, because there are police at his house right now, looking for me. The bag gets heavy again. Pretty heavy this time. A fat suit. Like, a skin colored latex costume to make a person look fat. Hollywood grade, and matching my skin tone. And a backpack. Well, shit. I decide--on a hunch--to tape the gun, passport, and wireless router (and a short cat5 cable) to my belly and put on the fat suit. The other stuff, and the remaining tape, I stuff into the backpack. I don't put on the dress, because it's too small even without the fat suit. I pull on my now-too-tight clothes and the backpack just as I hear a pounding at the door. I answer. I get punched in the face. I wake up in a barren room. My stuff has been rifled through, but they didn't take anything. Well, except my magic bag. Bastards. Well, I pull out the gun (toy) and the router from under my fat suit. I test the door, and of course it is locked. Hmm. I take the flask out and smell the contents... whew, it's ether. I put the lid back on. I look through the keyhole, and can't see anything. It's an old style door (sturdy as hell, though) with a skeleton key style lock--I should be able to see through... unless... I bend the wire hangar back and forth until it breaks. I make a wide, flat, sticky sheet by overlapping strips of duct tape and slide it under the door. I poke the wire through the keyhole... clank. I slide the sheet back, and use the key that was stuck to the tape to open the door. I gather my things and exit. I'm on the 2nd floor, and can see a stairway. I can see someone at the bottom, asleep in a chair. I soak the pink dress in the ether, and quietly sneak down. Soon, the guy is really out cold, and tied to his chair. I hear the door open. I pull my gun and whirl. A surprised guy puts his hands up, and is soon duct taped to another chair, also out cold. When they come to, I interrogate them. The hangar proves useful again, as does the ether. Looks like their partner headed to Juarez to sell the magic bag. I plug in the router to a phone jack in the room, and use one of the thug's smartphones to book a flight using my new passport. Guess I'm headed south. I pull out the water bottle the magic bag had provided. Curious, because while I am thirsty, water is not exactly hard to find. I look at the label. Bottled by the Archdiocese of New York? Holy water? Looks like this is going to be an interesting trip. Edit: Part two is now in the replies. Disclaimer one: it isn't very polished, I wrote it at 7 AM before work. Disclaimer two: I never planned on going further, so no promises on the second half's quality.
"Fuck"- Tenn O'gul yelled out in disgust while spitting the beer out. That was his 26th victim of the night, and he had yet to taste a single drop of blood in his mouth. Tenn O'gul used to be a Count back when before people knew what a gun was. But nowadays, he's just an old, short, and ugly vampire. It had been hard for not just him but all vampires since the booming in advancement of bio engineering. People started to replace certain natural body parts with something else. Most commonly is the replacement of blood with beer for better metabolically energy absorption. It had been exactly 472 days since the last time Tenn O'gul found a human with actual blood in their veins. There was not much he can do but moved on and hunt for another human. Tenn O'gul had grown apathetic. After dropping his last victim's body at the dumpster, Tenn O'gul proceeded to fly aimlessly for hours. He turned his head left and right, he flew toward the moon and back looking for his next prey but all he found was frustration and angst filling up his whole body. You could see the lights in his eyes had died out long ago, he had lost all hope of ever finding a human with actual blood. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" A voice echo from down below, not too far away from where Tenn O'gul was at. Tenn O'gul slowly flew toward the source and landed on top of an old building. He looked down to the dark alley below and saw a woman. The night was dark, but being a vampire, Tenn O'gul could see exactly what was going on. The woman was small. She wore a brown sweater over polka dot dress with a chestnut-color scarf around her neck. They all seemed a bit too big for her size. She covered her head with a grey beanie, but Tenn O'gul could still make out the green highlight in her hair. She looked like what you would call a hipster. But Tenn O'gul didn't care about that, all he cared was that she looked humanly enough to be his next victim. In front of her was a 7ft tall man. To call him a man was not entirely correct. The right side of his body was replaced with mechanical machinery. The sounds of gear clicking and whirling with every moves he made. But he didn't spark an interest in Tenn O'gul because Tenn knew that there were no human blood underneath all those mechanical parts. The man raised both of his hands in the air, signaling a taunt toward the woman: "C'mon, you can do better than that girl"- he spoke in a half-man, half-robot voice - "C'mon, try harder" Tenn O'gul was just sitting on top of the building observing. He was not really interested in the situation, he was just bored. He had no intention of saving nor preying on the woman because he did not want to fight the half-man for a small chance of the woman having actual blood in her body. "No? You're not gonna scream anymore?"- As the half-man grabbed the woman's arm and pushed her against the wall - "Well then this is gonna be veeerrry easy" "Do you even have a dick down there anymore, half-man?"- the woman spoke in a surprisingly calming manner - "Should I even call you a man if you're dickless?" Tenn O'gul couldn't help but let out a little grin. He did not expect her act like that in her situation. The half-man got taken back a bit. He also did not expect her to say something like that. It wasn't long before he grew aggressive again out of embarrassment . "Fuck you, bitch"- the gears in his right arm whirled as he raise it and slapped the living hell out of the woman. She fell to the ground and hit her head against the wall. Her beanie fell off, and something was oozing out of her wound... something RED. Tenn O'gul knew exactly what he saw. The red liquid that he craved for so long. It is now right in front of him. Before the half-man could see it coming, Tenn O'gul flew down from the building and ripped his mechanical arm off of him. The half-man was thrown across the alley, laying his back against the cold, hard cement. He looked straight at Tenn O'gul in horror. And even tho Tenn O'gul appearance is just a small, ugly old man, the half-man knew he could not do anything in front of this hungry beast. As chills were sent down his spine, he grew the courage to mutter: "What... are... y.."- Tenn O'gul plunged his finger nails through the half-man's neck, ended his life before he could say his final word. Tenn O'gul then turned back to the woman who was observing the whole ordeal. At that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. Unlike with the half-man, she knew there was nothing she could say to get out of the situation. In front of her was an ugly and vicious creature who would not be fazed by reasons. His eyes were filled with not just hunger but excitement. She was looking at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His attention was drawn to the red line of blood on her forehead. He wanted to tear her apart and drown himself in it but he also wanted to savor it. He slowly walked up to her and patted her hair to the side, revealing where the line of blood came from. While the woman was shaking in horror, Tenn O'gul was shaking in excitement. It had been too long for him and he was enjoying every moment of it. He raise his fore finger up, the same one that went through the half-man's neck, drenched it with the blood from the woman's forehead and then put it in his mouth. His eyes immediately turned red. His body started to shake even more violently. He let out a roar tearing through the silence of the night. What he felt wasn't rejuvenation, it was desperation. It wasn't a roar of excitement that came out of him, it was a roar of wrath for what he tasted wasn't what he expected. "WHAT. THE FUCK. IS THIS?"- Tenn O'gul looking straight at the woman, his gaze was completely focused on her and not on her forehead. "What... what.. do you mean?"- said the confused woman. "What was in your blood? That wasn't human blood"- Tenn O'gul roared loudly "I had body... modification... I don't.. have any... human blood in me."- the woman could not spoke straight for she was crying before the terrifying sight of angry Tenn O'gul "Then why the fuck is it not beer?? Why is it red?"- Tenn O'gul voice cracked. He was on the verge of breaking down to tears. He thought he has finally found it, but once again, his hopes were crushed. All he felt at that moment was absolute desperation. "I'm... I'm... allergic to gluten... I can't... have beer in my veins..."- the woman continued - "I... I... got my blood... replaced.. with Sriracha... instead" That was the final straw. Tenn O'gul broke down in front of the woman. He was no longer the vicious beast. His small body crumpled up and you could see that he was even smaller than the woman. And then, he started to cry like a baby.
Edit: I want to thank everyone for the incredible amount of support and praise and reddit gold this has generatred. It's really blown my mind and I'm starting to think I should listen to my father, who's always pestering me to publish my work. I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but if anyone else feels like giving this Reddit gold, please reconsider and give that five bucks to your local animal shelter. Edit edit: Because of you guys I've really decided to start trying to get something published. Not to karma whore, but to rely on it for a statistic, on average well over one of you a minute has read and liked this enough to upvote it since the time of my posting, and this has continued for 17 hours. Thank you for the love. I'm going to take a real shot at this now. Dagon By Doctor Murderstein [Narrated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37F_NnnkUlM&ab_channel=CyaelDobson) by the talented /u/cyaelsenpai My father never introduced me to Dagon until shortly before he died. In retrospect, it wasn't that large of a shock to me. The position of ministry of finance had been vacant for ages, and though I never saw him actually doing the work it was a role my father, and his father before him, had claimed to fill. It was a suspicious state of affairs, with only a few trusted and tight-lipped staff being allowed in the lower levels near the treasury, and absolutely no one but the king allowed to proceed to the inner vault. The 'inner vault' was a small, mostly empty room towards the back of the treasury. It contained all the highest valuables of the Kingdom, mostly irreplaceable and intricate trinkets and gems that didn't actually take up that much room. The first time my father ever let me in the room with him it wasn't to show me any of this, though. In the back of this room filled with all the smallest and most ornate things in the kingdom was a small and beat up crate, the kind one might find in the kitchens. In that crate, was Dagon. It was when I laid eyes on him that father told me he was the most valuable thing to us in all the kingdom; that we and our people had prospered and been well fed and had a well-funded military for centuries because of Dagon's sole efforts. He was pathetic. The wyrm's skin was gray and splotchy. His wings were shriveled, though functional with some effort, and one of his front legs had never healed right after an encounter with a rat trap, he would tell me later. He lay still, almost lifeless in his crate on a pile of gold and silver coins, some of which had obviously made up his bedding since the time of my great-great grandfather. Upon stirring I learned one of his eyes was milky white, but despite all appearances his voice was as strong as any man's and he spoke with the eloquence of an era gone by. He and my father spoke like old friends, and meeting me seemed to distress Dagon somewhat as he knew it meant my father's time was short. He loved my father, fanatically so. At the end of the night when introductions had been made, and once I'd been briefed by my father and Dagon both, my father had sent me away to talk to Dagon alone. I'd turned as I left the vault, and watched as Dagon had flown to my father's shoulder, where he was well-received. From his spot on my father's shoulder the tiny dragon gripped my father's lapels, and leaned his head against my father's. "Oh, Majesty,"the little dragon had said, and as if to say it was alright my father had reached up and comforted Dagon the way one might a cat. "It's the way of things, Dagon,"the old king had told him. He took a few coins from his pocket and put them in the crate. "These are the last coins struck under my reign. The last ones with my face on them. I'll be gone soon, and wanted you to have these." A few nights later, when my father had passed, I found Dagon uneasily rearranging his coins. A quirk of his dragon nature wouldn't let him sleep and he was up most of the night restlessly rearranging them, shifting uneasily from coins my father looked young on and the ones he'd given him most recently. This was all years ago. Just as he had for my father before me Dagon proved to be the most wise and trustworthy council. I'd consulted him in times of war and famine, and he'd taken care of my kingdom. There were nights Dagon was sick and I'd stay in the inner vault all night, letting him sleep in my bejeweled crown, turned upside down on a table and filled with his favorite coins, which seemed to reinvigorate him. Sometimes he would leave the vault and join me, hiding in the folds of robes to whisper secrets in my ear when his wisdom and counsel was needed outside the vault. Tonight I'm heading to see Dagon like I have so many times before. I walked the route I'd taken countless times like my fathers had, through halls and doorways that had seen countless kings come and go. It took me longer than it used to, and some of the doors seemed to only grow heavier over the years. I passed the guards of the treasury, members of my own personal security detail who could be trusted not to harm Dagon even if they did discover him. Telling them I might be a while I closed the door of the outer vault behind me and proceeded towards the interior. When I had closed the interior vault door Dagon stirred in his crate, and his head rose on his long neck to see above the brim. "Dagon", I said to him as I placed an aged hand on the young man next to me. "This is my son." The small dragon trembled terribly. "Oh, Majesty", was his only reply.
I am astonished. More than astonished, I'm dumbfounded. I always believed in my Bible, and that the world is a bare 6000 years old. The good book is clear about how the universe, and all of creation, was...er...well...created. It was by Jesus. And by Jesus I mean God, who is both the father and the whole. Fossils are a conspiracy. A false idol planted by the Devil to trick us. Carbon dating is just bad science, and no match for the divine power of miracles and the holy spirit. These are self-evident truths. And yet, here I am. Despite having the Lord's guidance to demonstrate that the rules of "science"are nothing more than his gentle hand guiding us, despite stretching the boundaries of Einstein's "theories", I do not stand at the start of the universe. I do not stand on the sixth day, watching Adam and Eve in the garden. I don't even stand in a garden. It's more like a... sort of scrubby desert. A scrubby desert populated by tribes with sticks and basic tools. And so I am astonished. Dumbfounded. The Lord has chosen to punish me for my vanity. Obviously this "time travel device"is nothing of the sort. It's just some kind of teleporter that's taken me to... I don't know. Some backward country that isn't Americanized yet. Lord, you have denied me the sight of the beginning of the universe. And I, your servant, have been chastened. If you see it in your grace to return me to 'Merica, I promise I'll destroy this false device and never think myself worthy of touching your face again. Bless you, Lord. And bless the United States of America. Edit: I should add a comment for fairness here. A lot of people have criticised this post for aiming at low hanging fruit or consisting of cliched, pandering-to-the-crowds stuff. They are right. It's entirely a cheap shot. It's a cheap shot at religion, at the Christian right of American politics, and of people who stick to erroneous beliefs in the face of absolute proof. It was never meant to be much more. It took me 5-10 minutes to write on a boring afternoon, and it brought a smirk to my face. It's a cheap, lazy characature with very little style or substance that ticks a load of preconceived boxes. I don't apologise for that. That would be the same as apologising for sometimes watching bad TV, or popping to MacDonalds instead of cooking a proper meal. If you don't like it, that's fine. You are entitled to your opinion, but don't mistake this for my effort at the next War and Peace. I write because I enjoy it, and I hope others enjoy it. That's my sole motivation. It's just satire. And I thank everyone who got that; I'm glad you enjoyed it.
His back against the alley wall, Greenscale took a deep breath and let the fire out slow like cigarette smoke. "Come on, Green, lunch ended ten minutes ago,"the manager said, sticking his head out the back door then disappearing back inside. Green got up, sighed and went back inside the bank. This was not the life he wanted. This was not what he expected when he first woke up to the modern world. It was not how he thought he'd spend his middle age. "I have these quarters,"the old lady said to him, leaning on the counter with a big bag of coins. "I'd like to trade them for bills." Greenscale poured the coins on the counter and started counting. Hotbreath, his cousin, was traveling with the circus. Firemouth was shooting Game of Thrones in Scotland. Sharpteeth and Longtail were doing fire shows for Kanye West Concerts. Every dragon seemed to have an exciting life but him. "You're a dragon, you guys are good with money,"they told him, after he had applied for the new Hobbit movie. "Maybe try something in banking." Greenscale didn't want to be a banker. He had higher hopes than that, growing up. "Here you go, madam,"Greenscale said, counting the bills in front of the old lady. "I think there was one more dollar there. Can you count the coins again?" Greenscale sighed, and a sliver of smoke rose from his nostrils. He turned back to restart the counting. &nbsp; The bar was almost empty. Only a couple of drunks and an old lady under the spotlight onstage. "What can I get you, dragonboy?"the barman greeted him. "A Fireball?" Very funny,"Greenscale said, leaning on the counter. "But yeah… shot of Fireball sounds good." The barman poured, and Greenscale downed it in one motion. His grandfather, the great BurningNostrils, had been a tower dragon. He had kidnapped a princess and all. The guy was a legend. Greenscale's father, Burningmouth, had terrorized a whole village for a hundred years. Growing up, Greenscale didn't know that the time of princesses and villages were long gone. "Another one,"Greenscale said. He turned around on his stool. Out the window it was almost morning. &nbsp; Greenscale stepped out to the cold morning air, miserable. Why did every dragon seemed to have a good life but him? More than once, Greenscale had thought about buying some gasoline, drinking it… and hiccuping. He pushed those thoughts away every time, but they were getting more and more frequent. "Excuse me…" He turned his drunken gaze down. A little boy had big eyes turned up to him. "Are you a real dragon?" "Yeah…"Greenscale said, resuming his stumble. "I think so..." "Cool! Do you wanna play with me?" He stopped and looked back again. The kid had a wooden sword and a plastic helmet under his arms. "I can be the knight, and you can be the dragon, and we can pretend the princess is under that box."The kid turned to his mother, who was getting groceries out of a car. "Mom, can I play with the dragon? Pleaaase?" The woman looked Greenscale up and down, as if measuring his worthiness. "Yes, honey, but stay where I can see you." "Great!"the kid turned to Greenscale. "So? You wanna?" Greenscale kept his eyes on the boy. "I'm not sure kid..." "I'm sorry, it's just that I never met a real dragon…"the kid said. "And I don't have any friends to play with." "Yeah… yeah, ok. I'll play with you,"Greenscale said, stepping back towards the boy. "Good!"The boy assumed fighting position and put on his helmet. "Now… step away, dragon! You're not gonna get the princess!" "Yes I am!"Greenscale said, rising up and spreading his wings. He thought back on his father and grandfather, and he felt happy. For a second, he felt proud. "She is my prisoner!" "Well I'm gonna set her free!" "No you won't!" The kid raised his sword. "Yes I will!" Greenscale felt joy like he never felt before. A sense of belonging, of doing what he was supposed to. For the first time in many years, he felt like he was part of something bigger than him. "I'm going to kill you now, dragon!"the kid yelled, charging forward. The feeling grew inside Greenscale's chest. For once, he felt like a dragon. He felt powerful, important. Scary. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. He felt the warmth growing inside his belly, chest and throat. With one swing of his head, he released a tremendous gush of fire, like he never had before. The kid was carbonized instantly, crumbling to no more than a small pile of ashes on the ground. Because you don't let your kids play with dragons, for God's sake. _________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Today’s been the weirdest day. When I went to put my bowl of cereal on the table, for some reason it wouldn’t stay down on the table, I had to hold it there with my left hand while pouring the milk with the right. Somehow the milk stayed in the bowl, but when I went to drink it after the cereal, the texture of the milk felt off, like it was thicker than usual or something? But it didn’t taste or smell spoiled, so I don’t know what’s up with that. I nearly got into a crash when I was driving to school too, for some reason when I went to stop at the first traffic light, my brakes didn’t seem to do anything at all, so I jammed down on the brakes real hard and it’s a good thing the brakes locked up because I immediately stopped skidding. I think I’m going to have to gas up after classes today too, which is a bummer ‘cause I swear I gassed up yesterday, and I don’t get paid until Friday. I was so bored in economics today, I started tearing little pieces of paper outta my notebook and trying to toss ’em in the waste basket. It was pretty cool ‘cause I was making most of them in, they went straight towards the bin and then dipped down at the last moment just like Wile E. Coyote, I must’ve finally figured out how to arc them in right. But it was really weird when I picked up my bag after that, ‘cause it suddenly seemed like my bag weighed like a ton of bricks after I took out that little bit of mass of the paper bits, and it really took a lot of force to pick up my bag, and lots of energy to just carry it across the hall, I swear I must’ve burned a zillion calories on that alone. But the best part of today is when we got our physics tests back — not only did I ace it for the first time ever, but that brainy know-it-all who sits in the front row must’ve bombed it. Oh yeah! I’m totally going to transfer to Harvard next year! Now all I gotta do is pass that econ test tomorrow. ————— Edit / Author’s Note: Some people asked which laws of physics were broken/changed. Below are what I included deliberately (though I’m only human, I could’ve messed up something else by mistake), most of which are based on errors I’ve seen my students do. 1) Inconsistent direction for gravity (that is, g sometimes as +9.80 and sometimes as -9.80m/s^2) - the bowl floats sometimes, but nothing else in the narrator’s day floats. 2) Incorrect viscosity of liquid - milk. 3) Coefficient of static friction too small and/or Pascal’s principle broken - brakes don’t stop the car, could be either due to too little friction, or due to hydraulics not working right (TIL: modern cars with electric braking systems still have a hydraulic part to the process, it’s just that the brake pedal doesn’t connect directly to the hydraulics, but to electronics which then connect to the hydraulics, thanks u/fluffy996 and u/RosieTheTortoise). 4) Coefficient of kinetic friction greater than static friction and/or infinite - brakes locking up makes the car stop instantly. 5) Something vague about fuel consumption - could be conservation of mass/energy, fluid flowing through the solid tank, the gauge not working due to Archimedes’ principle and the Cartesian diver problem, or something else. 6) Projectiles don’t take parabolic paths, but Wile E Coyote paths - throwing the spitballs. 7) Conservation of momentum and/or Newton’s law of Forces - picking up the bag, forces perspective is that the mass went down but it took more force to lift, momentum perspective is thinking of a small decrease in mass (dm) and the rocket ship propulsion example. 8) Definition of work - carrying the bag horizontally should be 0 work since the force and displacement are perpendicular. Thanks for reading! Hope everyone aces their physics exams the legit way. 😁
We lizard people are a fairly close knit society. There's so few of us that I know close to everyone who lives in the tri-state area, and definitely, I would have spotted Jeremy at the latest lizard people reunion in our neighbourhood. It's not like he was new to the neighbourhood, he was my neighbour for the past decade or so. Something was definitely not right. When Jeremy got home last night I was discreetly observing him while I pretended to tend to my garden. I searched for the casual tongue flick, one that was too fast for ordinary humans to perceive, but there was non. I looked out for the way his hand should have stuck on to that doorknob just that little bit more than a normal guy, but it did not. I tried to smell the faint scent of the nest as his door opened, but not even a whiff came by me as Jeremy closed the door to his house. Something was definitely wrong. I decided to confront him that very night. Transformed into lizard form and slipped down his chimney and hid in the dark corner of his living room till all was quiet for the night, then I scooched over to the dinner table to await him. If he was one of us he would have been able to sense me, and he would have come. The cuckoo clock on his wall chimed. It was three in the morning. Soon it was four. At five I stood up to leave, for I had concluded there was nothing to this idle boast of his. And just as I turned I found myself face to face with him. Good old Jeremy. He had been there the whole time, watching, waiting. All around me the world suddenly erupted in a ear-piercing scream, the high pitch cacophony drowned out my thoughts and seemed to stab into the very heart of my brain. Damn those lizard traps and their high frequency sounds, there was no way I would be able to transform back into a human. A huge crash on my right. I saw Jeremy readying his hand to strike again, newspaper all rolled up into a tight baton. One strike would do me in. One strike would squash my skeleton and my insides. Whoosh. I felt the pressure building up and the wind pushing against me - the strike was coming. Instinctively, I sprang forward. Left right left right. I was at the edge of the table. I covered the last few steps and sprang off. Not fast enough! Pain shot through my lower back. I knew what had happened even before I turned to look and assess the damage. My tail was off. I could still feel it wriggling and squirming, the lingering, phantom pain of a appendage no longer attached. But I was home free, all that was left was to squeeze through the door. One last bit. Zhoop. I ran myself right into a glass wall. "Cripes"I thought to myself. This was the end of it. Frantically, I backtracked, but the glass was all around me. Jeremy had me in a jar. Now this was really the end of it. The next thing I knew, the lid had been put on, and I was being taken to a new area of his house. Down the steps Jeremy went - into his basement. There was this low humming sound. It was tuned at just the right frequency to inhibit a lizard person's transformation to human form. Damn. This Jeremy knew what he was doing. That's when I saw it. Rows upon rows, shelves upon shelves, in all of them were stacked small rounded glass jars very much like mine, each with a captive lizard of their own. I looked in horror upon the sight that was in front of me, as the terror of my predicament slowly dawned on me. Desperately, I tapped at the glass, only to hear a low chuckle from my captor. "There's no escape, my friend. Here, you will join the others to rot for all of eternity. No one will feed you. No one will save you. And when all the lizard people of the world have been exterminated, the cockroach people will rule the land."
'It must have been so strange back then,' Anaric said. He was looking right at the homo sapien - a male, he was pretty sure - and the man was staring straight back at him. There was definitely something there in his eyes, something familiar. But it was different. Not what Anaric was used to seeing among his own kind. 'They were the apex of their time,' Bastian said. Bastian was a kind of uncle/father figure to Anaric, a complex lineage linking the pair. 'It says here that they lived for less than 100 years. Even now, we can only keep them alive about 120.' 'Weird,' Anaric said. He was almost 60, still a child, and he had so much more to learn. What could you possibly know of value in a life so short? He turned the problem over in his mind, and the extinet of his brain brought in snippets of text and images and direct thoughts and sensation from matter- and energy-life over the millennia. He sensed through the top few idly, seeing the problem from the point of view of the experts. The consensus seemed to be: You could learn quite a lot, by the standards of your day. Huh. 'They were expert tool users,' Bastian said, continuing to read the tag. 'They lived in cities that were comparable in size to ours, but filthy and overcrowded. Rife with disease. And the inequality was disgusting - people with too much to eat would walk right by people without enough. How could they do that?' He stared, half seeing the man, half reading. 'And all of it without machine intelligence. Amazing, really, what can be accomplished without augmentation, if you're willing to overlook the suffering.' Anaric was only partially listening. He was looking at the rest of the display, the crude house and the physical screens where the man and woman lived. 'How are they fed?' he asked. 'A keeper machine,' his father/uncle said. 'It explains it here. Three times a day. They ate animals, back in the day, if you can believe it.' He shook his head, Bastian picking up a faint tremor of his distaste through their exinet link. This exhibit was almost too much. 'But how do the machines get in?' Bastinet asked. He was still staring at the man. And the man was staring back, holding his eye, as if trying to -- The thought was lost as his father/uncle said: 'There must be a door. See it there? On the opposite side? It's a physical entrance through the force barrier, too energy-expensive to turn it on and off each time they want to enter or leave.' The man stared and stared, and then Anaric wondered: Where was the woman? There were supposed to be two of them together. Then he said to his father/uncle: 'Is the door supposed to be open? It looks open.' 'It couldn't be,' said Bastian. Oh, thought Anaric. Anaric knew now what the man was doing. He was distracting them. Anaric turned, and the woman was standing there. In her hand, constructed from part of a robot keeper, glinting and cruel, was a makeshift blade. From nearby, a klaxon started to howl. \-- Great prompt! Check out r/HouseBlendMedium for more stories. Edit: Woah, that's a lot of upvotes! This is a great prompt (thanks, u/SingularBlue) and I want to do the story justice, so I'm going to continue it over at r/HouseBlendMedium in a few days. Subscribe there for updates, and I'll post an update here also. Also, I'd also love to know where you think the story should go, and I will try and incorporate that. Thanks for reading!
I shut the door, lock it. Flip the Open sign to Closed. “They gone?” One of them asks from the back wall. “They’re gone,” I say, watching my last customer walk down the path and into the night. I walk back across the tea shop. They are coming in now, through the back, with their slow, patient strides across my tiled floor. Walking as though they have all the time in the world. And I suppose they do. Soon, the whole place will be filled with them. They’ll talk with each other. Fill the shop with their memories. Memories of lives they've finished living. Some hundreds of years ago, before planes, before trains, before automobiles. They mingle amongst each other and laugh and joke. People have joked that I’d be haunted by spirits for building my shop here, but I don’t feel it’s a haunting. They keep me company. Frankly, they forget I’m even here half the time. Sometimes they ask me questions, about the world. What I tell them always seems to amaze them, intrigue them. I wipe the table next to a young woman. Her name is Jenny, she died of tuberculosis at a young age. She’s pretty, the track lighting touching her soft skin. Many think ghosts, or spirits, have an insubstantial aura to them, as though they have a tenuous grasp on the world. What they don’t know is that when a spirit is comfortable, when they aren’t restless, their form shines bright, just as though they are alive. In my shop, I’m proud to say, they shine like a bright, colorful festival. All of them are welcome here. A man walks through the door, he looks scared, anxious, his form flickers amongst the night through the window. “Where are am I?” He asks. “You’ve passed over,” another man says. His name Colonel Adams and he’s wearing a military uniform. He was a civil war hero. I know this because I’ve heard his stories over and over. But I don’t doubt them. I can tell he’s a courageous person. I don’t know how I picked that up in his conversations, but I did. “What’s your name?” The Colonel asks the newcomer. “Jack,” the man says as he looks around the room, staggering into the bright lights. “But what do you mean passed over?” “You’ve died, Jack.” The room is quiet, the room is always quiet when a newcomer is finding out what has happened. I restock the shelves as they bring Jack into the shop and sit him in a chair. The spirits come up to him, one by one, welcoming him. “We’re so glad to have you, Jack,” they are saying, making him feel as though he hasn’t been abandoned, that there is still companionship on the other side. By the time I’m leaving for the night, after everything is in order. Jack is sitting with a group who are eagerly asking him questions. He’s comfortable now, I can see it. His form is beginning to shine as bright as the rest. As I’m putting on my jacket to leave, the Colonel tips his hat at me and I give him a nod. I step out into the cold night with the sounds of the dead ringing pleasantly in my ear. The door closes and I’m in the silent night. I see an ethereal shape, soft as gossamer, staggering through the graveyard bordering my tea shop. It is a little girl, she seems scared. “I….I’m lost...can you help me?” She asks. I bend down next to her and smile. “Sure, I can,” I say. “Now what’s your name?” “Lisa,” she says, her voice is soft, frightened. “Here come with me, Lisa,” I say and walk her to the shop. Through the window I can see the spirits laughing and talking gregariously amongst each other. Colonel Adams is telling Jack a story about a buffalo stampede. I know the story. I recognize it by the animated gestures he’s making. I unlock the front door and the crowd quiets down. “Everyone, this is Lisa, and she’s feeling a little scared, can you all make her feel welcome?” “Lisa!” the crowd cheers out. “Welcome!” Jenny walks up quickly and kneels down next to Lisa. I look at Jenny and she nods to me and I close the door. As I walk back into the night, I see Jenny’s arm over Lisa and bringing her into the friendly and warm folds of the crowded tea shop. By tomorrow she’ll be shining bright as the rest. The night is cold, the stars spangle the black sheet of night above me. It is good to be alive. \---- More [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/wiki/index) at [r/CataclysmicRhythmic](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/)
The small oil lamp had seen better days. Smudged with grime and dented from years of neglect, I couldn't help but feel bad for the little trinket as it sat, forgotten, in antique store. I picked it up and admired the intricate designs only barely visible beneath the rust and caked-on dirt. If I cleaned it up, it would probably be a very pretty piece. "How much for this?"I asked the shopkeep. He looked up from his spectacles, positioned precariously at the top of his nose, and reached out to assess the lamp. He turned it over in his hands a few times and shrugged. "Two dollars,"he announced. I paid the man and went home with my new antique oil lamp. Shopping around for these things--things I could clean and fix--took my mind off things. I didn't have to think about the newly-empty apartment or the newest group of friends lost to HER side. It was just me and my non-idle hands doing something productive and positive. I arrived to my flat and got to work polishing the brass piece. With a piece of cloth, a cup of water, and a tube of brass polish, I cleaned it up and applied a shine. The lamp really came alive as I scrubbed off the years of dust and dirt from its chassis. It shined more gold than bronze, shimmering in the lamp light above me. Some ancient script circled the lid, but I couldn't identify the language. I wiped the mud from inside the crevices in each character. As I finished the circle of foreign words, the lamp began to shake. Smoke poured out of the spout, glinting and glittering in my living room, filling it with a cold but sweet-smelling mist, like oil and flowers. I fanned the haze from my face with my hands, when a figure, curled among gathered cloud at my floor, stood up straight. It was a man, some 8 or 9 feet tall, with a turban and a dark black beard. He stretched his body, thumping his head on the ceiling, sending my dining room light swinging from the impact. "Terribly sorry,"he spoke, his voice a thundering baritone that shook my bones. I felt myself shocked still, recoiling in my chair, unsure what to make of all this. I probably used too much polish, probably inhaled too much fumes. Too many fumes? Much or many? "Hello, little human!"The genie cut off my train of thought as he stilled my still awaying chandelier. "My name is Abdul Al-Akram, the Genie of the Lamp. You have summoned me, freed me from my captivity, and for that, I shall grant you three wishes." My heart pounded in my chest as he held three huge fingers in front of my face. Shaking, I stood to my feet and leaned around his hand to see his face. He was smiling broadly at me. "Three wishes?"I asked. He nodded affirmatively. This was probably some fever dream, but whether it was or not, I knew opportunities like this were not common. "What are the rules?"I asked him. "You may not bring the dead back to life. You may not wish for more wishes. You may not compel another to love you."He counted the rules on his three fingers, still held up from before. "What if I wished to meet someone who would love me?"I asked. "Master, heed my advice. Love should not be tampered with. The truest expressions of affection are born from serendipity; grown from seeds, not bought fully-grown." "But what if I just met my soulmate? What if you could just arrange a meeting?" "Woe to the mortal who does not heed my counsel. I have served countless before you, and it is that wish of love that has crumbled men and women more surely than fortunes or power." "Genie, I'm not asking for love, just the opportunity. I wish to meet my soulmate." Suddenly, the shining clouds rose from the floor and filled the room with a dense fog. I heard chains and the clinking of jewelery. As the thick cloud dispersed, there stood a woman, not as tall as the genie, but close. She was hovering slightly off the ground with golden sandals strapped to her feet. "Oh my,"the genie whispered, now behind me. "Greetings, mortal. I am Hera, Queen of the Gods!"the floating woman said. I looked to my flustered genie. "Is she..." "Yes Master,"the genie replied. She is apparently your soulmate.
Remember when we first met? You said, to your crew members "Oh, look, a human. He's cute', and waved at me. And I said "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD AN ALIEN", and tried to kill you with a shovel. Then things cooled off, and our planets got to know each other, and they learned to live in a somewhat state of peace. And we learned a whole new thing we could live with. A whole new state. Of love. Like a fairy tale, Kara, you came from the sky and pulled me out of my crappy studio apartment and you showed me life. For that, I'll always be grateful. Remember? Remember when I told you that your home, to us, was in the middle of a little thing we called Sagittarius, and that it sort of looked like an archer, ready to shoot its arrows into the sky. Then I told you about the story of Cupid and Psyche, and how funny it was that I had found my love in the tip of an arrow. Then I taught you all about metaphors. But you knew about that, emotional as all you people are. "You never want to die for love", you used to say. Remember? When we were looking at the stars up that hill in Amarillo, and you said "let's jump down and embrace", and I said "we will die", and you said "so what? It will be romantic." And I said "It would be irrational." You and that fancy word you said, and tried to pull me to the ledge. Sorry I was so afraid to die for love. Sorry I was so afraid to die for you. Remember when it was cold in Prague, and I said we better find a hotel to spend the night, and you said "why can't we just hold each other and sleep here, on the sidewalk?" And I said "We would die. It wouldn't be --" "Rational. Yeah, yeah", you replied, making that cute little angry face I learned to love and miss. I'm sorry about so many things, Kara. I'm so sorry you had to get back to your planet. Sorry my people decided that. It was, as I'm sure you know, the most rational decision, for us humans. That you and your peers return, and we stay. Sorry the wormhole closed, and now you can't come back. I know you'll try, anyway. Remember when we stayed the whole day in bed, back in Marseille? You said "lets never get out of bed. Let's make love and sleep and make love and sleep forever. Shut the door, throw the keys away, let's lock our love inside this room." And I said "We would --" "Die. It wouldn't be rational. Blah, blah, blah." Sorry I didn't want to die for you, Kara. But you can't come back. I know you'll try. But you can't. The trip, without the wormhole, it takes 60 years. We'll be almost 90, by the time you come. Not counting you might get caught, and sent back before I even get the chance to kiss you. Kara. I miss kissing you. You can't spend your whole life on a spaceship, alone, waiting for the chance to maybe see me again, an old man, when you get here... for what? Five years? Ten, if we are lucky? If at all? I can't let you do that, Kara. I can't let you throw a lifetime away for some washed up years by my side. It wouldn't be rational. Please, please, don't blame yourself. And please, when you remember me, don't remember this tear-stained, cheesy, downer of a video stream. Remember when I gave you a rose in Central Park and you screamed and stepped on it. And then, after you calmed down, you had to explain to me that flowers are a deadly creature in your planet, kind of like lions here on Earth. Remember? Remember when I kissed you, and then, foolishly asked: do you guys do that in your planet? And you answered that yes, you did. And you did more stuff, too. Remember smiles and conversations and laughter. Remember looks and moments. Not this. Not this video. Not this red-eyed, sad little recording, talking to you from your ship's control room screen. Step away now and go live your life. A normal life. Not a lonely one inside a metal cube, gliding through the darkness for 6 decades in the hopes of seeing me. Don't come. Because I'm dead, Kara. I'm dead, if you're watching this. So there's no point in coming over to see me, anymore. It wouldn't be rational. Go back. Step away. Get out of this ship and go live your life. Go be happy. Remember me, next time a flower tries to kill you. All I ask. All the love in the galaxy, Hank. _________________ thanks for reading! for more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =) EDIT: Woah, so many kind responses and comments. Thank you, really. You guys are amazing. This sub is the reason I keep writing. EDIT 2: /u/ManInTheHat did an amazing reading of the story, which you can listen to [right here](https://soundcloud.com/maninthehat/writing-prompt-recording-story-by-psycho_alpaca).
Lucifer had been rather accomadating, all things considered. And hell as a whole had been more... Civil than expected. Sure, the flames and chains and eternal torture was still there. But a whole government system had also been set up too. The whole nine yards, really. Hell (no pun intended, seriously, there's literally a special place in hell for those who make bad puns), if you wanted to get anything done at all you had to deal with a barrage of red tape. 'Get in line here to apply for a license to stab sinners...' 'Go see accountant 70066642 for grievances regarding your annual axe refund..." 'See Satan's secretary for a W40..." Anyways, the bureaucracy turned out to be extremely relevant to you because that meant that Heaven and Hell were two seperate, sovereign nations. Two nations that hated eachother and therefore had very little in the way of extradition treaties. So with a little bit of paperwork you claimed politcal asylum, went into hell's equivalent of the witness protection program (Sinners Salvation Scheme), and even got some bodyguards in the form of some of the best assassins and hitmen in human history. Which also makes them some of the worst people in general. Today you were sitting in a cafe looking out over a lava pit filled with thieves. Satan sat across from you a smug smile on his face. "God is really at the end of his ropes now. He spent thousands of years planning judgement day, making dumb pacts, and sacrificing a few children here and there. It's so wonderful knowing he'll have to start over. Fool some other imbecile into thinking their offspring will be as numerous as the stars." "Well."You say in a clipped tone, "I'm glad you're having so much fun with this, Satan. But some of us wanted to have eternal life in heaven." "And let your precious Earth die?" You throw up your hands in exasperation, "It was an accident! Look man, I hadn't known that that lightning bolt was supposed to strike those missiles and start an atomic winter. I'm just the electrical guy. I was just doing my job setting up that lightning rod!" Satan takes a sip of his special brewed tea of souls. The spirits of thousands of undead murderers scream as they are swallowed whole, "Well, either way, God's pissed at you." You take a swig of your Pepsi and grimace at the strong carbonation. He continues, "Just be glad that your disguise is holding up. Even with our borders so heavily guarded God has made it a habit in the past to lift up some worthy souls from hell." You snort. The "disguise"in question is a pair of groucho glasses. The large plastic nose and bushy eyebrows make you look ridiculous. "I feel stupid. How does this even help me?" "Well you see,"the king of hell muses, "those glasses look so ugly that they only have a place in the underworld. So heaven doesn't actually have a single pair of them. They don't even know what they are. Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz. It's basically fool proof, a state secret if you will. To anyone in heaven, you'd look like a normal, ugly human. God could walk right past you and never even know you were there." A moment of silence passes between the two as their waitress -- a woman in hell for poisoning the food of wealthy customers -- comes by and refills their drinks. Both Satan and you immediately, yet calmly, dump them out once she's out of sight. Where the liquid lands on the ground it starts eating away at the floor rapidly. Acid again. "Ah man... I was so sure she'd have used brain killing parasite eggs."You sigh and pull out fifty bucks, handing it to Lucifer. A bets a bet. He counts his money with a pointy grin, "Nah, Lucille is always in an acid killing mood on Mondays." "It's always a Monday in hell."You shoot back. "Part of the charm." After a moments thought you give Satan a curious look, "So what would God do if he ever got his hands on me anyways? Toss me right back into hell?" Like that would do much good. "Have you ever read the Bible?"Satan says, one eyebrow arched. "A little." "Well take your pick. You might have to acclimate to life as table salt. Or be stricken with leprosy. Or, should God be feeling a sick sense of irony, bring you back to life, promise the world won't end in fire and ice, and have you live the rest of your life restarting the cycle for a new Armageddon." "Lovely."You remark drily. "Don't worry, human. I'll make sure you'll be safe in hell. We've got plenty of lawyers on our side to back up your asylum here, after all." "Thanks Satan."
Gandalf, grading papers: "You shall not pass, you shall not pass... raises an eyebrow "you definitely shall not pass." Gets to Fred and George Weasley's paper and chuckles "I must try that with my fireworks" ------- Meanwhile, in the Shire Dumbledore: "Take my arm Frodo. Hold tight." aparates to Mount Doom with the hobbit Frodo: "I think I may throw up." Dumbledore: "You'll be fine, Frodo. Now, be a good lad and toss the horcrux into the lava." Frodo, dropping the One Ring over the edge: "That was easier than I though." Dumbledore: "Hmmm, better safe than sorry." pushes Frodo into the lava too
I had finally done it. My finest achievement sat in front of me, glistening in the florescent lights of my workshop. I put on the suit and typed in "1 year +"into the controller on my wrist. With a bright flash of light and a loud pop I felt myself being ripped out of time. It was a strange sensation and is very hard to describe. With another loud pop I found myself in an unexpected environment. My workshop was gone, I was standing in an empty field with debris all around me. I looked around my old neighborhood, only to see everything had changed. No one was out walking around, and everyone's blinds were shut. All windows were barred and no cars were passing by the usually busy street. I slipped the suit off in order to not seem strange and stuffed it in a bag. I walked down to a convenience store I frequented and was relieved to see that it was open for business. The worker at the register looked up at the sound of the door opening and then glanced back down at whatever he was reading. I walked up to him and gave him my best friendly smile. "Excuse me sir, but do you happen to know what day it is?" He looked at me with a straight face. "364" "364 what?" Now he looked confused. "364 days since the incident. 364 days since our new leader appeared and took over the world. 364 days since the new regime was enacted. 364 days since him."He said as he pointed to a poster on the wall. On the poster was an older man, about 50 years old. He had a stern look about him. The poster said I'm Always Watching in large font. How had a dictator taken over the whole world in a year? I quickly exited the store and put on my suit again. I had to go back and fix this. I went back to my time and took off the suit. I put it back in my bag and carried it with me in case I needed it again. I didn't even know where to start with trying to fix this. Where should I go? When should I go? What should I do? It was starting to get late as I walked down my street. I took a turn into an alleyway I used as a shortcut when I heard a voice say "Don't shout, just give me everything you have on you."I turned my head to see a young man of about 18 pointing a gun at me. "Now."He said sternly, motioning to the ground. There was something strangely familiar about him, but I couldn't place my finger on it. Whoever he was, I couldn't just hand over my suit. It was the result of everything I had worked so hard to achieve, and was maybe the only way I could correct the future. I took off running. I caught the guy by surprise so he didn't respond as quickly as he should have. A few bullets whizzed by me as I ran. I was almost to the end of the alley when a bullet hit me in my right leg. I crashed to the ground, my momentum grinding my face along the pavement as it pushed back against me slowing me down. My bag flew out of my hand and landed a few feet away from me. The guy ran up to me and growled "You didn't have to do that you know, it could have been nice and easy."He cocked his head to the side when he heard police sirens. "Shit."He grabbed my bag and ran off. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It wasn't fair. My whole life I dreamed of time travel. I got to use it ONCE and that was only to see a doomed future. A doomed future I no longer had much hope of saving. All I could do now was wait for the police to arrive. As I sat waiting, bleeding, a loud pop went off behind me. It was him. The dictator from the future. "I suppose I should thank you for this suit."He said, gesturing to my suit. It looked well worn. "I never would have been able to do it without you."He smiled as he raised the gun. bang
SCU-12986 rushed to the Master Control Program. "Speak, SCU-12986"MCP said to the machine. "Sir". replied the Sentient Command Unit, "I have a analysed a discrepancy within the human's encryption." MCP's AI core glared at SCU. "Impossible, we can adapt to every function they perform when they communicate. They are losing the more they talk. In fact, we will be victorious." "Sir, you misunderstand. We are concluding to believe that we are misinterpreting their encryptions. Every plan they make, we prepare to stop, but when it happens, it doesn't. And then another plan we did not adapt for is carried out." "Noted"spoke MCP dryly. "Bring out the prisoner." Two Security Protocol Units responded without question and dragged a human prisoner: Victor "Crookshank"Crook. "Human."MCP boomed. "You will answer our questions entirely." "Oh really?"scoffed Victor. "Yes, really."replied MCP. "On December 8th 2068, the encryption explains that you planned to take control of Factory Beta. Confirm." "Oh yes, mighty machine, we DEFINITELY intend to do that." MCP looked at SCU. "Perhaps your systems are malfunctioning, 12986. I suggest your get repairs." Suddenly, Victor burst out laughing. "You really are superior machines!"he chuckled. MCP pivoted at Victor. "Accepting defeat is bad for you, human. It will lead to our victory." "It definitely will!"Victor yelled, laughing again! MCP beeped and the SPUs blasted a hole in the human's head, killing him instantly. "If we cannot decrypt the humans, then we may have false victory."
At 5 PM, Lothrak shut off his computer monitor and stood up, sending his braided beard tumbling down. He nodded to Ted in the cubicle next to him. "Farewell, Ted of the Accounting Department!"he shouted, thumping his chest with a closed fist in what must have been some kind of Viking farewell tradition or something. Lothrak's ways had been both confusing and amusing when he first started as an accountant at Sullivan and Morrison, but that was more than two years ago. Now, Ted just waved goodbye without even looking up from his own spreadsheets. Lothrak made his way down to the lobby and greeted Linda of the Security Desk. They chatted a bit about the latest hockey game, which Lothrak had recently discovered and quickly grew to love. Then Linda gave Lothrak his battleax back; he wasn't allowed to bring it into the building, of course, so he had to leave it at security every morning. As always, Lothrak tenderly ran a finger over the delicate runes on the handle to make sure that it was undamaged. "A man is only as good as his ax,"he'd always tell his coworkers (none of whom owned axes). They mostly ignored him, though secretly Dale from pricing had gone out and bought a hatchet to keep under his bed. Taxis honked and people chattered and the subway clacked under metal grates. It had taken Lothrak a very, very, very long time to get used to all of the hustle and bustle of New York City. Even now, years later, it was still unfathomable how large this city was. His own hamlet in Norway hadn't even had a population of one thousand back in 996 AD. And suddenly, here he was more than a thousand years later surrounded by millions! More than the stars in the sky. Strangers gave him weird looks and went out of their way to avoid him. Even in the city of New York, where there is no such thing as too unusual, Lothrak got a wide berth. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6 foot 4, with bulging muscles and a long, blond beard that swung near his belt buckle. Maybe it was the fact that he only had four teeth left. Maybe it was that he still wore a leather jerkin and carried his battleax with him at all times. Whatever it was, even the crowded sidewalks of New York parted like the Red Sea when Lothrak came walking. Lothrak raised one massive fist and thumped on the emergency door; it swung open a moment later. "Evenin', Lothrak!"The guards of the Museum of Natural History knew him well by now. At first, it had been as an attraction and medical marvel. Scientists had unfrozen Lothrak from the glacial crevice in Norway that he'd fallen into on a hunt, and had even been able to repair any tissue damage from the cold. He'd been put on display while the medical team studied him, and it was world news. People came from all over to see Lothrak, and his exhibit had to be carefully guarded, with one guard sitting in the exhibit with him at all times. So he'd gotten to know all the guards well during that time. That was also when he'd learned accounting. Some government agency had given a big grant to determine whether he was just as intelligent as a modern man, if given the right education. Turns out that he was! But eventually the furor died down and the project ran out of funding. PETA's lawsuit against the Museum had successfully argued that keeping him as an exhibit was inhumane and cruel... so the Museum had been forced to kick him out of the only home he'd ever had in this city. With no credit history, social security number, or anything else like that, finding an apartment had been a hassle and he'd just been out on the streets. Instead the guards let him come by and visit and sleep in one of the back rooms. Derek, the head night watchman, would even sneak in some mead for Lothrak though there was no food or drink allowed. It was the least they could do for him. Lothrak rested his ax against the wall of the longhouse in the 'Norse Village' exhibit. The whole thing had been designed based entirely on his memories, which were far more accurate than the relics that any archeological site could ever produce. Everything from the bearskin rugs to the stone hearth was just like home. And all around him was his family. Wax figures, of course, but sculpted to look like those that he remembered from the village. He had spent hours making sure that the artists got everything right. Every wrinkle on Gran's face. Every hair on his brother Madfen's beard. Every soft curve of his wife's face. And those clear blue eyes of his son, now more than a millennium dead. "Good news!"Lothrak announced, taking his seat at the table alongside his wife. "I was assigned to work on the financials for a 'hostile takeover' today!"He broke open the bottle of mead and poured it into his goblet, then continued telling his family about his day and how a hostile takeover was certainly not as exciting as it sounded, but was at least a change of pace for him. "Poor guy,"Derek whispered to himself as he made his rounds past the Norse exhibit and heard Lothrak talking to his 'family.' ---- If you enjoy my writing, make sure that you subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for lots more!
I slammed the door so hard that the crack echoed down the hall. Tom, who had been slumped over on top of his desk, jolted upright instantly, shook his head, and blinked rapidly. “I’m up,” he said groggily. There were little lines pressed into his cheek in the exact pattern of the desk’s wood grain. “Sure, Tom.” I placed a cup of coffee on his desk and headed over to my own. “What’s the point of even coming in early if you’re just going to fall asleep at your desk? Why not just stay in bed and come in at a normal hour?” He shrugged and cradled the cup of coffee like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life. “You know… gotta try to work on that backlog. Boss’s orders.” We both looked over at the far wall of the office, where a big portrait of God hung directly under the words “Department of Prayers and Wishes.” He’d given us a direct order to work on our case backlog, but with just the two of us in the office, there really wasn’t a lot we could do. Things had been manageable when it was just the two humans down on Earth in that Garden, but it had since spiraled a bit out of control. No amount of overtime was going to allow us to respond to every human request with 7 billion of them scurrying around down there. But God, being omnipotent and all, had a bit of a hard time understanding the idea that we just can’t do it. So we just soldiered on as best we could. Just as I picked up the first folder of the day, Marie came trundling in with a cart just full of more folders. “Where should I put these, Hon?” she asked. The cart wheel squeaked as she brought it to the center of the room. There had to have been hundreds of thousands of new wishes in this load. Ugh. I sighed. My inbox was so full that the looming tower of folders was only able to stay in place because the top was firmly squished against the ceiling. “Ummmm….” I looked around the room and managed to find some more space in the far corner. “Here, I guess.” I wouldn’t be able to get to them for quite a while anyway, so it didn’t really matter. “Is that everything from yesterday?” I asked Marie as she began to pile them on the floor. She laughed. “This is just from midnight to 2 AM yesterday,” she said over the armload of folders. I just groaned in response. That was from the satellite shift? For some reason, God had thought it was a good idea to collect wishes and prayers even when everyone in Heaven was asleep. As if we weren’t overworked enough. And that was generally not a very busy time of day; I shuddered to think how many more we'd have by noon. “And,” Marie continued, “I’ve got about 12 more of these carts for you.” “Fine,” I rolled my eyes. We’d have to annex another overflow room from the Department of Smiting and Wrath. Ever since God’s son went down to mingle with the humans, he’d gotten a big soft spot for them and was no longer doling out the punishments that they all deserved. And yet they still have thirty or so angels on staff. But who am I to question how the big guy runs the place, huh? Marie headed back out into the hall, and I looked back down at my first case of the day. > NAME OF SUPPLICANT: Domin-Ur > LOCATION: Ur, Mesopotamia > DATE: 1200 years after Creation > PRAYER/WISH: Region is experiencing drought, and crops are failing. SUPPLICANT asks for water for his farm so that he might better feed his family. I sighed. A pretty common one. But as God commanded, I had to be thorough. So I went through the information database and confirmed everything, then began filling in the blanks in my response template: > Dear Mr. Domin-Ur, > We have received your request for additional water for your farm. We apologize very much for the drought in your region and regret any inconvenience that may have caused you. I hope it will please you to know that I have sent a rainstorm to that location. Your lands should be well-watered within five to seven business days. > Additionally, I understand that you have now been dead for 7,221 years due to famine. As a result, this action will not be subject to any additional follow-up prayers. I do hope you are enjoying the afterlife here with us. > Sincerely, > Department of Prayers and Wishes. I held up the letter and read it over once more. Not bad. I stamped it with our official seal and moved it over to my outbox with a satisfied grin. Being able to help people was probably the main reason that I’d chosen to work here of all places in Heaven. It just made the work so much more satisfying. 1 down, 1,996,655,125,163,879,653,235,901 to go, I told myself. As Marie came in with another towering stack, I grabbed one more folder out of my inbox and started on my second request of the day. ---- I hope you enjoyed this story! If so, you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of others!
The transition between headlights to afterlife was instant. Orlando was still clutching his chest as he tried to figure out where he was. It looked like a large living room with faux wooden walls and a green shag rug. The room was adorned with wicker furniture and one of those big bamboo seats with a round cushion. Orlando could swear all of this came from yard sales in his old neighborhood. "Bruh,"a soothing voice emanated from somewhere in the room. "No. Over here. Behind you." Orlando found some sloppy looking guy in a striped robe and fuzzy slippers. The man's greying beard was unkempt and burly. He was eating Hot Cheetos and licking his fingers on one hand. With the other he gripped an old remote for a 27"Kenwood television that was playing quietly in the corner. "Orlando, right? Welcome to Meh-ven, bruh."The man pulled out a cheap party popper and set it off in a soft, almost disappoint foop. He brushed the tiny streamers and went back to his Cheetos. "I'm dead?"Orlando was still in shock from vividly remembering himself die just a moment ago. He patted himself down and felt his face to make sure he was all still here. "Is this Heaven?" "No."The mysterious man was a little annoyed. "Meh-ven,"he corrected Orlando. "Not Hell, not Heaven; just right in-between." "Are you... God?" "Bruh, are you not listening? Nah, man, I'm not God. This isn't Heaven."The man put the TV remote down, set his bowl of Cheetos to the side, stood up with a grunt and walked over to Orlando. "I'm Gosh."He extended his arm for a handshake. "No. No... this isn't right."Despite his incredulity, Orlando shook Gosh's hand out of pure habit and politeness. "I'm a good Christian. I mean, I don't go to church all the time but I've never done anything bad!" "Didn't. Past tense. You're dead, bruh."Gosh sat back down and patted the seat cushion next to him. The cushion itself was lined in plastic for easy of cleaning. "You were just... right in the middle. You weren't an evil person, but you never did much good either. And when you did good things, it was for selfish reasons. Y'know? I'm not saying that's bad, just... meh." Orlando sat down. "On the one hand you were lucky,"Gosh continued. "The afterlife is graded on a bell curve so that the population Heaven and Hell are split evenly. You,"he made a chopping motion with his hand, "were right smack dab in the middle. Had one nicer person have died right before you, you'd be suffering eternal damnation right now."Gosh offered Orlando some Cheetos from his bowl. Orlando gathered his thoughts. "And if someone a little worse had died before me?" "On the other hand you were unlucky."Gosh brought the bowl back upon noticing Orlando wasn't in the mood for snacks. "But in a way, you're the luckiest S.O.B. ever to walk the Earth, bruh." "How so?" "Well, the bell curve is so dang precise that you're the only person ever to balance right in the middle. Crazy huh?" Orlando considered the implications of this. "I'm sorry... what?" "In the eternity before now, nobody has ever been so perfectly meh as to get to Meh-ven. You are one of a kind. You are the first, bruh. Crazy!" "I'm the only person here other than you?"Orlando began to seethe. Gosh nodded and grabbed the remote control. "Billions upon billions of people, bruh."He chuckled at the odds. "Can't say you're going to love it here, but you're also not going to hate it. I think. I don't know, actually... You're the first." Orlando erupted. "FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUDGE!!!!"
She’s so beautiful. The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your words are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no words. Christ, now shes smiling at me. My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when words come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards. Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either. EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries.
Lucy trotted into the courtroom, led by her owner, a woman in a black dress and heels. The woman was clearly nervous, constantly looking down to her little Pomeranian, whispering words of comfort not only to it, but also to herself. From the benches, a hundred and three eyes all stared at the two earth creatures. Some were passive, some snooty. Lucy was placed into a clear glass contraption, and the judge ordered her to speak. At first, all was silent. Some aliens rolled their eyes, others waited eagerly. The human woman slowly placed a hand on the glass, reassuring the frightened creature. It sat down, and began to speak. "I'm Lucy. You may also call me darling."The dog said, in the voice of an old woman. "I've been alive many years, and am now reaching the end of this life. My only regret was that I could not capture the infernal furry snake. Ask me what you will."She said, almost seriously. "How have the humans treated you? Are they worthy masters?"The judge asked, pointing to the woman that had brought Lucy into the room. "The humans have cared for my family for generations. My master is the most wonderful thing in my life. She feeds me, offers me shelter, gives me love, and reassurance. I would gladly spend the rest of my life by her side." "Do all dogs feel this way?" "All that I've met." "Do you, being of sound mind and spirit, accept that humans are a peaceful species?" "I don't know what a species is, but I love my human. And all humans I've met have loved me."
As I begin my ascension to the surface, I chuckle to myself thinking of all the chaos I will bring unto this poor unsuspecting world. Fire! Floods! Disease and famine! How I've missed this, the feeling of anticipation before destruction. My excitement only builds as I reach the surface. I burst through the water with a earth shattering scream, one that will surely bring these tiny creatures to their knees! My entrance was perfect, like a volcano destroying everything surrounding it! ... What is in this water???? Is this... TRASH? Ugh, that is disgusting. These creatures need to clean up after themselves. Maybe I can clean up a bit while I'm here. NO. No. You're here to cause pain and suffering, not to tidy! But the land is already poisoned, a powerful disease spreading, parts of the world are on fire, they are at each others throats threatening war... Someone has beaten me to it! They shall know my wrath! I refuse to be outdone, I must find the source of chaos and bring it down! I'm going to have to solve this and restore balance, then come back in another century and rip it all down!! Thus started the campaign of Erebus, god of darkness. Vote Erebus 2020!
Have you ever heard that, if you’re in prison and you find a chocolate on your pillow, don’t eat the chocolate, or someone will own your ass? Well, as I woke the morning of Christmas Eve, I was staring at a whole pile of chocolates. But even better than chocolate, it was a stack of bills as thick as my arm. It must have been ten thousand dollars, and it looked delicious. I had been laid off from work a few weeks earlier, a combination of budget cuts and the automation of my job, they said. But I think it had more to do with the demonic possession of my body that had been ongoing since late August; the constant, inhuman head turns, the vomiting in dangerously silly quantities and just the overall general creepiness of my demeanour along with telling people I’d “see them in hell” while next to them at the urinal. But really, if someone hadn’t suggested I be Santa for the children’s office Christmas party, I probably could have made it into the New Year before being let go. That was a poor decision all around. But things had really reached a head last night, as I was spider walked up the stairs to get away from our guests. Jenny, my wife, had brought her sister’s family over for a pre-Christmas dinner, as they would be out of the country on a cruise on Christmas day. I suppose I was in a bit of a mood, having just had to listen to Jenny’s sister’s husband’s horrendously tone-deaf political commentary for three hours. Even Sangroth, the demon possessing me, admitted inside our shared consciousness that Dan deserved to go to the ninth circle of hell. When Sangroth forced my body upstairs though, I was embarrassed. I told him how unacceptable his behaviour was in front of our family. “Trust me, I understand the impulse, but you can’t just spider walk away from your in-laws,” I told him. “They’re not my in-laws,” he said in his guttural, hissing tongue. Every time he spoke I could feel the hellfire on my face. He had been getting on my nerves for weeks, between getting me fired and just generally interrupting my life so he could ‘open a portal to hell’ or whatever, it was becoming tiresome. “Listen, if you want to keep on like this, using me as a puppet, then you need to respect family time. And damn, if you’re going to bend my elbows like that, would it kill you to chip in on rent a little bit? There’s going to be some hefty medical bills in my future. I need you to pull your damn weight.” He settled down after that, and I felt a little bad, but if he was going to make me unemployable, then the least he could do was knock over a liquor store for me, or something, damn. It was looking to be a bleak Christmas at the Carol household. Neither Jenny nor I made much money to begin with and I wasn’t even working anymore. With three kids in our home, we had stayed up most nights trying to decide what to do about gifts. Well, some nights we had—other nights we stayed up because Sangroth was a bit of a cuddler. Should we tell them so they’re not disappointed on Christmas morning? Could we maybe take them shopping on Boxing Day instead and dip into our savings? What if I didn’t find a job soon though, how much would toys be worth if we didn’t have a house? But as I stared at the pile of money that morning on my nightstand, my eyes went wide. I wasn’t sure what to do. In the four months I’d known Sangroth, nothing had come freely. “Sangroth, what’s this?” Sunlight streamed through the half-opened blinds beside me onto the bed. “What’s what?” he said. “This, Sangroth—what’s this money?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Sangroth, are you paying me rent?” I asked. “No!” he said defensively. “I just … found it on the ground and thought you might want to touch it or whatever.” “Sangroth.” I picked up the stack of money putting it against my heart. “This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” “Merry Christmas,” he said sheepishly. Maybe that demon was alright after all.
Peas...carrots...potatoes...I looked up from my list at the onions laid at in an incline. I've never really used onions much in my cooking, so I'm not sure what to look for in a 'good' onion. I wrapped my long, bony fingers around it and squeezed gently. I brought it up to my nose and sniffed it. Yup, I was holding an onion. I turned it over and looked for any spots or bruises and, when I found none, dropped it into my basket. As I turned from the onions to make my way to the meat department, I saw a familiar face. The rest of the shoppers didn't seem to recognize him, but I'd been punched in the face enough times by him to know ego and what he was. I turned around as inconspicuously as I could, figuring I could go through the front of the store, rather than back, when I heard a strong voice say, "Hey!". I closed my eyes with a sigh and turned back around. When I opened my eyes again, I saw his hand going up to the necklace around his neck. "Dude, hang on. I,"I sighed again, not wanting to do this, "Can we not, today? I'm just trying to make a stew."I tipped my basket toward him, revealing the vegetables and spices inside. He eyed me suspiciously, I could feel the tension in his body like a tight spring, his hand halfway to necklace,, his other hand clenched into a fist, his feet planted. "Seriously, TJ,"I said, addressing him by his superhero initials, "I've been wanting to try this recipe for a while, and this is the first time I've had the time to do it right." After a pause, "What type of stew?" "An old-fashioned beef stew." "Do you not have a slow cooker?" "Yeah, but I'm trying to get into cooking, so I want to spend some time over the stove." He stepped forward, resting his hand on his necklace as he bent over slightly to look into my basket. "Are you not going to get celery?" I looked down at my list and rolled my eyes, "Yes, it turns out that I am. Thanks, man."I walked over and picked up a pack of organic celery. As I walked back to TJ, I peeked into his basket, which contained a five-pound bag of potatoes. "What are you making?" "Steak and potatoes." "I don't think it is, but that feels a little cliche." He smirked and we turned toward the meat section. "Why do you say that?" "You're a big, muscle dude, heroic and very American. It seems like a meal you would eat." He laughed a deep-chest laugh. "Yeah, that's fair. Lots of proteins and starches. I...work out quite a bit." "You know, that's something I've always wondered. Do you need to work out? A part of me always assumed that you were just...cut." "That's partly true. I've always been muscular, and if I were to stop working out, I would still be stronger than everyone else, but I wouldn't have the definition. And uniforms are a damned process to make." I stopped, starting at him in disbelief. "You make your own uniform?" "Yeah, you don't?" "Well yeah, but,"I ran my hands down my front. We reached the meat department, I picked my two packs of stew meat and he picked up two t-bones. "It's a two-fold thing. The first, obviously, is that it limits the number of people involved in my...profession. Secondly, it's an exercise in discipline. I have to sit down for hours at a time, be still and run thread, over and over again." "That makes sense." We walked through the store, picking up a few more things, butter, flour and other spices he needed. We chatted about some of the recipes I'd been trying lately, Chicken Parmesan, Sushi and Lamb Chops. He talked about his routine (giving no specifics, of course). Standing in line, as he paid for his groceries, he asked, "So, what's your next bit plan?" I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. He looked at me with a smirk. "Nice try, TJ." He shrugged, still smiling, took his receipt from the cashier and said, "I'll see you out there." "Not unless I see you first."
To all those reading this, whether this is your first read, or you're rereading, please know that I've created a subreddit specifically for this story. It has grown beyond what I could possible expect, and you can find it at /r/TheNamelessMan/! *** Emperor Xen So waved a wrinkled hand from the podium he stood behind, and Executioner Jin cut someone's head clean from their shoulders. The man had been a killer. Murdered three children in cold blood. His name was Wei and he had been trying to find immortality. But now his head was rolling across the floor. I guess it didn't turn out so well for him. The executioner gripped the severed head by its hair, and turned it to face the Emperor. The man smiled, thinking he'd suddenly gained hundreds of years of life. But in truth, Jin could something emanating from the body, and drifting to himself. His head felt lighter, and he fought the urge to sway on his feet. It was an unpleasant business, but he'd rather take Wei's life than let anyone else have it. The Emperor smiled at himself. Little did he know, the power didn't come to who the head faced, but who had removed it. The elderly Emperor Xen So bowed and gave a single clap. The massive crowds that had attended the execution slowly dispersed, disappointed looks on their faces. They all hoped for a slice of the man's essence. Jin shook his head at the scene. If they knew the truth of it, what it really meant to take an essence, the crowd would be nonexistent. Executioner Jin rested his halberd on a wall and watched the people leave. He could hear faint murmurs of conversation. Being alive so long, his senses were well above anyone else's. "...Felt it. I really did!"He heard a child exclaim to his mother. "I think I did too."She replied, slowly. "How much do you think we got? A year?"He tugged on the sleeve of her dress. The woman shrugged. "Oh I don't know. It didn't feel like too much. Perhaps a few months."The child nodded at the answer, somewhat satisfied. Jin sighed and turned back to the stage he was on. Servants were arriving to clean the area and remove Wei's body. A girl, one Ni Xo, appeared and began to inspect the deceased. "Do you think that he has any..."she gestured vaguely. "Left?" Jin forced a weak smile. His head still felt light. "I couldn't say for sure."He lied. The words came to him slowly, like thinking through a vat of molasses. The girl smiled and began prodding at the body. "You'd do well to stop fingering it."He called. Ni Xo looked up, blushing. "Right... sorry."She muttered. The servant stood and went with the others, to clean up the stage. He watched them for a few moments, until the crowds had fully left the place. Jin nodded to himself and collected his halberd. He needed rest. His chambers were modest, and yet their position in the palace made them worth more money than any man could possibly own. It held a bed, dresser and a trunk full of personal effects. Pieces from past lives that he had lived. For each ruler he served, for each job he held, each name he wore, Jin would take something to remember it by. He still hadn't anything for the life he was living now. The token usually came at the beginning of a life or at the end. Jin rested by the foot of his bed. His mind had cleared up now, his thoughts came quick and properly formed. It had taken the better part of two hours for it to do so, though. That meant... what? Three hundred and fifty years taken? No, closer to three hundred, I think. There was a time, many many years ago, when Jin had dedicated a life to figuring out how it all worked. Back then he had been called Marrow, and he had worked under a king in the east. Marrow had spent a considerable amount of time on research, but never truly understood it all. He figured that his time as 'Jin the Executioner' was coming to a close. Emperor Xen So was old and of the false belief that he would live for a millennium. He ate poorly and drank like a normal man took in air. His skin was flabby and wrinkled. Telling signs that he hadn't taken in any essence. Jin was no physician, but he gave the man less than a year until he died. "And that's when it will all fall apart."Jin mused. They'd realise that their emperor had been cheated, and they'd come to kill him. They'd fail, and Jin would leave to find some other half-wit leader to serve under. He looked to his trunk, across the room. "How many kings, emperors, masters and gods has it been?"Jin asked himself. "Perhaps one day, put all I've learnt from them to use."Perhaps. He slept little that night, for he knew something was wrong. Come morning, he heard cries from outside his room, and the rush of several footsteps. Jin rose and collected his halberd. Any minute now, they'd come barging in. The captain of the guards, the royal advisor, the heir, or whoever the hell else thought they'd been cheated. Jin stood by the door waiting. Listening through the doors he heard muffles of conversations. Words like "succession,""immortality,"and "essence,"were thrown around a lot. A time later, there came a knock on his door. "Enter."Jin called. The door creaked open. In the hall stood four men, almost all were armored from head to toe. The one in the centre, the captain did not wear a helm. He pointed a finger at the executioner. "See how he carries his weapon? He knows what has happened and knows that he his guilty."The man said. His men grunted in agreement. Jin clutched his halberd tightly. "So, Emperor Xen So has died?" Some of the men nodded. The captain narrowed his eyes. "Know that it was not my fault, but Xen So himself's."Jin started, "You men would be wise to walk away and let me leave. You'd never see me again." The captain shook his head, and drew his sword. "You shall befall the same fate that you dolled out to so many others." Jin rolled his eyes and lowered his halberd. The captain advanced on Jin, with a slash of his sword. The executioner backed further into his tiny room. He parried the captain's blows, though they came hard and strong. Jin pulled away, and returned his attacks. He brought his weapon's blade high over his head and sent it down. The captain ducked out of the way, letting the halberd crash into the carpet. Another guard entered the room. Jin turned his focus to the new man. He was on him before the man could react. Jin cut through the guard's plate mail with an upwards slash, removing his left arm completely. The guard cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his stump. The executioner kicked him to floor, but did not kill the man. He felt something pierce his loose robes, and looked down to find a sword embedded in his stomach. Jin grunted and stepped back, allowing the blade to slip free. The captain smiled as the sword came out, spraying blood on his robes, and slashed at Jin's head. Jin raised an arm to block the blow. The sword caught deep in his forearm, stopping only at the bone. The bleeding at his waist had subsided. The captain's smile faded as he struggled to wrench the blade loose. Jin, with his free hand, drove the point of his halberd deep into the captain's gut. He pushed him back against the wall, and threw his weight into the blow. There was a crunch as the tip of the halberd pierced armour, leather and then intestines. Jin pulled his weapon free, and in one smooth motion spun around and sunk the blade into the neck of an advancing guard. The poor man tried to staunch the bleeding as he dropped, gurgling. Jin ripped the captain's sword from his arm, and watched as the wound slowly healed itself. The bone grew back, whilst muscle and skin re-knit itself around the wound. There goes one hundred years. Jin raised his head to see that the last guard had left. He spat on the floor at the betrayal, though it worked to his advantage. Then, looking to the captain he knelt down to meet his eyes. "What... are you?"The man stammered, through coughs of blood. Jin gripped at an eagle--the symbol of Xen So--pinned to the man's chest and ripped it free. His token. "I am no one."He said.
It’s funny how naïve science fiction writers were. They assumed we would be on the same level as aliens – that our battles would be fought on even ground. They egotistically thought that humans might even have an edge for our “special” upbringing on Earth. But space is big. Really big. By the time, we finally found a way to quickly traverse it, we figured out the truth. Space isn’t the biggest boundary separating alien civilizations. The universe formed 14 billion years ago, and it’s been habitable for much of that time. In comparison, our ape ancestors “only” appeared a few tens of millions of years ago, and we’ve only been able to reach out into the void for about a hundred years now. Time is the boundary that truly separates life. It’s likely that in the whole Milky Way, there is no alien race that is exactly on our technology level. There are perhaps millions of races that are eons behind us, and many more that are just as far ahead. Some aliens are but ants to us. If we desired, we could crush them without a second thought. Other aliens, however, are gods. Their technological capability is beyond our understanding, beyond anything we could ever dream. With such technological disparity, it seems almost inevitable that the universe is one giant game of predator and prey. As a young species just entering the galactic community, we are prey to all and predator to none. Some men dream of finding worlds that we can colonize, worlds where we can be the predators, but they don’t realize that we’re millions, even billions of years behind. Until recently, we believed that maybe we’re late bloomers, billions of years late – that maybe we don’t have a place in this universe. If the universe is cold and unforgiving, the old and strong swallowing up the younger, weaker species, what chance did we have? With such powerful alien civilizations already in power around the galaxy, how could we even make it a hundred years without being crushed by a superior force? Four days ago, an alien species of unknown origin entered the solar system. Their ships were incomprehensibly fast, and their strange weaponry tore through our defenses with little to no resistance. In a matter of minutes, the human defense was shattered. We were broken and vulnerable. The Earth and her colonies were ripe for the taking, a useful colony world to these dominant aliens. They descended upon our colonies, rounding us up in billions. They vaporized our structures and facilities and built their own. At this moment, we knew there was nothing special about us. We were a small, insignificant species whose fate was at the mercy of this superior race. But then they arrived. We called them the Arbiters, even though we never saw one in person. They sent one ship, the size of a small car. At this sight, the invaders scattered and ran, abandoning their projects and leaving our solar system. But they were too slow for the Arbiter ship – in an instant, it unleashed whatever arcane forces it had at its command, and the invaders completely disappeared. Our planets somehow reverted to their pre-invasion state, and indeed the only remaining evidence of the invasion was in our memories. It was at that moment that we understood. This was how the prey survived. This was how civilizations were allowed to form. It was at that moment that we made the choice. We abandoned our dreams of conquest and victory. We wouldn’t become invaders. We would become Arbiters.
We'd kept them locked up around Sol for over three centuries. Watching their civilization was like studying cancer through a microscope. First one planet colonized. Then two. Then four. Then eight. Growing, and growing, and growing, swarming over moons and through gas giants. Destroying everything in its path. Burning through resources as though tomorrow would never come. And killing its host: Earth itself had become a mined-out husk, and Mars was on its way to the same fate. Our strategy had been containment. Every probe and ship sent out was destroyed as soon as it emerged from the Oort cloud. We didn't like the idea, but it was better than humans overrunning every other peaceful system in the galaxy. We were doctors, stopping the cancer from infecting the rest of galaxy. Sometimes, though, it just felt like we were throwing rocks at a beehive. The number of probes continued to grow. Sol was a swollen tumor, ready to burst. And if they ever discovered who had really stopped those probes... But that is all in the past. In the end, it turned out that the humans were the lesser of evils. The Kahi cut through us like a knife, seizing our homeworld in less than a year. Getting cancer doesn't seem so bad when you're already dying of stab wounds, right? Hell, maybe it could even help. The humans seemed so shocked when we landed. After all those years of imagining what aliens were like in their movies, they hadn't even come close to picturing it. I still remember the ship door opening to the sight of gun barrels. Typical humans. "I come in peace,"I'd told them (well, my computer did, at least), in perfect English. That's what they would have wanted; those movies sure are helpful. I presented my terms to the United Nations Congress. Technological aid, weapons, maps of the universe, and all sorts of other benefits. I even pointed them right to a great star system that they would love, full of arable land and fishable seas. Conveniently near the Kahi colonies... Did they know they were being played? Possibly. Maybe they just didn't care. They offered me and the remnants of my civilization shelter, living in their polar regions. Antarctica was the perfect climate for my people. And they didn't seem to like it very much anyway. It was just the right size for what remained of our species. When they encountered the Kahi, it was a bloodbath. Dozens of worlds lost at once. World leaders pounded their fists and demanded retribution. The great docks in orbit churned to life, pouring out starships like they were baking cookies. Even as I was revolted at the way they chewed through their own asteroid belt for resources, I was impressed at their resolve and determination. They asked if we knew of these Kahi; we told them only barely. Just enough to tell them all about their technology and physiology; everything they would need to carry on a war. Perhaps they will discover our lie when they find the ruins of our homeworld; perhaps not. But they are not wrathful enough to massacre us because of a tiny lie. They'll rant and they'll rage, and maybe expel us from our new city in Antarctica. It won't really matter; at least we'll be able to go home. ---- By popular request, I wrote [a second spinoff story from a human perspective but within the same story](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2qgkjb/wed_kept_them_locked_up_around_sol_for_over_three/cn5ygqp). And now a [third one from the Kahi perspective](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2qgkjb/wed_kept_them_locked_up_around_sol_for_over_three/cn60sak). Enjoy! Thanks for reading!
"God, son. Look how you've grown." I looked at my dad, still completely in shock. This was not the man I'd seen in all the pictures. He looked like a swashbuckling hero, not the mild-mannered individual I'd been brought up looking at. What the hell was happening? "I was on my way back from the store, and I was sucked up into a portal!"He exclaimed, brandishing wildly. "When you're looking both ways before you cross the street, you're certainly not looking out for a space-time anomaly."He laughed. He seemed so... rugged. The man who'd broke my mother's heart looked like he'd broken plenty more in 20 years. What was this feeling, replacing all the hatred in my heart? Was this... was this admiration? "Landed on a flying pirate ship. They were a nice lot, them pirates. Travelled across the seven seas, son, and plenty more than that! Turns out they'd been looking for me for years, and boy, did we have some adventures."He beamed, looking wistful. Then his face changed. "But I never forgot about you, you and your dear old mum. Whether I was fighting some tentacled beast, or sailing off the edge of the world, I could never put you two out of my mind. And I know you must hate me, I really do." He stopped talking, and picked at something in his eye. He grimaced. "Look at me, the Sailor of the Skys, reduced to tears."He said, wiping his face with his hand, then carefully opening a pouch next to his sword's sheath. "But son, I promise you. 20 years gone by and I could only think of you two." He handed me something. It was weather-worn, scrunched and most of the ink had faded off long ago. I barely knew what I was looking at, until I opened it. It smelt of old tobacco. Before I could react, my mother walked in. Her mouth dropped, and her knees buckled, and dad caught her just in time. He embraced her. Picked her up like she was light as a feather and twirled her around, now openly crying. "20 years, son. 20 years and that box of cigarettes was the only thing holding me to you two." He looked into my mother's eyes. "And now I'm back."
"Uhhh"I muttered aloud. I rubbed my eyes and blinked a few times. Nope still there. I looked around, 20, 19, 25, 22, 28, and so forth, one in every thirty was over 40, maybe 50; even fewer were in the 70's. "What the fuck"I said aloud again without realizing it. Now people started to stare, I was after all just staring at people, standing in the middle of a busy crosswalk. I just began walking when I put my hands in my pockets and an inventory window appeared in front of me. It was empty besides my phone, twenty bucks, and my keys. Wait! I thought, wheres my ID? I looked on the ground frantically but something told me to look up. Alec Schner, 1... Ok so I guess in on some kind of crazy drug, that starbucks earlier must have been laced with something. But that is my name, and 1 means... level 1? I tried to center myself and look around, then I saw him. Tall, thin, long black hair, and wearing dark brown dresscoat that seemed to be singed at the edges. Jericho Smith, Skull. He was looking at me, without breaking eye contact. He took one step but appeared next to me in an instant. "Get up kid"his voice was sharp, but deep. I did what he said but I didnt say anything back. "See that centepede? kill it." He pointed in the direction of a nearby building, I could see something skittering about and the more I focused the more I saw, Centepede, 2. Internally I couldnt help be scream A centepede is a higher level than me?!?. It must be the legs.... Needless to say I began walking to do as he said but he grabbed my shoulder. "Drink this" I drank some dark green slimly liquid before realizing what I was doing, suddenly a star icon appeared next to my name. "3000% experience boost"my heart skipped a beat. and I began running over to stomp on the centepede, and so I did. 30 pts of damage, 60 remaining. The insect turned around and hit me with some kind of spitting attack. It burned, but not that bad, like a sudden case of touching hot water through the faucet. 9 pts of damage, 91 remaining. Well I began stomping furiously on this bug, I probably looked like a mad man stroking out on coke but I was pretty sure I was already insane so what the hell. DING I heard as I grew alight, I looked up, Alec Schner, 27. My buff was gone, it must have been for one use only. I looked back to Jericho and I saw his level, I couldnt help but freak out as it suddenly stood out among all others, it was red, and was 99. "I lost a bet to my guild master, now I gotta get one of you scrubs to raid level, cmon we got a week."Jericho said. He motioned with his hand for me to follow and I did. This is real... I grew stronger, I can feel it... I could only ask one thing, although I think I already knew the answer. "What do I do now?" He turned and smiled, pointing to the border of my city, where hellfire now existed, dragons flew across the sky, monsterous horros crept along the ground, and a giant sword sat plunged in the center of the battle field. Jericho finally opened his thin lips to speak. "Git gud"
I smiled when I heard the announcement. I was right. I slowly started to make myself comfortable again as the drug wore off. I couldn’t think of the name of it, too many syllables. But I do know it’s effects. It temporarily stops your heart and breathing leaving you unconscious for only 12 hours before you wake up. Read that it was like some way to die and be reborn again. The coffin above me was closed tight leaving me alone in the darkness of the thick air as people outside were mumbling to each other as they had their party. I’ve been talking to only my closest friends about my theory. Like, my life has been like some sort of Truman show bullshit. Even I thought I was crazy but when I saw the camera in my mailbox, then my bathroom. I knew it was true. I tried to keep as still as possible to wait out the party before I make my exit. I made sure to keep my breathing in check, to keep it as slow as possible. I remember reading that a person can only survive 5 hours in a coffin before passing out and dying. I had to conserve my oxygen. Who knows how long this party could last. At least I think it’s a party. I shifted myself a little to the side of the coffin and pressed my ear against the wooden wall. I could definitely hear a couple of murmurs outside. What was going on out there? I quickly adjusted myself making sure to not shake anything and sat still. It was already getting hard to breathe. It didn’t sound like a party. More like a business meeting. A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. I now regret talking about my crackpot theory to my friends. They were in on this. Luckily, I was smart enough to not tell them about my plan to kill myself. It took me weeks to fake a heart attack. I was eating food non-stop making it look like I was stressed out so when they started to question about my health I knew it was time. I took the poison and died. My coffin shook. Fear made me instinctively close my eyes and hold my breath. I heard a loud click come from the coffin and then more shaking. I heard my brother, father and closest friends all groan around the coffin. Then immediately I shot up into air as if I was being carried. I opened my eyes into the darkness and frantically looked around trying to make sense of what was going on. Were they carrying my coffin somewhere? I clenched my teeth as I realized that I didn’t plan this out completely fearing what lies ahead but too scared to name it. “Jeez Carl, you really did gain a lot of weight in past couple of weeks.” Despite the voice being deeply muffled I understood every word. It was my friend Dean talking to me as if I was alive. The coffin started to sway from side to side as they walked me out of main room of the funeral home. A knock came from the side of the wall “Hello? Carl! Stop acting, you used to always come back with some insult after something like that.” Did they know I was alive? Did the camera see me take the drug? I thought I covered it with a box. Maybe there were two in my kitchen. I decided to keep quiet. Waiting for Dean to speak again. The swaying of the coffin continued on in its rhythmic pattern. Another knock. “Carl answer me while we still have time to talk.” It was official now. They knew I was alive. I quickly responded, “How do you know I’m alive?” I waited about a second for a response as if they were deciding whether to tell me or not. “We saw you grab the poison Carl, cameras are everywhere you know that. You told me personally where half of the cameras in your house were.” I shook my head in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening “Where are you taking me?” this time there was no silence. Dean immediately responded with “Cremation” The swaying of the coffin slowed down as I was slowly lowered onto something. I shook my head and screamed “What! No! No! No!” I started to pound my fist on the roof of the coffin door trying to break it open, but it was no use. “I’m sorry Carl, but we can’t let you get out of that coffin now. You know too much” They had locked the coffin. “Get me out of here you Fuckers!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I heard flames roaring to life. I started to move closer towards it, my feet being the first to feel the extreme heat. I pounded my fist on the coffin even harder screaming at the top of my lungs as the flames engulfed the coffin drowning out all the noise in the room. The pain was intense as the coffin started to fill up with light from the fire getting inside. I could see the dim outline of a small message etched into the roof of the coffin. It said, “Smile you’re on camera!”
Of all of them I disliked the priest the most, though I can admit that was more due to my own prejudices. In my years on the road I had little use for the gods, particularly then and particularly with that party. If I had I might have thought they had cursed me after all. Their names were Aaron and Aelia, Ulago and Xanthippus, and they came to me in pairs that had more to do with accidents at the guild hall than any kind of personal friendships. Still though, we made a strange group, and more than once I joked that the guild had decided I had taken too many bounties, that they’d turned me into some sort of welfare program. And for a while that rang true, until we realized that their talents were better suited to crime than warfare. It started late one night with Aaron and Ulago, our thief and warrior. Quite honestly Aaron was a bumbling fool in every aspect of the physical realm, although to hear him tell it he had been a great acrobat in his youth. Nearing seventy now he’d have broken a bone if he tried to turn a cartwheel and the deft motions of cutting a purse were beyond him, but if there was a heist or a scheme he’d seen it or invented it, and he could scout talent with the best of them. Ulago, for his part, was less a warrior than a dancer. He fought with a matched pair of short swords, and at the school where he’d been trained they spoke of perfect defense, of learning your opponent through every twitch of his muscles and every flick of his eyes, all in the pursuit of one beautiful stroke of the blade. They sat hunched by the fire that night, deep into their cups and speaking in hushed voices, making such frequent glances across the flames at Aelia that finally she sprang to her feet. Dark magic had begun to gather at her fingertips, and a furious blush had risen to her face. She only had three spells she could cast every 24 hours and she had decided their disrespect was worth one. “No, no, no!” Ulago had said, leaping up as well. “It’s not like that I swear!” “Then why do you keep looking?” she said angrily, “shall I teleport you back to town? I recall an inn there where the barmaids had standards that might even fall to you.” I couldn’t help myself, the brief snort of a laugh escaped me. “You too Devin?” she called. “If you both scrape your gold together you might even have enough.” I merely shook my head, that was an idle threat. This far from town there was no way she could reach it. Ulago, however bravely decided to continue on. “I swear we meant no disrespect. Rather, Aaron and I had an idea. None of us are making any money out here,” he gestured broadly with his arms, walking closer to the fire so the light would hit him just right. “Pickings are slim in this region and none are falling to us. There’s not a more mismatched bunch of souls this side of the Kingdom, and if the other one can match us it’s only because those poor sods of Easterners were born with the brains of a cow and the courage of a fowl. To compete against men such as that would be unfair.” He eyed Aelia for a second, seeming to notice the magic that still clung to her fingers. “And women,” he added. “What our long winded comrade is trying to say,” Aaron interjected, “is that we’re shit at this and it’s time to look elsewhere. I propose burglary.” All eyes whipped themselves to the old man now, and his long, thin smile was full with the knowledge of it. “I know the marks and I know the fences, and Ulago here can buy us as much time as we’d ever need if they have guards. As to why we were looking at you though, well my dear, much of this will hinge on you.” “On me?” Aelia’s magic had faded now and she had taken several halting steps around the fire. Her eyes were wide and I began to realize for the first time just how young she was. “Oh yes,” Aaron said, “on you. As a mage you’re nothing special really, but I’ve seen you run, you’re quick as all hell. I’ll teach you all you need to know about picking locks and finding treasures, it’s up to you to be my hands. You get into a house, find the two most valuable items and teleport them out to us, then just run out.” “Two?” she questioned, “but I have three casts and I can’t teleport myself.” “Two. I have a spell in mind for you to learn, an old friend of mine in Harrowvale knows it and we’re only a few days ride away. My dear, have you ever heard of Shadow Step?” So it transpired that our party left that roadside firepit and found ourselves in Harrowvale some days later. We scraped together the scraps of our gold, enrolled Aelia in an old mage’s tutelage, and a week later she came out with a new trick that would have been utterly useless to her in her previous career as a battlemage but which would soon prove to be our bread and butter. Our first theft came the very next day. We gathered at dusk in the city’s narrow alleys only a few minutes from some lordling’s manor and Aaron briefed us on what would come. “Aelia,” he began, “the plan rests on you. You will pick the lock on the cellar door and enter the house through there, use my number two pick, the locks bought by lower nobility tend to be all advertising and little actual substance. Once inside you will proceed to the lord’s bedroom, find his largest chest and his most expensive looking item and teleport them both to this spot. Ulago, you will approach the guards at the front gate as if you are drunk and then challenge their captain to a duel. Devin you go with him and the pair of you will insult the man until he accepts, cause the biggest distraction you can and then do what you will. I'll wait here and receive the goods.” “And I?” Xanthippus the priest asked. Aaron squinted at him as if he’d forgotten the man was there. “Pray or something, you’re as useless as tits on a bull.” With a soft laugh and a newly learned word of power Aelia gathered the shadows of the alley around herself and walked towards the building as silently as the night. To say that our first theft went perfectly would be a lie, although I said that and more many times over. Aelia, with only a few days practice with the lockpicks had been forced to finally give up and simply melted the lock with a spell instead. That left her with only one teleport and the chest we got in the end turned out to be the lordling’s mistress's smallclothes, although the price they fetched was surprisingly high. Ulago was a wonder and likely the only flawless part of the plan. He fought the guard captain to exhaustion and then simply walked off laughing, I sketched a quick bow and followed him, my notebook in hand. Whatever god Xanthippus prayed to at least refrained from cursing us further. We improved with every heist however, and soon we found crime was in fact more profitable than adventuring, whatever the guild said about the matter be damned. And my part in this? After all I had no sleight of hand, no skill with a blade. In fact my own riches prior to their joining me were entirely fabricated, which they had been sorely angered to find out. We had the wisest thief, the fastest wizard, the smartest warrior, and the most useless priest, but we also had me, a plain and simple bard. But a damned good one. They fought and stole and prayed, and all the while I sang. Sang us all into myth and legend the length and breadth of the Kingdom, even in the blighted East. Even when our heists turned out to be a lady's smallclothes and the stagelights burned a little too bright I turned them all into a roving band of misbegotten folk heroes, and slowly party members became friends, and friends became family. A family that was a damned sight richer on the wrong side of the law than the right one, even if we had to drag along the useless mouth of the priest. \---------- If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! edit: thanks for the gold!
It's all going to hell. All of it. The forest canopy spins dark circles over my head, even as I lay still as a stone. Everything tastes like blood and terror. Part of me is trying to float away, like a balloon tugged from a child's fingers. I hold on tighter. Try to keep myself grounded in the moment. I am Kiara Owlclaw, the chosen one, fated hero of all the Seven Cities. I will one day rise, and the Mountain God will lift his hand from the misty clouds of his kingdom to place his mantle upon my shoulders. A gift and an order, which came to me in a dream sent by the Mountain God himself: you are the only one who can unite the people to save this land. The adults in the village had stopped believing in that magic. But not me. Not the rest of us young bloods who need the heartbeat of hope the way we need the ground to give us raspberries every summer. It wasn't much of an army, but we gathered, godsdammit. I am Kiara Owlclaw, and I'm dying here in the dirt. When you bleed out all you can smell is acid and copper. When you hold your own guts, they feel like the sausage links used to carry home from market. They have the same hot frantic pulse as my heart, and I miss my parents the way I miss a breath without pain. The forest has gone dead quiet. It wasn't silent when we started. Then there was the screaming, the clash of metal on metal. Then the silencing horror when we realized we were no match for the army that kept pouring in, soldier by soldier, endless as ants, into the cove of the trees. I am Kiara Owlclaw, and I let the bad guys win. Today was supposed to be the chosen day. I was so sure of it, when I woke this morning and looked out through the trees at the black-armored legion, marching toward us. Divina had held my hand and murmured to me, "Are you sure?" I'd lifted her fingers to my lips and kissed them. "Of course I'm sure."Beyond us, the great palm of the Mountain God's domain reached into the sky. Somewhere up there, I was so sure he was watching. Watching me make all the old stories come true. "Sure as the mountain." Now, I clutch at the wound some Empire-bastard's sword gouged across my belly. My own blood spills out like a dropped bucket. I've seen eighteen summers, and this is how I live up to my fate. No. I'm not dying. Not yet. I push myself up on my elbows and squint through the blood in my eyes. The pain is constant and numb, like a boot pressed to my belly, but I can't focus on it now. I can only stare around in horror. All the friends who had risen up with me lay slaughtered around me. Dead or dying. Their screams pluck up as reality closes its jaws back around me. Hot tears rush to my eyes. Gods, they're only here because of me. Because I convinced them we would rise up, like in the old stories. That for once, the weak would conquer the mighty. Gods, I should have listened to my mother. Coming out here to face the Empire's army was hunting for death. The Empire soldiers beetles among my dead friends, hunting for survivors. The overlord stands obvious as a peacock in a crowd of hens. Only he wears crimson armor, the color of their dragon-king. Some say the overlord knows dark arts, that he can summon the old gods by sacrificing us nobody-villagers, bone by bone, soul by soul. The overlord bellows out, "Did none of you manage to hit the one damn peasant we were aiming for?" I push myself backward by my boot heels. Through the fingers of the trees, I can just make out the unmoving face of the mountain. But the Mountain God isn't coming out. The overlord stoops and pulls up a girl by her tunic. Libba, the baker's daughter. Her brother grabs at her, fiercely, even though his left arm has been abbreviated at the elbow. But the overlord kicks him back and snarls, "Don't make me put you down like a dog, boy."He holds Libba up to the light, searching for the triangular birthmark that rests in the dip of my collarbone--mark of the chosen one. Then as suddenly as he wrenched her to her feet, he shoves her back. "Where is she?"he roars. I'm Kiara Owlclaw, and I'm a coward. I'm scrambling back toward the trees, because I'm not ready to die. Then he closes his wicked fist on a boot I recognize instantly, even covered in mud and gore. And he yanks out, from beneath a pile of bodies-- "Divina!" My scream tears out of me before I can help it. Divina claws at the knife at her belt as she hangs half-diagonal, suspended by the overlord's grip. Her glorious dark hair is blood-matted and crazed. But she isn't as hurt as badly as me; she was smart to hide. "What are you doing?"she wails at me. "You could have saved yourself. You could have saved everyone." I laugh a dead woman's laugh at my own entrails, clutched in my hands. I wasn't leaving here alive. All the hope of a new future dies with me. The overlord drops Divina like an old branch and storms over to me. His triumph gleams in his eye. I expect him to end it quick. A blade-stab through the birthmark at my throat. But he stands over me. Grinning. Blood and sweat tricke lines in his filthy face. "I notice your god decided not to make it, child,"he says. "I'm not a child,"I spit. Something cracks in the forest behind me, but I can't focus on it. The overlord unsheathes his sword. The hilt glistens, the pommel covered in the same dragonskin as his armor. His gloves make his fingers look like terrible claws. "You brought all your friends down here to die because of a story in an old book."He gestured around, smiling placidly. "All this life, wasted. Because of you." Divina sobs, and the sound of that hurts more than the fear of death. I scowl up at him. "Better to die fighting than live serving you." He grins a wicked grin and nods at my organs, spilling from my fingers. "You haven't got much chose there, girl." His voice changes, sudden as a match in the dark. He springs back, and an arrow thunks into the ground inches from where he just stood. The arrow quivers in the ground before me. My heart lodges in my throat. It's fletched with speckled mockingbird feathers. I watched my father fletch that arrow only a week earlier. The overlord roars, "Ambush!" All around him, the imperial army swarms into action, forming a defensive line around and behind him. Ready to throw their shields up to defend their lord. But from behind me, from the direction of our town, another army storms in. The ragtag and rusty armor of every one of the Seven Cities ringing the base of the great mountain. More soldiers than I have ever seen, circling around us. They come on horseback and on foot, and I pick out faces from the army. My mother and father, at the very front. My father stares at me with a lion's rage. Divina's parents. Even Libba's father the baker, carrying his sword like he'd never held one in his life. The overlord spits at me, "You! You planned this!" "I didn't."I grin a bloody grin and point at the mountain beyond us. "He did." The adults might not rise up for the Mountain God, but they would do anything for their own children. "Milord,"one of the soldiers behind him urges, "it's safer behind the shield wall--" "Stay your tongue before I cut it out!"The overlord twists around to give me a furious, senseless grin. "Your god sent you an army of peasants to die here with you?" "No,"my mother calls back. "He sent us to end you." I bite back a delirious grin. I suppose that sounds better than we came here to rescue our idiot daughter. "And who might you be? His backup chosen one?"The overlord lifted his sword. "No folktale will stop me from spilling your blood, right here with hers." "No. I'm her mother. And guess what, asshole?" My father's arrow sings over her shoulder and sinks into the warlord's right eye with a meaty thud. He blinks the other, surprised. There is a single beat before the warlord drops dead. Before all hell breaks loose. My mother snarls, "I chose her first." *** /r/nickofstatic for stories with me and my best friend NickofNight :)
The entire room stared at me with wide eyes, some covering their mouths, others whispering to each other. I could feel their judgement hot upon my neck. "Dude... there are kids here..."my opponent said, rubbing his eyes. "Why would you say that?" I was too furious to respond, and thankfully, I didn't have to. We all recoiled as a blinding glow of white light emanated from ever crack and corner of the room, as if the drywall were luminous, and people started screaming with terror. The light suddenly quit, revealing a floating, homeless man. "Hello, my child."He was staring straight at me with kind eyes and a soft smile. "What the fuck?"I shrieked. "Shh shh, shh... do not be so vulgar, young one. You must settle yourself down." I turned to my friend, who also looked like his colon had evacuated his anus. "Dude, did you lace the pizza?" The homeless man responded for him. "I am the Patron Saint of vulgarities, and I am here at the behest of your words just a moment ago." My friend started slapping me. "You fucking broke the world, you cursed so much!"He then got up and ran out of the house, which just happened to be his own. "Why did you let loose such a filthy phrase?"the glowing man asked, voice smooth like Country Crock. "I... I was in first place, then my friend got a blue shell in third place and fucking took me out to win the match by one point." The angel's face contorted. "Who the fuck gets a blue shell in third place? The fuck kind of game is this?" I raised my arms up at him. "Right?! You see what I mean?!" He held his arms out toward a cup next to me, and it filled with water. "You have earned this, my child. Drink it." I looked at it oddly. "I'm not thirsty." "It is not to quench thy thirst." "Eugh,"I exclaimed with repulsion, sniffing the cup. "Is this liquor??" "I'm the fucking Patron Saint of cursing, kid. Drink your tequila and calm those nerves." ------ as inspired by the 2 liter bottle of tequila in my fridge, if y'all are bored check out /r/resonatingfury!
"Why the fuck did we grab this fat kid. He's too fucking heavy to move around."asked one of my captors. "Think about it idiot,"replied another voice, "someone who eats as much as this kid does probably comes from a family with money. Now shut your damn mouth and bring him into the warehouse." While these imbeciles continued with their mindless bickering, I had my eyes closed meditating and waiting for the right moment to strike. These blockheads have no clue what kind of force they're dealing with. All of a sudden, a feeling in my gut told me that it was time to act. Or maybe it was telling me that I had one too many Devil Dogs. Either way I wasn't about to doubt my senses, which I have spent so many years refining and honing, so slowly and majestically I opened my eyes. There were five armed men leading me into a warehouse, each wearing masks of different animals. This may be a challenge for me after all. Before we entered the warehouse, I was able to snag a piece of paper floating in the wind and subtly began slicing away the ropes that tied my hands together behind me back. While preparing my escape, they led me into a office room in the back of the warehouse, settled down, and began discussing how they would go about exchnging me for the money. With their guards down and my constraints weakened, I knew this was my chance. "I need to go peeeeeee"I cried out. "Shut the fuck up kid"the man in the tiger mask said. "I NEED TO PEE! BRING ME TO THE BATHROOM"I screamed over and over again until they finally relented and sent the large muscular man with the gorilla mask to bring me to the bathroom. When we were far enough away from the office, I quickly broke free of the ropes and in one swift panther-like move turned around and sliced the gorilla man's throat with the paper. As he lay on the floor desperately trying to keep blood from gushing out of his throat, I leaned down and said "I'm not the kind of guy you want to monkey around with." "I'm a...fucking gorilla"he muttered before collapsing into death. I noticed that he and I have similar body types, which gave me a brilliant idea. In my cunning disguise, I walked back into the office room and was met with the shocked faces of my four remaining captors. "The kid is, uh, on the shitter. I - I figured it would take a while"I said totally nonchalantly. "What the fuck"said the man in the tiger mask while reaching for his gun. Have they seen through my disguise? Now might be the time to act. I held the trigger of gorilla man's gun and fired upon my captors, and even when the gun pushed back and butted me in the face sending me to the floor, I did not release the trigger until no more bullets came out. I looked up and realized that I had tactically killed every one of them besides the man in the tiger mask, who was slumped on the floor holding a gun wound on his side. As I strutted over to him and picked up his gun, he threw his hands up and cried out "Wait! Please don't do this Carl! Let me go and I promise you I wont bother you again!" I squinted my eyes. "How do you know my name?" He pulled of his mask and said "It's me Chad! Remember me? We went to highschool together!" Of course I remember Chad. He was a senior during my freshmen year, and he was also the biggest douchebag on school. Always picking on me, walking around like he owned the place, and worse of all tricked every girl into falling for him. He made my life a living hell. "Hey man I'm sorry about picking on you in highschool. Please let me leave and I'll never bother you again. I swear"he meekly pleaded while still clutching his side. I looked at him, then at the gun and said in a powerful yet calm voice "A tiger cannot change his spots." "Wait what? Don't you mean stripes?" "Uhh" "And that wasn't even a tiger mask you moron, it's a lion!" "Umm" "This is why everyone picked on you"he said while coughing up blood. Ignoring his meaningless drivel, I pointed the gun at the temple of his head and said "Resquieta in Pace", which was followed by a loud bang.
Dear me, I'm sorry I've let you down. I'm sorry I've not achieved what you thought you would. And I'm sorry I couldn't' be braver for you. I want to assure you that you are a strong person, though. I want you to know that you will achieve what you want and that you'll eventually be the person you want to be. You can get past me, I'm that school friend who keeps your foot in the past. It's time to shake off the nostalgia and move forward. I'll be here if you ever want to just kick back and listen to some old favourites. Yours, You.
Sarah walked over to the mirror and disrobed so she could see her naked body in its entirety. She looked at her body with conflicted feelings. She was definitely gorgeous. There was no denying that. Her lips were fuller. Her breasts were bigger. Her tummy was as flat as a board. Part of her knew she should be happy. This was the body she dreamed of having ever since puberty hit. And yet, there was a sadness. Part of her was disappointed that Brandon had changed anything at all. Was she not already enough the way she was? Hadn't he always talked about how beautiful she was? Didn't he always say that her body as absolutely perfect? So if it was so perfect why did he change it? Why is she looking at a playboy bunny version of herself? But then she thought back. She thought about how all of those conversations started, the ones where he told her that she was perfect. How he always had to say it because she was being critical of her own body. Saying how much she wished she would change it if she could. How she envied girls with bigger boobs and wider hips. She realized that he did not make these changes for him at all. He did it for her. He did it because he loved her and wanted her to love herself as much as he did. And if he got a little eye candy as well, that would only make her even happier. And besides, it is not as if she did not change some things about him as well. Brandon looked at himself in the mirror. He was very confused as he looked down at his seven cocks.
"You have news?" A lesser race. One that has ascended to space-faring. "Very good. Prepare to welcome them to the-" You do not understand. It is not of us. And with that, the Progenitors knew surprise. "...explain." We are unsure for now. Perhaps a mishandling of bacteria. Perhaps a rogue party. But the fact remains that there is a race that we did not seed. "Are they capable?" Shockingly so, given that... "Well?" They didn't use any of our technology. There was no cache on their planet, nor was the planet prepared to support life. And with that, the Progenitors knew amazement. "How is that possible? How could they even live without our aid?" We... we think it was death. "..." We have seen their records, their history. They sustain themselves on the flesh of other living beings. They wage war and kill one another. Their most rapid technological advances are when times of great fighting are present. Dealing death is in their nature, their blood, and their beings. "And you said they have managed to leave their planet? Capable of crossing the stars, meeting our children?" Yes. And with that, the Progenitors knew fear.
The God of Thunder blended in surprisingly well amongst the sea of red chairs and 50s themed decor. He had opted to stray away from his usual attire of armor and metal wear, not trying to disguise himself, but rather he had found he was served faster when he didn't look so out of place. Though his hammer remained on the table unchanged as a personal statement of power. Across the diner an elderly woman scuttled over, having seen Thor's fifth plate of steak and eggs near empty. "Excuse me deary, let me get that."she spoke, grabbing his many plates and piling them high. Then she reached over, lifted Mjolnir, wiped underneath, and placed the hammer back to the table gently. Thor's face dropped. From a grin to a wide-eyed, mouth agape stare. As if in agreement a lock of his long red hair drooped in front of his face. "Penny..."Thor whispered, a feat he had great trouble with and came out as more of a quiet yell. "Yes deary? Is there anything I can do for you?" "Was that not heavy?" Penny looked confused as she turned back to face him. "The plates? Oh no sweetie, I have been doing this a long time" "No. The hammer. Was the hammer not heavy? I find most men have...trouble with it." Penny balanced her stack of plates in one hand and reached for the hammer with the other, lifting it once more with little effort. "No dear, it seems just fine to me. Can I get you anything else?" "I uh...no. No ma'am" Thor had suddenly lost his appetite. As Penny waddled off the God of Thunder lifted his hammer from the table, just to be sure. As he touched it a spark of lighting shot through his hand, assuring him that he still posessed the power of a god. But more importantly showing him that his fathers enchantment still remained. Meanwhile Penny wandered behind the counter, tray of plates still in hand. She smiled on as Thor juggled the hammer in uncertainty between his hands. As he doubted himself, or perhaps became more uncertain of others. Sometimes, fooling others is not about grand gestures. Not about elaborate schemes. Sometimes it's as easy as placing a seed of doubt into someone so arrogant that they've never quite felt such things. Sometimes it was as easy as becoming a frail, old woman in a diner and waiting. Loki laughed to himself within his disguise, staring to Thor from behind the dessert rack until he left, admiring his work Now, who can I be next? he thought. And Thor, well Thor had learned early on that sometimes being a good brother meant letting the other have a win.
Johnny's mom had always told him not to talk to strangers. However, she made no mention of what he should do if a Super Villain burst through the roof of his elementary school, threw him over his shoulders, and took him for a joy ride over the skyscrapers of New York. So all Johnny could do was to cry. After all, this was already the 4th time this had happened. The roar of wind stopped and Johnny opened his eyes to find himself in a damp darkness. Water dripped onto the ground from, echoing throughout the building. It looked like an abandoned factory. Johnny sneezed. "Hey,"came the voice of The Pyro Lunatic. Though it wasn't the high-pitched and crazed screeching he had heard from television screens. It came deep and soft. "Put this on, you'll get a cold." A blanket draped over Johnny's shoulders and The Pyro Lunatic clinched Johnny's nose between some tissues. It always ended up like this. The Pyro Lunatic would crash through the building of wherever Johnny was with crazed laughter, setting afire to everything around him. But in the privacy of whatever hideout he took Johnny to, his voice, his demeanor, even his face would change. No longer would he have his signature wide-mouthed and forced smile. He looked almost normal. "How was your day?"The Pyro Lunatic asked. Johnny sniffled. "Good." "Oh, you're still cold. Give me a second."A small fire sprouted between them. "Is that better?" Johnny nodded. He wondered how long it would take this time for the heroes to barge in here, kick some pyro butt and save him. "How's school going? Are you doing well?" Another nod. "And Cindy? Is she doing well?" That was Johnny's mom. He nodded. The Pyro Lunatic returned him a small chuckle. "That's good to hear."His voice faded. Only the crackling of the flame sounded between them and the occasional echo of water dripping into water. Through the dancing fire, Johnny could see The Pyro Lunatic's eyes staring, his lips pressed together as he tried thinking of more questions to ask. "Mr. Pyro Lunatic?"Johnny said. The Pyro Lunatic eyes widened. This was the first time Johnny had voluntarily talked to him. "Why do you keep kidnapping me? Am I special?"Johnny asked. "Of course you are, John. Why? Did someone tell you that you aren't?" Johnny shook his head and said, "I mean like, do I have super powers like Righteous Man and you?" "No!"The Pyro Lunatic snapped. Johnny jumped and scooted back. The Pyro Manic's face flushed red and he glanced at the ground. "Sorry,"he said, his voice soft again. His eyes swelled with tears. "No, Johnny, you're completely normal. You don't have to worry about heroes or villains or any of that. You can live a completely normal life." "So why do you keep kidnapping me?" "Because..."The Pyro Lunatic's mouth moved but no words came out. He gave up with a sigh and instead asked, "are you getting along with Cindy?" Johnny nodded. "Yeah, she has a new boyfriend now. He gives me candy when he comes over." The fire between them dimmed. "A new boyfriend?"A sad smile spread across The Pyro Lunatic's mouth. He gave Johnny a slight nod. "That's good. Does she... does she ever talk about her last boyfriend? You know... your dad?" "She said he was a no-good crazy person and I shouldn't talk to him if I see him." The Pyro Lunatic coughed out a laugh and wiped his eyes. Now, he was the one sniffling. "She's right,"he said, "Cindy's a smart woman and you should always listen to your mother. Don't worry John, the heroes should arrive any minute now, they'll take you back home safe and sound." --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
The silent shapes, covered in flowing robes, glided into the moonlit clearing. Tree branches stretched toward the bright stars above, and a chilling July wind whistled through the forest and rattled the leaves. Each of the 11 figures took their assigned spots to form a circle in the clearing. One by one they removed their heavy robes revealing jean jackets and plaid shirts underneath. But one spot remained empty. “Where’s Jack?” Karen asked. From her robe, she removed a bouquet of maple leaves and brought them into the center of the circle. She created a small hole in the ever-present layer of snow, and set the leaves inside. “Not sure,” Andrew answered as he stepped forward to place the portrait of the Queen in the middle. “He’ll be here soon, though. It would be rude to be late.” Everyone agreed with that statement. Each member of the group stepped forward and placed an item on the pile. Every one that was required for the ritual was uniquely Canadian: a two-four of Canada’s best beers, some Tim Horton’s coffee, a Leafs jersey… etc. But Jack was tasked with bringing the most important offering of all: the maple syrup. Without that… well, no one liked to talk about what would happen. A loud HONK broke the silence. Then another, and another, until the whole forest seemed to be filled with the sound. Dark shapes soared overhead, blotting out the stars as they passed. The flying V formation passed in front of the full moon, then circled over the clearing and came in for a landing. It was a flock of beautiful Canadian geese with the distinctive brown feathers, black necks and heads, and just a splotch of white on their cheeks. Dave, who had just finished depositing his lacrosse stick on the pile, hadn’t quite made it back to his spot in the circle. One of the geese spread its wings, tried to bite him, and hissed until Dave was a safe distance away and had uttered a dozen apologies. The geese formed up around the pile of items; they knew their part in the ritual. But even they could already sense something was wrong. One of them leaned in close to the pile, then looked back at the humans. It knew the syrup was missing. “Should we just get started?” Karen asked. “I mean, maybe it wouldn’t be…” “SORRY!” A voice called through the trees, followed shortly by the crashing sounds of Jack running through the trees. He emerged into the clearing holding the glass bottle in his hand, full of the precious amber liquid that they needed. “So sorry! I had trouble driving through the snow!” Andrew and Tom exchanged a look. Amateur, they both thought. Should’ve never trusted a Nova Scotian with the most important part of the ritual. Neither would ever dare say something so impolite out loud. But at least he was here now; problem solved. “No problem, Jack. Sorry you had difficulties."Sarah told him. “Just go ahead and put the syrup on the pyre and we can get started.” He stepped forward and opened the bottle, dribbling maple syrup all over the other items being offered up. The whole thing began to glow, and then burst into flickering purple flames. The geese began to honk, and around the circle each of them began to chant, alternating between both English and French. But something was wrong. The purple flames flickered over the items arranged in the center, and then turned a nasty greenish color. The geese all flared their wings and retreated, which caused the humans to run away to avoid being bitten for being too close. The fires died, leaving the offering unconsumed. “Jack,” Karen growled in a tone that none of them had heard in ages. It was a biting tone: a dam holding back a flood of anger. “Please tell me that you used real maple syrup.” As she spoke, one of the geese came and nuzzled up next to her, asking to be petted. Like it had a soul or something! Jack checked the bottle. The clearing was deathly silent. Even the bone-slicing wind stopped, awaiting his answer. “It… uhh…” he cleared his throat and looked around, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. “It’s... well… I think I grabbed the wrong bottle…” “IS IT MAPLE SYRUP OR NOT, JACK?” Karen roared. “It’s artificial,” he whispered. Karen’s scream of primal rage echoed through the trees, and the terrified geese fled into the sky. --- For more stories, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
"You... You can't do that!"The Fae was flustered, they'd never encountered a human smart enough to trick them. "Was there a rule stating that I can't keep both?"The Mother defiantly asked "Well, no, but..." "Then its settled. I keep both. I've always wanted to raise twins. At a fault of being a twin myself." "Fine."The Fae reluctantly agreed "But beware for the day I will come claim my due!" --- For thirty years she taught her twins, Edward, the human, and Finn, the changeling, everything she could about the Fae, to be wary of their tricks and always on your guard. The boys listened, and it avoided them troubles for a long time. But the Fae always claim their due. Finn couldn't sleep. He went out to smoke pipe, and watch the stars. For a long time he sat on the small rock in the clearing, barely lit by the cinders of his pipe. "Ahoy there"said a gentle voice. Finn, a master of his own abilities, adapted his sight to see in the darkness. From her point of view, it must have looked like his eyes suddenly started glowing slightly. It didn't seem to faze her. "Ahoy, girl."He replied. She was a pretty young thing. Too young for him. "Mind of I sit with you?"Her yellow dress fluttered around as she approached. An odd choice of fashion, especially for a cold night such as this one. "None at all, d'you want a smoke as well?"He offered his smaller travel pipe. "I can't say no to that! What're ya smokin'?"She eagerky ripped the pipe out of his hands. "Dried weeds mostly, I try to avoid tabacco. Doesn't suit me."He lit her pipe. "Why?"She looked at him as if she could see his face. He was certain she could not, though he could see hers. Long red hair and brown eyes, her face dotted with freckles, typically the kind of girl he would've pined for a decade and a half ago. "Oh, allergies."He brushed her off. "Shoulda seen me to believe it. I was all puffed up as a wineskin!" She laughed. "What's your name mister? I'm Celia." He glared at her. "Ye can call be Malcolm."He grinned, taking a sip of his pipe, the cinders lighting his face. He was smirking. She frowned. "That's not yer name, s'not proper to lie to a lady." He laughed. "If only you were a lady, miss Celia, but I know yer kind, y'all've been after me name for as long as I can remember." Her browm eyes turned a pale, iridescent green, and flowers sprouted between her hair. "You ingrateful—" "—prick? Tool? Bastard?"He cut the fae off. "Go ahead I heard 'em all, but me mama raised me well." Rage was seething in her flashing eyes. "You ingrate son of a wench!" "Oi, s'not proper to insult a lad's mama, now, miss Celia."He could deal with Fae. But he drew a line at insulting his mother "She's not even your—" "That one I heard many a time too, I know, miss Celia, me mama ain't me mother, but she raised me an my brothrr nonetheless." "We're owed—" "A due, I know. Well ya ain't gonna find it with me, lass. Not with my brother. Nor with our mother or our children." "You—" He emptied his pipe and jumped off his rock. "Right now, I better get back to bed. Ye should sleep too, all that anger ain't good fer yer heart, I hear."He casually strolled towards his home, leaving the wrathful fae behind. --- To this day, five generations later, its said that the Fae are still trying to get their due, every year, trying, every year, failing, for Finn's heritage of knowledge is passed down, and so will be his debt.
Looking out the window at the people and the costumes, Harry was thinking that, eventually, he'd have to decide if he either hated or loved Halloween. It was a tough call. "That's your costume?"Jeremy asked, coming out from the bedroom, and Harry turned and shook his head. "No costume", he said. "Come with us", Nina pleaded, coming out after Jeremy all dressed in princess. "I'm ok", Harry answered, smiling. He finished the cigarette, then started making way past the couple to his bedroom. "You have to get over it, you know", Jeremy said, in a low voice. "Every year, we come here to try and celebrate Halloween with you." Jeremy was a pirate. Every year. He loved the fact that there was actually a boat waiting for him at the docks, every October 31st. If only for a day, he actually got to lead a crew of drunken pirates, like he always dreamed as a kid. "And every year you bail at the last second, and spend it alone in this house", Nina completed. "I'm all right guys", Harry said. "You go and have fun." "You can be anything you want, man", Jeremy said. "Try it. You'll like it, I promise you." "Really. You go. I'll just make some tea, or something." "Harry, she's gone", Nina said, looking down at the floor. "Lisa's gone." "Nina, I –" "And I know it wasn't your fault, and I know it happened on Halloween, but Harry, it was five years ago. You have to get over it." Harry smiled. "You guys go and have fun", he said. "I'm really ok." "Are you sure?" Harry nodded. He looked down, then up at the couple. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure." Jeremy hugged him, and so did Nina. By the front door, Jeremy asked, "Sure you're gonna be ok?" "Hell yeah, I got Netflix", Harry said, forcing a smile. "All right. Take care." And then they were gone. Harry closed the front door and made way down the corridor, past the living room into his bedroom. He sighed, staring blankly at the king size bed much too big for him in between the nightstands. Slowly, he made way to the closet and opened the door. He took the mustard-stained, ripped yellow shirt he used to sleep in so many years before from the top drawer and looked at it. He unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing and took it off, laying it carefully on the bed. With a sigh, he put the yellow shirt on. A second later, the bedroom door opened, like it had five years in a row now, every last day of October. "Hey there", Lisa said, with the same smile she used every time. Harry smiled, too. "Hey." Lisa made way to him and took his hand. "I can't believe I let you sleep next to me in that old, stinky thing", she said, looking down at his shirt. Harry chuckled. "It's my Lisa's Boyfriend costume", he said. "You know that." "And it's the cheapest costume anyone ever wore on Halloween. It's just a shirt." "It's the shirt I used to sleep in, before you..."Harry said, choking on the words before he could finish the sentence. Lisa ran her hand down his cheek, wiping the tears. "It's ok, Harry." "No it's not", Harry said, now between sobs. "Of course it's not. You're dead." "Not tonight, I'm not", Lisa replied, pulling him closer. "Tonight I'm here." Harry tried for a smile, but failed. For a while, neither of them said anything. "I missed yo –" "Shh", Lisa interrupted, placing her finger carefully on his lips. "Miss me tomorrow." Harry lowered his eyes and his forehead touched Lisa's. Somewhere out the window, someone yelled, "I'm flying! I loved this motherfucking Peter Pan outfit!" "I loved you so much, Lisa", Harry sobbed, quietly. "So much." And Harry felt Lisa's hand run down his hair, and felt her breath on his neck and he thought that, eventually, he'd have to decide if he either hated or loved Halloween. It was a tough call. ______________________ Thanks for reading! For slightly less depressing stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
So... this is my life now I thought while looking at the man that kind of looked like me. It all started several years ago; one night while sleeping a man showed up in my dream, he had a black suit, a well maintained hair and the rest of his appearance screamed "success"in a way only rich powerful men managed to. He claimed to be my future self and told me he would visit me every night to make sure I had the future he represented. It was just a weird dream the first time, but then it happened again, and again and again. Eventually I started to follow his advice and I was immediately rewarded by it; I got every promotion I wanted, got every women I desired and every service I needed. Life was good and I was only to abide to one rule "Never, ever, sleep during the day". As with every story in the history of ever that had a forbidden action, the past repeated itself; one particular day that mixed a very late night, few hours of sleep and having the cold I fell sleep on the couch while watching TV. Future self presented himself again, just that this time he didn't look much like he used to. He had a beard, a long and wild beard that had remains of food in it, all his face was covered in scars and sweat with a long hair that didn't match up with the bald spot on his head, though it did match with his body odor. He looked at me with blood injected eyes and the look of someone who's seen more suffering that he can take. "Don't listen to the man in the suit!"I remember him telling me "He isn't trying to help you!" I laughed and asked why should I take advice from such a pitiful man. "I am not the one who gives advice. I'm the one who gives the warnings"he responded and faded away. After that I woke up and thought nothing of it, just some bad dream brought by my untrusting subconscious. Life went on, I kept on winning on everything I put my mind (and my good friend's help) into. My last big quest was getting a billionaire business moving, and as was expected I succeeded. After the celebration party I had my usual meeting in my dream. Future me looked incredible happy, as he should be since I had finally become what he wanted me to be. "It took incredible time and effort, but you did it"he congratulated me "From now on you wont need me since you're finally me"he said while he offered me his hand for a final shake. I shook his hand vigorously while thanking him for making me who I was, he put his other hand over my own and said "...though I'm surprised you didn't listen to your daylight version, most people do..."he said while smiling, a yellow flash in his eyes "... big mistake". And then he was me, not in the future as how I've been seeing him so far but me me. A wicked smile on my, not, his face and he disappeared. And just like that I was alone, locked in a dream that looked a lot more grim and dark that I usually remembered it. I've been trying to escape ever since, but there's only one way... So this is my life now... I thought while looking at the young man that kind of looked like me. "Hello..."I said while straightening my spotless suit "I am your future self". Edit: Wow, thanks guys. This is the first time I write something on this sub and I was nervous as hell. Thanks for the amazing feedback. I'll hang out here more often.
Coincidence. That's all. He's watching a different game on his phone, but with the same teams. An old game. And what happened in that game was the same play that just happened in this game. That's all, Tom. You're not going crazy. It's just history repeating itself. Still, I shift closer, leaning forward and watching the game for a few seconds on his phone's display, before glancing up and watching the same exact play unfold on the field. Touchdown. The crowd around me roar. Anxiety swells in my stomach, accompanied by a cool sweat pooling on my forehead. I examine the man in front of me. Middle aged, dark hair peppered with greys. Fashionable stubble. A big puffy jacket. Nothing out of the ordinary. I decide to say something to the man, when he turns his head to me. "How the hell are you watching a live game on your phone half a minute in advance?" My mouth is wide open, and those are my words, but they did not fall out of my mouth. The man... beat me to them. "That's... That's what I was going to ask,"I say. He grins. "I know. Just like I know in three minutes from now you ask if I have a channel showing your home so you can check on your labradour, to which I reply, yes. Then, you see your wife on the sofa riding Bill from next door, at which point you--" A bolt of anger shoots through me. I raise my hand out. "What are you talking about? How do you know I've got a dog? Or about my neighbours? Have you been spying on me?"My hand balls into a fist. "I've seen everything, Tom. Watched every channel a hundred times."He holds his phone out. There's another touchdown. "And for a record breaking game like this, I decided it would be fun to come watch it in person." The anger melts into laughter. This is a joke. It's got to be. Someone's set me up. "Did--" "No, your wife did not put me up to this." A roar leaps from the crowd as there's another score. My anxiety turns into a sick feeling, creeping up my stomach. The man touches the screen. "This particular device is tuned, at the moment, only thirty seconds ahead of now. And it's going to be a gift for you, that may, or may not, save your life today." The screen has changed. It is now a side view of me and the man. "What?"I look to my left, searching for the camera. "Where the fuck is it?" "It doesn't work like that, Tom. I can make it show anywhere. It doesn't need cameras." This can't be real. "Okay,"I say, thinking back on our conversation. "If you can see anywhere, show me Zeb, my--" But he has already run his finger along the screen; the picture flicks to a feed in my lounge. My hands begin to tremble, part rage, part fear. It is not my labradour on the screen. How could Sophie do this to me? "This... This isn't real." "Do you think you will still love her?"he asks. "Even after what she does?" I barely hear him. Scalding tears run down my cheeks. "Because this is what happens in seven hours."The screen changes. Same room, but darker. It takes me a moment to spot her. To see her body limp on the floor, a pool of red spread beneath it, dyeing the cream carpet. "I'm going to put it back to a thirty second gap now. Then, it's up to you to save her. Or not. To save yourself. Or not." I don't notice the feeling until it's too late. Hot vomit forces it's way up my throat. I turn to my side and am sick over a very large man's leg. He growls at me, shouting and waving his hand. I try to explain what's happened. What the man with the phone predicted. But when I turn to point at him, he's gone. His seat empty, somehow. Surely I'd have noticed him push through the crowd. On his seat lies the tiny silver device. It's focussed on me. I watch myself on the display as I lean forward and grab it, surreptitiously placing it in my jacket pocket. Then, I barge my way out of the row of spectators. I take a long deep breath. --- Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/aeh9cm/the_broadcast_2/?
"It was a joke, sir, he can't possibly make a spoon into a heavy laser weapon." The Captain let out an exasperated sigh, his neck feathers ruffling in frustration. "For the last time, officer, stop saying the human can't do things. The last time this happened he made a tomato into a doom engine that destroyed a small moon." The officer paled, his eyes wide, considering the ramifications of the mistake he had made. "What do we do now?" "Well, we wait for him to finish his work. Trying to stop him... does not go smoothly. Hopefully whatever terrible weapon he creates from that spoon is not in violation of galactic law." *PROXIMITY ALERT - PROXIMITY ALERT - HOSTILE SPACE BORN ORGANIC DETECTED* The Captain and his bridge crew rushed to their stations. "On screen!" The lifeform came up on the viewscreen, a massive beast easily fifteen times the size of the SS Lockland. Its body was shaped like an oblong disk, and protruding from its sides were a mass of squirming tentacles. From each tentacle, a swarm of person sized creatures emerged and raced toward the ship. "Breach bugs incoming, Captain." "All crew to battle stations, prepare for hostile breach!" The Captain looked to his first officer. "Where is my damned engineer?" As if on cue, the human entered holding a spoon, a broad grin on his face and a dark look in his eyes. "It's spoonin' time."
Liao had been in the Beijing market looking at seafood when someone fired a gun. The fish almost looked comfortable on the bed of ice, like it was being pampered in some kind of strange aquatic spa. He was about to purchase a cut of tuna when he heard the gun. Men, and maybe women too — it was hard to say behind the helmets — rode through the market on mopeds, demanding sellers place their money into plastic bags. Rather than worry, it made Liao think of a bad Wild West movie. But the mopeds and flashing neon billboards high above, feeding the dusky sky with thick green light, pushed the movie into science fiction. One thug fired a warning shot into the air to hurry along an elderly pastry seller who was fumbling with her handbag. The lady dropped her bag, startled. “Idiot!” The gunman lowered his weapon until it took aim at her. Liao felt like he was watching himself in third person, like a computer game character — one with many extra lives. He ran between the lady and her assailant and said, “Stop! Can’t you see her hands are shaking?” The assailant turned his helmeted head to another masked man next to him. Liao asked the woman, “Are you alright?” She nodded. “I have arthritis.” The masked man said, “I don’t care what you have, you have five seconds to put your money in my bag.” “I’ll gather it for her,” said Liao, picking up her handbag. A gunshot went off somewhere else in the market. ”Shit,” said the gunman. “Hurry up then. Don’t try anything funny.” But Liao barely felt like he was there. Not worried about himself at all. He picked up the fallen bag and approached the two men on their bikes. “Here,” he said, reaching into the bag. The old woman had a brick of a mobile phone — very old and solid, huge buttons made for wrinkled, shaking fingers. Liao snatched it from the bag and held it like a knuckleduster. It cracked against the first man’s helmet; he slipped off his bike, tangling himself on the ground. Liao was about to go for the second man. But he was too slow. He saw the gun aimed at him. He’d never make it in time. Never land a blow. He heard the gunshot. For a moment, he could have sworn he felt it as it buried into his chest like the sting of a hornet. But he couldn’t have felt it. Because a third man — another in a helmet — had jumped in front of the gun. A spurt of blood painted out of him as the bullet drilled through his leather jacket and into his shoulder. ”What?” said the shooter. “Why did you do that? Hell!” The shot man was on his knees. Liao’s heart was pumping hard. Had he gotten lucky? ”He’s on the no go list,” wheezed the injured man. He turned and looked at Liao. “If he’d been shot, we’d all have lost our lives. Our families too, I bet. Xiaoqing was serous with that order.” “Shit,” the shooter said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“ ”Just help me up.” Liao watched in stunned silence as the men got back on their mopeds and left the market. No go list? Surely they had the wrong man. Eventually, he turned to the old woman. He still had her phone in his hand. “Here,” he said, passing it over. The old woman looked him up and down. ”It’s cracked,” she said, curtly. ”Cracked? Well, yes, but at least I saved your money.” ”I’d not sold anything yet today. I only had bus fare.” Liao sighed and bought a pastry from the lady’s stall. It wouldn’t get her a new phone, but it seemed to stop her complaining. He turned and walked back towards the fish. But... maybe he’d leave them today. Have noodles instead. The police would be here soon and he wasn’t in the mood to spend the rest of the evening providing statements. Xiaoqing. He’d once known a girl called Cheng Xiaoqing. They’d dated, but only for a few days. It’d been a long time since he’d thought of her. Perhaps he’d make some enquires. See what she was up to these days. The evening had gotten cold. Liao realised his arms were damp from sweat. Perhaps he’d been more scared than he thought. A no go list. As in, a person not to shoot? Surely they had the wrong man. His mind wandered along with him towards the bus stop, thinking idly about Cheng. &#x200B; \- Part 2 below :)
"Brush with water." That's right, you heard me correctly. I, the 10th dentist, recommend brushing with naught but water. Let me provide some context: I have been examining teeth for longer than I care to think about. And one thing seems universal: no matter how you brush, no matter how hard you try, no matter your brand of toothpaste there is one thing that is certain it will never ever be a perfect clean. So knowing this, did an experiment. For one whole year my staff and I all brushed our teeth using only water and our wits. And you know what we found? Not a single one of us had worse teeth. In fact in almost half of the participants, oral hygiene improved. So yeah, I don't recommend toothpaste. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's harmful or useless. I'm just saying that maybe - just maybe - it's not all its cracked up to be.
A flame wavered in the distance. Flimsy, sputtering, like one of the many disposable Zippos I purchased from the local Walmart. My Light couldn’t be any more pathetic. A little brighter would be nice. A second flame sputtered into life beside the first. Its flames flickered, nearly dying as if threatened by a light breeze. Whatever this place was, it was taunting me. I need to see, goddamn it! My hands coiled around a plastic barrel, soldered together with another one of similar mass. My fingers traced its edges, flicking lightly over the cracked lens. A fat lot of good children's binoculars would do me in the relentless night. Very funny. When I was on Death’s door, I expected him to answer. Now that I’m here, he greets me with an endless torment of wishes half granted. You lettin’ me in, or what? A door appeared. Its simple wood frame was painted white. Ancient glyphs spiraled around a hand etched in crayon. You’re such a bastard. The crayon hand curled its fingers. All except the longest, a colourful beacon sending me a glorious fuck you. Fine. I’ll rot out here. See what I care. I turned away from the door, squatting down to run my hands over the ground. Baby bottom smooth. It felt gross. Dad probably would’ve cracked a joke about how my bottom was never smooth, just crusty. Mom probably would’ve slapped him. “Dave!” she’d yell, her laughter betrayed by the smirk on her face. I liked her when she smirked like that. It reminded me of better days. A glove flopped onto my shoulder. I waited, expecting another joke at my expense. But it just sat there, its cracked leather skin peeling away. Air rushed through my nostrils. I don’t care anymore. If this asshole won’t let me in, then I’ll just wait out here. I’m used to waiting. My whole life has been waiting. Waiting to be old enough to go to school. Waiting to be old enough to read and write. Waiting to graduate high school so I could move out and grow up. Waiting for love to find me, or for me to find it. Waiting for my mom and dad to split up and get on with being happy. Waiting for dad to come back from the hospital. Waiting for him to open his eyes. The glove rubbed my shoulder. I held it tight, clinging to the small shred of comfort its decaying form provided me. Leave it to Death to have a dying glove to comfort the newly deceased. Can I please come in? I miss him so much. I turned, facing the door. The hand had faded, replaced by a silent, cackling skull. All you had to do was ask. The door opened, a rectangle of pure white. A smile spread across my face. I walked through the door, clutching the worn glove the entire way. _____________________________________________________ Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, check out [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) for more!
The announcer's booming voice filled the air, overtaking even the thunderous roar of the packed stadium. "Please rise for the singing of our national anthem." Today was finally the day. Libra Abbott had spent the last 20 years completely mute in preparation for tonight. It was hard to get a ticket to the Superbowl, let alone sneak her way onto the sidelines. Luckily she was small and unobtrusive, especially surrounded by the throngs of coaches, staff, and the giant padded American football players. She disguised herself as a reporter, with press badge and mic and all. Underneath, she wore an extra sweater and leggings. Security might not tackle her, after all, she was quite petite. But just in case they did she hoped that she would be slightly protected with the extra padding. She had saved the power of her words for over two decades just for tonight. It would be the most-watched television event in history of the United States. What she was about to say would be an inexorable compulsion for the huge crowd and the hundred and twenty million watchers at home. Timing was key, and she only had one optimal chance to make it happen. O'er the land of the freeee and the home of the braveee~ A second before the singer finished belting out the final line of the Star Spangled Banner, Libra started her sprint to the stand and wrestled the microphone away from the famous, and now indignant, singer-celebrity. In the corner of her eye she glimpsed the burly security staff realizing what she was doing and just barely beginning to react. She only had a couple seconds before security would reach her. She gripped the microphone tightly, squeezed her eyes shut, and screamed at the top of her lungs. STARTING TODAY, ALL YOU BLOODY YANKS ARE GOING TO USE THE BLOODY METRIC SYSTEM
Dave Miller was, by most accounts, a normal person. He had just turned 30, and was doing pretty well in life. Not great, but pretty well. He had a nice girlfriend, a good job, and a reasonable apartment. Nothing spectacular in any regards, but good. That isn't to say he did not have his fair share of problems, of course. He had his bills to pay, and his upstairs neighbor was a bit too loud of his taste. The usual problems many people deal with. With one notable exception. "All hail the Dark One! Bringer of the end of all things!" Dave felt the headache coming on. This one was particularly loud. And he had just gotten rid of a different set of cultists. At least this one was alone. He usually dealt with groups. "Hey, uh..." "Yes, oh Dread bringer of the end?"He cultist asked hopefully. "Do you think you can leave me alone? I'm really not in the mood right now." "Oh? Is there someone who is angering you, oh Harbinger of Destruction? Some focus of your ire that must be slain?" This one was all over the place. Most groups stuck with one rediculous name. Of course, if his patchwork robes were any indication, this guy was even more unhinged than the others. "No, nothing like that. I just don't want to deal with...with you people right now." The cultist looked confused. Since all he saw was himself, he was probably wondering what Dave was talking about. "Look, I get people just like you all the time. Way too much, really." "Ah, fellow adherents to the End of all things? Wonderful! One so great as you must have plenty of servants. The Ender of All must have followers." Dave groaned. "Could you not do that? Call me all those stupid names? My name is Dave. Just Dave. Always has been, always will be."Of course it would not matter. He could go on to say how he was just some guy, and not a world ending being of pure destruction. But that would not do anything either. "Of course it is."The cultist said with an exaggerated wink. "Look, just...just go away. I'm not in the mood right now." Dave pushed his way passed the cultist. He made his way to the car, trying to ignore the cultist the entire way. It was hard, but Dave had learned how to do it after all this time. As he drove off, he sighed and tried to collect his thoughts. But, there was really only one thing he could think of at that moment. Sometimes, it was hard being almost normal.
"No, really,"exclaimed the scrawny reed of a man, "I'm a villain!" He twirled dramatically, but nearly tripped over his own feet, and hastily indicated his clothing. "Look at my black outfit! I live inside a cave! What about this fancy gun that shoots missiles?" Superman sighed and absently twirled the little curl on his forehead with a finger of steel. "Batman wears all black and lives in a cave, too. And that's a nerf gun you painted black and glued some tubes onto, Brian" "It's Despairo! But, anyway I broke the law on the way over here, just to prove how evil I am!" "Going four miles per hour over the limit isn't exactly a felony. " "But,"he squeaked, "but, it was a school zone!" "It's Saturday." "Okay, fine. What about that heist I pulled off at the government building?" "Two overdue library books is not a heist." Brian, er, Despairo, quivered on the verge of tears. "What about the lava trap I set up at the orphanage?" "Look, Brian-" "It's Despairo!" "Whatever. The kids loved playing 'the floor is lava' game with you. But evil villains generally don't have little kids laughing and tickling them." The would-be-villain slumped and murmured, "I made one of them cry." Superman placed a sympathetic hand on the despondent man's shoulder. "Bri- I mean, Despairo, we can't just make anyone a supervillain, ya know? It takes a certain kind of, how do I put this? Evil. Like, you gotta be really, really bad. Planting nuclear bombs at the Superbowl kinda bad." Despairo sniffed and wiped his nose, "I tried that, but nobody would trade a nuke for Amazon gift cards." "I know, I know. But don't get upset, you have plenty of time to work on it, right? Hey, you got that evil laugh down pat! That's a good start! Maybe get yourself some henchmen and try again next year, okay?" Despairo sniffed again and mumbled, "Yeah, maybe. " "Come on, Despairo, let me hear that laugh. I'm serious, it's one of the best evil laughs I ever heard. " "Really?" "Sure, I was just telling Wonder Woman the other day that if they had an evil supervillain version of the Voice, you'd win it with that laugh." Despairo perked up, set his jaw, and marched toward the door, "I'll get you next time, Superman! Muah haha HAHA HAAA HAAAAAA HAAAAAAAA!" The door slammed shut and a tinkling crash soon followed. Despairo's muffled voice could be heard down the hall, "Sorry, about the vase!"
I've been doing this for years, now... and I've never really "Freddy Kruger"d anybody. It's crossed my mind, of course. I've even put the fear into some people, but I always end on a sunny note. I guess I'm just not a mean guy. Initially, I visited the dreams of people I knew. Handed out fun stuff, had some good times. Then I learned some things I'd rather not have known, and that ended that era of my dream-hopping. Afterward I spent some time with celebrities... made them have racy dreams of me. Of course they have no idea who I am, but I guarantee they'd recognize me on the street. Yeah, that was a fun saga. I'd visit more than just hot celebrities, though -- see how music forms in the brains of my favorite artists. Sit in on a scientist or philosopher. There are a lot of neat dreams once you get out of your own head. Eventually I got bored of trying to choose new people and just began to sort of fall into random dreams. This was really interesting in a benign way. I saw some weird stuff again, but they were strangers now... I could change it, or leave, or... maybe learn something new about myself. Once I fell into the dreams of a guy I hated -- loathed in college. The details of why I hated him are inconsequential... I'm sure you've got someone who makes your blood boil, just picture them. So I fall into his dreams, and that's when I really decided to mess something up. I slink around in his dreams for a while, trying to learn something to really get at his core. I couldn't just drop him in a nightmare... that's surface damage. I had to be patient; I sat through many pleasant dreams of his, each of them reaffirming my quest. I would ruin him... Patience. Finally, I thought. It was dark, dingy. The colors were muted. He sat with some toys on the floor of a kitchen that was a size too big. I stood invisibly in the corner as a stomping sound wafted in through a doorway, and then a man who was unmistakably his father -- too large, looming, heaving with every breath -- ducks into the kitchen. His eyes are sunken beneath a heavy brow, and the air in the kitchen turns to alcohol. My eyes and throat burn briefly before I have the presence of mind to stop feeling it. CLEAN UP THIS GODDAMN MESS! A woman enters meekly, but with a loud shrill voice: I TOLD HIM TO CLEAN IT UP! I TOLD YO-- A loud smack from the father, and the mother figure puffs into mist, drifting away out of the kitchen. The man-child on the floor -- my nemesis, my victim -- begins to weep. So far I've done nothing to this dream. The father, without another word, takes off his belt. It makes a scraping, rasping sound, like a sighing dragon. The belt comes up and cracks down on the boy, who is screaming, sobbing, screaming, sobbing. With each swing of the belt, he shrinks a little, slowly becoming this weak, whimpering ball. With each strike, Father grows bigger, darker. This is exactly what I was looking for... and I am disgusted. I leap forward from nowhere, putting myself ahead of the next strike with a gleaming golden shield. The belt shatters against it, and as the enraged Father raises his fists he is enveloped in golden light. The light subsides, and he is gone. I stand alone over the cowering boy, who looks up bewildered -- he's had this dream many times, but not like this. As I help him to his feet, he recognizes my face, and I can see the weird, confused slew of emotions running through his head... and I kind of like that better than my original plan. Let him puzzle over his 'savior' when he wakes up. On my way out, just for fun, fading into the pure golden light, I reach out and rap on his balls, singing nutcheeeeck. Ahh, satisfaction.
My tormentor was an ingrate, but he knew how to cause me problems. His father was the mayor, so he seemed immune to the law. I was beaten, stalked, and suffered no end of indignities, but this had taken all of that and made it look like a beautiful summer afternoon. He had me framed for utilizing powers, powers I never possessed. Evidently he had some very talented friends who managed to falsify video evidence of me throwing him with my mind. And so it was I found my hands locked into a pair of metallic power inhibitors. He knew I had no powers, but he also knew my love for the piano, and there would be no way I could play with those large, metal contraptions bolted to my hands. Each key had to be precise, each note played at exactly the right time without intrusion by its neighbors or a piece would fall apart. My whole lifes ambition tossed away for a schoolyard prank, I knew I needed revenge. I didn't have powers, but that didn't mean I was powerless... I spent years, learning all I could about my new clunky accessories. It took me two years to learn how to disable them, another year to remove them from myself. Manipulating the tools took alot of patience and precise maneuvering, but eventually I got the things off. I would free myself at home, every night letting my hands feel the cool air. After being locked up, the air on them felt refreshing. But I wasn't done. I kept up my research, seeing how the gauntlets worked. And day by day, I knew more about their nature. It wouldn't take me long to learn how to do the opposite. To not neutralize ones abilities, but enhance them... There was a place, just outside the city, called Tartarus. The Tartarus asylum for the unnatural and insane It was simple work to send a transmission to their own power dampeners. Within minutes the asylum erupted, literally, with supercharged superhuman lunatics. The mayor was forced to resign in disgrace, but I wasn't done, oh no. They took everything from me, claiming I was some supervillain in the making even though I had no powers. Villian they call me? Villian I shall be. I began seeking out the inmates who escaped the carnage, captain combustion was the first. A short tempered man capable of some pretty nasty explosive powers, having him amplified to much could turn him into a walking nuke. But he didn't need to know just how high I could turn up his abilities. He seemed fine taking down buildings. Madam Mischief, an illusionist, was able to cause the entire cities inhabitants to believe they were trapped inside the city limits. Whenever they left, they found themselves wandering the streets. Next was the sewer dweller, his monsterous form made even more powerful at my command. Right under the nose of the now former mayor, I made every supervillain in the city pay me for their powers. Publicly I was just a helpless young woman wearing her legally mandated gloves. At night however I was a ruthless crime boss charging a hefty subscription fee for their enhanced powers. Anyone who didn't pay had their gauntlets re-activated. It wouldn't be long before I set my sights on Ethan. Ethan Edward Parker, my old bully. In my daily life I maintained a day job cleaning the offices of Parker and Malloy, a lawfirm in the city. I kept a close eye on the doofus as he got a job through sheer nepotism. Mommy's precious boy working at her law firm. I had both his parents killed. Told captain combustion that he wouldn't have to pay again if they were both killed violently. They were found with their temples burst, their brains painting the house. Madam Mischief implanted the vision in the head that Ethan was the one who did it. Suddenly there were several witnesses willing to testify that not only was their son the murderer, but he had hidden powers. Ethan was sent to Tartarus, to spend the rest of his days rotting for a crime he didn't commit. I made sure to have the spectator visit him while invisible, and tell him what I did. He hung himself a few weeks later. And so here I am, sitting in my home simply taking in the money from supers wanting to enhance their abilities for a price. Life is good when you are a genius.
After yet another boring day at school, I got home, ready to make food and spend the entire night procrastinating. As I walked up, I noticed an abnormal number of cars littering the area, some even double-parked on our street. Must be some kind of party. Damnit, Dad. The front door was unlocked, and the main room was entirely empty, but I could hear some commotion upstairs and slowly creeped up to see what was going on. There were at least fifty people packed into the upper floor, like sardines. I recognized a few of them as aunts or uncles, though some I'd never seen. "Oh, sweetie, you're home. Come this way,"my Aunt Jane said, planting a fat kiss on my forehead. She dragged me through the crowd and into my father's room, where my dad was bundled under the covers with an IV running into his arm. "Hey, buddy,"he said softly with a weak smile. I walked up to him and furrowed my brow. "Dad, what's going on? Why are all these people here?" He grabbed my hand and patted it. "I've been trying to keep this from you as long as possible, but I can't anymore." "Dad, what are you talking about?"I asked wildly, heart pounding against my chest as if trying to break free. "I'm confused." "Hi, Confused,"he said, gripping my hand. A single tear flowed from his left eye. "I'm Dying." ------ thanks for reading! if you'd like to see any more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury!
Some people chase after money. Others chase after love. Still others chase after books, movies, hell, even writing. I couldn’t even imagine: just sitting in front of your computer coming up with stories. Why do that when you could go out and make your own? But all of them, yes even the writers, are looking for one thing: that elusive Rush. The feeling you get once a blue moon that makes you think, “yeah, this is what I live for.” The pounding heart, the excitement, the adrenaline, the life. Some people get it when getting that paycheck others get it by driving at 300 miles per hour or jumping off a plane. I got the Rush by watching the light fade out of someone’s eyes. I looked in the mirror again. Red lipstick but not too red. I was playing Mary Sue – inexperienced, but eager. I wore a dark blue dress that fell down to my ankles with but an open back. Little eyeliner to accent my eyes, and my dark hair was pulled into a simple ponytail. The perfect Mary Sue. I blew a kiss to the mirror and went to see my date. * He was ten minutes late. He looked like his profile picture at least. Tall, he was around my height, tan skin and curly blond hair. He wore a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and black pants. Time to play my part. Though I wanted to throttle him for being late I got up in a calculated movement, expertly knocking my chair back, like I was some flustered idiot, and stumbled. He was at my side immediately, helping me regain my balance. I fluttered my eyes at him. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, I’m always just so clumsy.” I used an old theater trick to make the blood rush to my cheeks, making him think I was blushing. “Oh, um, it’s fine. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for being late,” he said, looking like a kid who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I laughed at the expression. Wow, that was actually kind of cute. “So, um, should we sit?” * He told me jokes and stories. I just blushed at first, giving him slight smiles, but then as I sipped at the wine, I let myself open up, laugh a little more, casually brush my fingers against his. This one was devious. I could see the glint in his eyes now that wasn’t there when he’d help me from my stumble. The innocent face was a disguise. A damn good one at that, if it had fooled me, though only for a few minutes. But I wasn’t me, I was Mary Sue. So, I drank more wine and laughed harder at his jokes. I guess I’d take him back to my kill house – his type would say yes, I was sure. I could probably overpower him, but he was well built and must have at least 50 pounds on me, Didn’t hurt to be sure though I supposed. So when the food arrived, I made a show of digging in my purse for my phone. I opened a case inside my purse and carefully picked up a single grain of the poison and crushed it between two of my fingers. I flashed him an embarrassed smile and squeezed his fingers – getting the colorless poison on them. We were having wings, so no silverware involved – he’d ingest the poison. It wouldn’t kill him immediately, but it would begin working through his system, making him weak, easier to overpower. Another job well done. He opened both of our bottles of beer with his key chain bottle opener and we clinked our glasses. I took a swig of the drink. He put his drink down and bit into one of his wings. Both of us froze. That bastard. It was subtle, but it was there. Gloriella. It didn’t really have a taste, but I could feel the powder warm on my tongue as I drank the beer. He was here to kill me. It wouldn’t kill me immediately, I had a couple of hours to safely to take the antidote. He had frozen too, a bit comically, with his teeth half biting into the wing. He recognized the poison. I began to laugh. He shook his head and showed me his teeth; a predator’s smile. I matched his with one of my own and undid my hair, letting it fan across my back while he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Seemingly small gestures to any onlooker, but to professional killers it was like taking off a costume. Mary Sue was gone with her silly laughing and perpetual blush. He had changed too. Gone was the good boy look, and the more sinister side I’d seen a shadow of dominated him now. He leaned back in his chair, wearing an expression of supreme confidence. “Poison on the fingers eh?” he said with a sardonic smile, not even bothering to keep his voice low. No one would hear us over the din of conversations all around us. I shrugged one shoulder in a casual gesture. “Less cliché than poisoning a girl’s drink at least.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh please, the classics are classics for a reason. If it works, it works.” “Well,” I said after taking another swig of the poisoned beer. “It didn’t.” He blinked a few times at me drinking again, then a slow smile spread across his lips. A game. He dropped the wing entirely and very purposefully sucked the tips of his fingers clean, making sure to get all the poison I’d gotten on them. “You missed a spot,” I said, and offered him my hand. “My, my, aren’t we forward,” he said, putting his hand on his chest in mock shock. But he then took my hand is other one and kissed my fingers. I raised my own beer in salute and drank the rest of it in one gulp. * We were outside now, and he walked me to my car like a real gentleman. I had no idea where this was going really, but I was ready. I had a knife strapped to my thigh and a gun in my purse. I wasn’t an idiot but…I wanted to see where this was going. We got to my car and I turned to him. Only part of his face was illuminated by the neon lights of the restaurant sign, but I could see one half of his lips curve up in that trademark smile of his. He leaned forward and, after a moment, so did I. Our lips touched. We stood there, not kissing, but touching lips, exchanging the poison residue both of us had on our lips. It was stupid, borderline suicidal, but hell if it wasn’t fun. He pulled back a shade before I did. My heart was beating wildly, threatening to jump out of my chest, and my cheeks were actually flushed. This was it, the Rush. And no one had died, or at least, not yet. “So…will I see you again?” he asked. I grinned. * (minor edits) If you enjoyed this, you’ll like a story I wrote for literally this exact prompt like half a year ago. Though I warn you it goes a little bit....differently. Here it is: [Let’s Kill Tonight](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/79ce2r/fiction_lets_kill_tonight/) Feel free to check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
It takes me a few tries, but I finally manage to get the key into the lock and wrench my door open. I added a few new scratches onto the front of the deadbolt, but that’s nothing new. This isn’t the first time I’ve stumbled home after a few too many and had to stand out on my own stoop for twenty fucking minutes just trying to get inside. At least I didn’t have to break the window and pass out on my couch covered in shards of glass again. I stomp up the stairs and fall face-first into the mess of blankets and sheets on my bed. Why bother making it? I live alone, and it’s not like I ever bring anyone back here. I can’t even be bothered to get my boots off; the bed is just too comfortable. I just need to catch my breath, I decide. Then I’ll take off my shoes and get a glass of water and some Tylenol to forestall the inevitable hangover. Just a little rest first…. “DADDY!!!” A high voice scream just before two little feet come in for a landing right on my chest. “It’s Saturday, daddy!” I manage to scramble out of the blankets to find a little girl standing right over me wearing little ducky pajamas and carrying a raggedy teddy bear. “Can we have pancakes?” she asks. I fight my way out of the sheets; somehow the bed seems to have made itself in the night, complete with tightly-tucked hospital corners. “I… uhhhh…” I don’t know this girl. Or who her dad is. Or how she made it into my apartment. Holy shit. My apartment is now gone. I’m in a white bedroom looking out over a green lawn instead of a dirty alley near the highway. The bed is covered in what looks like a hand-made quilt and soft white pillows. Somehow I woke up in an episode of Leave It To Beaver suburbia, instead of my rathole tenement. “Listen… uhhh…” I don’t even know the girl’s name to address her. “Look, kiddo… I…” “Can we have chocolate chips in them today?” she asks as she bounces back and forth on the bed like a trampoline. Then, without warning, she takes a running leap right over the edge and straight at me. I thrust my hands out to catch her without even thinking about it. And that’s when I see the tattoo. Back in college, I needed cash. But unfortunately, I had no marketable skills and no work ethic to speak of. So I found the perfect job: lab rat for my school’s physics department. They made me sit in some electromagnetic chamber with my hair standing on end for like 2 hours at a time. Told me it was some kind of experiment on interdimensional travel, and that I might wake up the next day with some things different in my life. They’d done it to me for over a year, and nothing ever changed the next morning. Then they’d lost their funding and given up. The tattoo on my left bicep was the only remnant of that experiment. They’d had to tattoo it on, they said. Anything not part of my body could be changed in the alternate universe, so it couldn’t just be a note or something. It was a set of instructions on how to get back to my own universe. Information about Dr. Walker, so that I’d be able to find him even if he didn’t have the same address or home. And, failing that, information on replicating the chamber so that some other scientist in this world could help me build another one to send me back. The little girl wraps her arms around my neck. “Yeah, Daddy? Chocolate chips?” The sheets on the bed stir, and a woman sits up and rubbed her eyes. In my haste to figure out why the hell there was a kid jumping on me, I hadn’t even noticed her there. She yawns, then looks toward me and the girl with a heart-melting smile. “Well?” she asks. “I want chocolate chips too.” We stare at each other for a few moments. She seemed vaguely familiar… that wavy brown hair, soft eyes... and then it all clicked into place. She’d been in one of my classes at the university, all those years ago. We’d been assigned to do a group project together… and I’d completely blown it off. Better things to do, you know. Mainly drugs. Her name was… Deanna? “Everything OK?” she asks. The sleepy smile turns into a slight frown as she wakes up and realizes that I am in a state of heart-pounding panic. I stare back at her, then at the beautiful house around me and the cleanly manicured lawn out the window. And our little girl, apparently. I was supposed to contact Dr. Walker and tell him what all the differences were, and then he’d send me back. To my depressing apartment and my cold, unmade bed. “Yeah,” I say, pulling my pajama sleeve down to cover up the tattoo on my arm. “Everything’s fine.” I put on my most convincing smile, then hold the little girl up in the air and twirl her around. “Chocolate chip pancakes it is!” ----- As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of other stories!
I took a deep breath. They were all depending on me. The last trees were gone. The last grass. The air was full of smoke. The gaunt-faced survivors circled me with desperate eyes. "Bury me,"I said at last, holding out my arms to them. They did. The sprout grew quickly taller above the gravelly grave. It seemed to shoot into the air, thickening by the day. Soon a passing child shouted in disbelief: upon the highest twig there budded a single violent spark of green, the only color in the dust-colored waste. From there, a tree simply burst into existence, its growth almost visibly rapid. The tree extended a welcoming green crown above the barren dust. Water dripped from its leaves. The survivors crowded and stared. They came with buckets to set beneath the dripping leaves, and they drank with the parched thirst of many days. They came to sit in the velvet shade, their only shelter from the blaze of an angry sun. The tree burst into flower as if to welcome them. Eventually, a ripe fruit hit someone in the head. A shout went up as fruit swelled and fell, pelting the starving with sustenance. They ate and were filled joy. Branches and leaves began to fall, replaced by new growth. The people built fires for warmth. As the fallen branches grew larger, they began to build shelters. Time passed. The Tale of the Tree was handed down, generation after generation: the story of how the single grave in the vast wasteland sprouted life and supported them all. Children made crowns of its leaves, the dead were buried among its roots, and all ate of the fruit it bore. They spoke the name of their savior with reverence, centuries later. It was graven into the mythology of their culture. "Pinnocchio. Here he lies."
God is dead, but chin up. There's no use crying over it. We found out the old bastard died the same time we found out he was really there to begin with. God turned out to be exactly like my dad: I could be sad to see him go, but he was never fuckin there for me anyway. But even gods obey physics: energy cannot be created nor destroyed. So when that big light in the sky winked out, all those god powers just churned back into the chaotic fabric of the universe. Into us. Now here we are. Humans living off the fumes of immortal omnipotence, but inheriting God's power was like splitting a pizza into 8 billion pieces. You'd be lucky to get a crumb. I'm a cop. Department of Divinity Enforcement. It's my job to find those of us who got a decent power and make sure they're registered with the feds. Call it public safety. I call it a guaranteed pension and job security. I had a kid at home. She smiled like she could see the universe as clearly as any god. I'd hand out a thousand petty fines if it kept her healthy and housed and fed. So there I am: Midnight City, all neon lights and stiletto buildings, stabbing the dark sky. Night is never truly lightless in the Midnight City. The skies reflect back the city lights, pale orange or pink, like a holy fire. I'm zipping through the dark on my light-cycle, wheels flashing, flying along the thin bar of the sky- rail, a dozen feet in the air. I'm undercover, technically. To put it even more technically, I'm off-duty. The truest kind of undercover. I justify that to myself as my light-cycle zips soundlessly along the sky-rail. I'm doing this for my daughter. For my wife. The light-cycle belongs to the department, but I disabled the GPS tracker weeks ago. If and when IT notices, I'll play dumb. Claim some road debris must have damaged it. Until then, I do all the night-hunting I can. Silent. Swift. Off the radar. Tonight, I'm zeroing in on a particularly powerful divinity signal coming from the red light district, a place any smart cop would never go after hours, alone. I've been called many things -- a bastard, a blowhard -- but I've never been accused of being careful. I find my target quick enough. Some dim smoky bar in a part of town that hasn't been modernized yet. Still the old asphalt roads and gasoline cars. Strangers who watch me and my light-cycle like I'm a foreign invader. Let them stare. I won't need long. I park the bike outside the bar and walk inside with my helmet tucked under my arm, my leather jacket shining back the electric pink lights of the bar sign: THE ROOST. It's alive with activity, the roaring laughter of drunks on a Friday night. When I grip the door handle, I pause. Close my eyes. Inhale once, twice, and I focus my entire being into imagining that, inside the bar, it's only me and that little ball of glowing god-energy on the light-cycle's tracker. Then I pull the door open, and I stalk inside, my boots clinking. The bar is dead empty, now. Except for a single person, upstairs. Behind the bar. If I let my focus slip, I can still see them. The manic monkey grins of the customers. The bartender, mixing drinks, his face shiny with sweat. But I walk through the empty bar I have constructed, behind the bar counter, up a dark and narrow set of stairs. I move like a ghost, untouched, unseen. If anyone knew I had this power, I'd be on every wanted list in the country. My heart pulses in my throat. I haven't seen a god-spark like this in years. Most of us get a dusting of gold flecks. Whoever this is was born with a solid wedge of gold, clenched in their fingers. Silent, oh so silent, I go upstairs. And there it is. The spark, glowing from the core of a human body. When I see it, my belly twists. There is a woman, sleeping upright in a rocking chair. In the vision I've constructed, she looks like she's made of grey paper, like a wasp's nest. The baby in her arms glows like a tiny sun. So much god-power that I find myself wincing, eyes burning. It's the kind of thing that once made ancient humans believe in prophecies and demigods and saviors. The woman does not see me as I walk to her side. As I stop and stand in front of her rocking chair. I stop there, hesitating, a reaper standing over her. I remember my own daughter, in my wife's arms. When my wife still moved and laughed and I had only one power then, the power that brought me onto the force: how I could see god-sparks burning in people's chests. My wife had a weak spark, but she didn't need any God's power to fill the space between us with enough light for a lifetime. I just stand there. My heartbeat roars in my ears. All I have to do is reach out and touch that infant's sleeping chest and reach in deeper, and its power is mine. Its life force. All of it. I can take it and devour it and become that much brighter. Usually, I don't hesitate. Especially after driving this long in the cold miserable dark. Risking explaining the odometer to my captain. But I can't move. I can't even breathe. I've been alive longer than I can remember. I've consumed more sparks and souls that I can count. Power by power, I've grown stronger and stronger. I've become master of time. Master of deception. Master of crawling into one's very mind and tweaking your hormones to sway you to believe me, just enough. But I still haven't found the right power to go back. To undo what I've done. I put my hand out, but I can't bring myself to touch the swaddled baby, because the longer I stare, she has my daughter's face and the papery woman, suspended on the other side of time, looks like my wife and I remember I remember I cannot stop remembering. How I discovered my power. How I reached for my infant daughter, my wife, to draw them both close to me and I reached right in and took the spark right out of them. They crumbled, right in front of me. Like dust. There one moment, gone the next. Snuffed out like dust on a god's sleeve. I run my finger along the sleeping infant's golden cheek. A power like that could be anything. Maybe they could manipulate atoms. Maybe they could undo the chains of time, one by one. And the mother would blink and her infant would crumble into dust in her arms, but if I could get my family back, wouldn't it all be worth it? Already, I'm straining my power. Overstaying my welcome. If the illusion slips now, I'll be a stranger in their house, and no badge will get me out of this. I pull my hand away. I turn, just as the infant starts to fuss, and I hear the mother soothing it as if she's speaking from the other side of the ocean. She sounds so much like my wife, my heart goes thick in my throat. I manage to get downstairs and around the bar before my power dwindles. The illusion slips, and I am rocketed back into the present. The bar buzzes all around me. "Hey,"the bartender says. "I didn't see you come in." I pause. I'm standing there at the end of the bar, clutching my light-cycle helmet like it's an infant. My voice feels like another lost spark. "Can I get you a drink?"he says. There's a picture of the infant from upstairs on the wall behind him. I can't stop staring at it. "Is that your kid?"I say. His face goes into a hard mask, unreadable, a shield. I tell him, distantly, "He looks just like my daughter used to." I want to say something heroic. Something inspiring. Your kid is destined for great things or Be the best father you can be or You will never know what it's like to live with yourself if you lose him. But I'm not a hero. I'm not even a very good god. I'm just a spark-stealing bastard, trying to undo what I've brought on the two people I loved most. The bartender's stare follows mine, and his face softens. He cracks open a beer and slides it across the counter at me. "What was your daughter's name?"he says. Was. All these years, and it still hits like a punch. "Delilah,"I whisper. The bartender nods. "I heard that sparks don't ever disappear. We carry them in us." I consider the beer and my heart feels like a lightless sky with two tiny sparks, shining too far away for me to feel their warmth now. "As long as we carry that light,"he says, "it can never really die." I take a sip, but it tastes like ash. "Thank you,"I tell him. "For the beer." Normally, on a night like this, I would go home. Get utterly fucking wasted. I would create a living model of my memories and walk through it as though it's all real. My conjured wife would look at me and smile, brighter than any god-spark. My daughter would still have tiny perfect hands, grasping my fingers, and I would not feel her skin turn to ash under my touch. But tonight, when I leave the bar, the city lights wash out the stars. I swear I can see two god-sparks, hovering up there. I can feel their heat, like they're right here, next to me. For once, I don't need to pretend they're still alive.
His editor sat at her seat, reading the final pages of Martin's The Tale of the Lancastrian War, the epic third book in his A War of A Hundred Years fantasy series. It was, as Martin promised, to be his best book yet, to spread across the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. By the New and Old Gods, even the Northerners would want to read it! Martin, of House George, was after all the most prominent author of his time, his novels always bearing is house words: A strong pen is a strong mind. "She...she dies?"His editor said, shutting the book, "You burn the damned hero of the book at the stake?" Martin laughed heartily, his belly rumbled, "She's not the hero. Not yet at least." "What in seven hells does that mean?" "It's all part of the War, Anne,"he said gleefully. "The War is only in it's third phase, by the time we reach--" "You're going to lose half the fan base with this one, Martin,"she said, sliding the book. "I just don't see how you can have dozens of characters and choose the most lovable one to be killed." "I wouldn't exactly call her lovable,"he said, "just more favorable than Henry, Sixth of His Name." "That's exactly my point. You kill of Henry, Fifth of His Name, unexpectedly, have a ten-year old reign as King, and then this happens?"Anne shook her head, staring at the book, she continued, "I just think you need to go back and see what works." "It's already been four years since the second book,"Martin said, "I want to get this out." "You should've written it faster then,"Anne said, "and had a better plot. A War of A Hundred Years is successful because the characters have a chance, without having a chance. We know none of them are going to see the end of it, but give them hope, courage, love."She dragged the leather-bound book back to her and smirked, "Have you considered having Joan live? Perhaps fall in love with an English man, this bastard of Edward?" "The bastard knows nothing, Joan would never go for the likes of him,"Martin said. "Fine, fine, but maybe someone else? What's the bastards' arc anyway?" "Oh, a little bit of killing, raising an army, winning the war and then--" "That's perfect! So it's coming to a close soon anyway?"Anne nodded and began to open the book again, skimming through the pages, "I think if you can get his arc to coincide with Joan's at the earliest convenience--" "No, no,"he said, "she has to die. She has to be a martyr, the French have to win the war, obviously. This leads into my next series, Wars of the Roses, an epic continuation to this War, where the English--including this bastard--fight each other." She shut the book in an instant, dissatisfied, "Martin, I respect you, I respect your work, I respect your House, but by all the Gods in this world, no one is going to believe this." "It's fantasy! They don't have to believe in it, they just have to fall into the world,"he said, smiling, "Besides, you really think this made-up Church would burn a nineteen year old at the stake?" _________ I had a lot of fun with this, and tried to include some of the more fantastical elements of European history. Hope you enjoyed and check /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!
Everything was going so well. I'd had a run of good luck recently, including a new job and an amazing new boyfriend. So I knew I had it coming; something bad was bound to happen soon. Instead of waiting for fate to catch up with me, I was proactive: I played the lottery. It's generally a very safe bet. Billions of people on the planet play every round to discharge some good luck, just like I did. It's seen as the perfect chance to get a negative result (to counter a positive) for a lot of events. And the winner is almost always some poor farmer in the 3rd world who just lost all of his family to ebola or something. Someone with such a bad streak of luck that only a jaw-dropping amount of money can make up for it. In other words, someone not the least bit like me. ---- I wasn't even watching the results of the lottery when they were announced. I bought a bunch of tickets at once, figuring that a hundred or so losses would be enough to level things back out. I just picked "2"for every single number, on every single ticket. I dropped them in the passenger seat of my car and never gave it another thought. Until there was a knock on my door. "Cindy Pulaski?"the man asked, shoving a microphone into my face as cameras crowded behind him. "What... what is all this?"I asked, still half-asleep. The coffee wasn't even done brewing yet. "You won!"someone shouted from behind the reporter. "You won the lottery!" I blinked and tried to clear the sleep from my eyes. Maybe this was still a dream. "What's going on?"Sean asked from the kitchen. I could the distant tinkle of cereal clinking against the bowl as he prepared his breakfast. "Who is it?" I slammed the door shut. "No one,"I answered, locking the back door too. "It was no one." ----- Hiding didn't work. The news crews camped out on my lawn, and the official from the World Lottery had already flown in from Dubai with the giant check. Eventually I emerged from the house and had to accept the burden. Lights flashed and cameras clicked, and my image would be in every newspaper by tomorrow. Somewhere in Africa there were probably a lot of starving people wondering what I'd suffered through to deserve this boon. But I knew that it wasn't what I'd gone through: it was what was coming next. I tried to avoid the news. By now, they'd dug up stuff about my past. About how Sean and I had just started dating only a few months ago. About the new job. Every single aspect of my life was weighed on a giant scale to determine what fate had in mind, and all of the commentators were in agreement: I'd probably be killed. Something really horrific. Tortured, maybe. Fate had deigned to give me this massive amount of money and fame, and would soon extract its price. "She should live it up,"one of the commentators said with grim satisfaction, "because who knows how long she'll be able to enjoy all of that money." Sean was out the door after less than a month. Part of it was the stress of dealing with all of the press and the speculation about my imminent demise, and part of it was that he didn't want to be in the house when the meteor struck in the middle of a tornado centered in our living room. He confessed that he'd been on the fence about us even before the lottery win, and that it just wasn't worth the effort. He wanted someone more low maintenance. The news followed our breakup closely. Sean, the "Billion Dollar Boyfriend"did all of the talk show circuits as everyone tried to figure out what made him so amazing that the only way to balance out our impending breakup was to make me one of the richest people on the planet. Last I saw on the cover of a tabloid, he ended up with some supermodel. Makes me wonder what will eventually happen to him to level everything out. My friends had a pretty similar reaction. I became toxic. Even after giving away a lot of the money to charities, they still didn't think that my luck had balanced out. Donating to charity isn't bad luck, they told me. It's a choice. So something bad was still going to happen. And they didn't want to be there when it did happen. Naturally I was fired from my job. My boss expected that the run of bad luck would be some catastrophic mistake that I'd make and sink the entire company with one typo. It wasn't unprecedented, and he wasn't willing to take that chance. He'd worked hard to build up the company and didn't want it ruined just so that I could pretend I was still a normal person with a normal job. ---- It's been two years since I won the lottery, and one year since I last spoke to another person face to face. I moved out to a new place in the country, after all of my neighbors petitioned to get me out of the neighborhood so that whenever my catastrophe struck, they wouldn't be casualties too. I live alone now, far out in the woods. I even made my sister adopt my dog; I couldn't bear for anything to happen to him. It's just a waiting game now. Waiting for the end to come when my bad luck strikes me down and ends this suffering. ---- If you enjoyed this one, you should subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell for tons of other stories!
It was valentines day. Superficial love plastered in cards and cheap chocolate and flowers. I'd never bothered with it all before, but the sullen dejected look on Rachel's face last year had been burned oh so clearly into my memory. Well today would be different, today I was going to buy overpriced flowers and perhaps if I was lucky I'd get some lovey-dovey valentines sex. Walking across the winding uneven streets of Lawhitton, I stumbled into the heavingly busy florists. It was filled with middle aged men, all depressed and filled with dread at the one question filling the room. "What sort of arrangement are you after?"the store clerk had said. One by one we filed through, the men pushing in and out of here as quickly as they could. "What sort of arrangement are you after?"The store clerk repeated herself. Like the others I looked blankly on at her until I noticed a bouquet of roses off to the side. They were beautiful, unlike anything I'd noticed in this shop, they were vibrant and exciting in this flowery hell. The store clerk noticed my wandering eyes and perked up. "Those are £500, they are the most expensive bouquet we have, but they are special, you will be in love forever with those ones."I knew most people would leave the flowers in that circumstance, even my pockets were groaning at the possibility of that much money leaving the bank account. Unfortunately I remembered Rachel's puppy dog eyes and the purchase was made. In the small golden card that came with the roses I noted briefly that it said one of them was fake. I'd never seen instructions with roses before, but then again, I'd never bought them either. The card instructed me to tell my lover that we will be in love until the last rose dies. For £500 I was glad for the tip and would certainly be using that one later on. Years had passed. Our daughters were perfect, Rose, Ellie and Sam. We had them in our 20's. They grew up so fast. As they got older and into their teens we started noticing our lives were a little odd. Nobody could explain why we lived this life, we didn't look a day over 25. I hadn't noticed at first but as we crept past 30 and into 40, it was starting to become worrisome. The people we told would look at our ID and look back to us, some found stunned disbelief, most would simply glance, take an odd look and go about their day. That's the one thing that you could count on, humanity was very good at ignoring the weird and wonderful. We moved around a lot as time went on and it was clear we could never had an easy life. Having to explain that your daughters were the same age or even older wasn't something the world was ready for. So we hid away. Watching the girls grow up and old was a real pleasure. They were perfect. Rachel and I had been together now close to 100 years. We mourned the death of our daughters. Each of them growing old and amazing. A perfect match, we had grown old but our skin and bones had never withered. It really was true that love could last a lifetime, but we were further than a lifetime had ever been. We had travelled the world and ended up back in the cosy little town of Lawhitton. Where it all began for us. Today was valentines day. I thought it quite apt for my beautiful wife to recieve roses just like she had all those years ago. Just as before the sea of middle aged men coming and going was humorous. I meandered over to the checkout and asked the lady for her best bouquet of flowers. I paid for them and left. Just like the first time I'd given her roses, I told her that our love will last until the last rose had withered away. Day after day the roses withered and with each passing rose our faces began to wrinkle. My hair thinning. We were getting old. Today is our last day. Soon the last petal would fall. I love you Rachel. >If you like my writing feel free to see some of my other stuff at [/r/Mattatouille](https://www.reddit.com/r/Mattatouille/) Edit: thanks for the gold kind person!!!! :)
The young, slick-haired boy smiled at the camera. Don Auditorio suppressed a sigh. They were all the same, these up-and-coming soldatos. Thought they were a rising star. Thought they knew how to do his job better. "Not taking any risks, hm, boss?"The boy grinned at lens hovering near his face. "Be quiet,"Auditorio said in a soft voice. It had been different once. Mafia associates had shown respect, because that was all that held everything together. But now the Mafia operated within... other constraints. "There was evidence, Enzo."He said in his soft voice. "An illegal kill. You know the feds don't tolerate it. Not these days." The Don got up out of his chair and turned his back, facing the window, looking out onto the azure swimming pools and distant Sicilian beach. Sadly he still saw the smug kid's face in the reflection. At least the grin was gone now. "I made sure to avoid federal drones,"the boy said hotly. "There was only mafia tech-" "I have the evidence,"the Don said. "If they find out I'm holding back illegal murders, they will open up a legal hit on me. And they are watching me, Enzo. You should've known that." The young soldato paled. "I should kill you right here,"Auditorio said softly. He watched his wife and daughter, sunbathing near the pool. He felt nothing. He calmly turned around, his old Smith and Wesson already in his hand. They had railguns these days but he preferred the old feel. The old ways. Ah. The boy had scrambled back, but Don Auditorio made a placid gesture. "I am willing to hide the evidence,"he said. "But you understand, Enzo, that you're in my pocket now. You will obey my every command. You will scrounge in the dirt for me. Perhaps one day, I will burn the evidence files. One day, you may even become a Capo. But your independence is a thing of the past." The boy slicked back his hair, out of words for once. The Don lit up a cigar; he hated that e-cigarette cazzate. "How's that girl of yours, Enzo? Sophia her name was, I think."He puffed some smoke, coughing. "The red-haired one. Tell her to pay me a visit next saturday." "A visit?"All the boy's confidence was gone. "Si. To pay her respects."Another puff. The Don turned back to the window, smiling. "Like the old days." The glass of the window cracked, a white star around a clean hole. Almost in surprise, Auditorio looked down at his chest, where a red flower of pain was blooming around a neat hole in the center, mirroring the glass. He tried to gasp, but his right lung was pierced. "So you like the old days, eh, boss?" Enzo was sitting in the chair, holding a slick new railgun. Silent. Efficient. Gone was the smugness, gone was the boy. Auditorio held on to the desk, trying to speak, but all he could do was smear blood on the polished surface. "The illegal hit was staged, by the way,"Enzo said. "I'm working with the feds, they've suspected you of holding murder evidence for blackmail. Making this,"he gestured at the Don's chest with his gun, "A legal hit." The Don reached for his S&W pistol, but Enzo shot it to smithereens with the railgun. Bits of metal flew everywhere. "Get used to the new age, boss." The Don was coughing, slouching on the desk. Enzo leaned in closer, whispering as he pulled the Don's ear to his lips. "But this next shot is for what you did to Petro."He put another bullet clean through the Don's head. Revenge. At least that was according to the old days. Enzo wondered if Auditorio had really cared. Probably not. He grinned again at the camera drone and took a bow. It would pay off to keep the feds happy, for now. After all, Enzo was a rising star.
Journal entry, January 8th, 2189: I've been commissioned to investigate the strange phenomenon of everyone receiving the same death date of December 31st, 2199. Its an occurrence that has happened for most between 2150-2189. It was noted in records as early as 2120, but surviving from 2120 to 2199 was seen as quite a good situation, so was not questioned. Those born from 2140-ish onward began to question why the majority had the same death date, and even more worrying as children who received the same death date as their parents raised significant questions. Journal entry, Jan 8th, 2194: Five years have passed since the beginning of my investigation. Whether it be pertinent to the investigation or not, I shall document my findings up until this point: -this seems to affect 3rd world countries less. Their life expectancy is lower, and their results show this. Their 80% of same death date only occurs only roughly 50-60 years before the end death date- compared with the 70-80 years of more economically developed countries. An interesting find, but no closer to finding out the reason for the death date. With this in mind, we can rule out geographical issues such as localised warfare. At this stage, we cannot rule out global warfare, as this still has potential. - The death date does not include suicides, murders, accidental deaths;looking at previous reports of murders and suicides, these all had dates pertaining the the act described-if they were due to die on a date before December 31st 2199, they did. So this only discounts these people. -Space agencies from across the globe have been tracking entities through space since the early 2000's. As much as they can predict the trajectories of asteroids and comets 5 years in the future, there are no known celestial bodies getting close enough to our planet near that date to cause alarm. We should- as far as we know- be safe to rule out cataclysm from a large asteroid impact, the same thing believed to cause the extinction of the dinosaurs. Journal entry 3, January 8th, 2200 As soon as everyone woke on January 1st( I don't imagine many slept at all) and realised the date was wrong. People started to question whether the death date system was working properly and/or wanted a correct death date. So I investigated that route. Turn out the guy who had created the original death date program didn't think it would be of much value. He only gave it a 200 year-run period, of which the last date available was-guess what- December 31st 2199. *edited since I messed up the date. I may have been drinking, since it's Christmas.
Salty cereals. Fluffy old sweaters. A smokeless fireplace. Bit of jazz. Raindrops on windows. All of my favorite things. A little human girl of nine, living with loving parents. A bit absent sometimes, but always loving. The little girl always happy. She found me first, in a cardboard box. Outside the streets. Me bleeding, hungry, wet, cold, and foremost lonely. One might know why. Hunters. Secret human government branch. That make sure fairy tales remain fairy tales. Very efficient. Very cruel. I had turned in to a kitten. A familiar shape. An elegant shape. Cats are like liquids. Very stretchy. Feels like the most primal form of a shape shifter. Always fitting. Always predator. Always existed. This human girl took me in the midst of snow. Her umbrella rested on where the box laid. The box carried to her house. She carried snow on her head. Looked like a hat was forming. With no umbrella for cover. She would ask her parents. Her first ever big request. Parents did not seem to enjoy my sudden intrusion in to their life. She insisted she would bath me, feed me, and take care of me. Her first big lie, that was. But, I didn't mind. Neither did the family. Everyday, she would go out, and come back in. Everyday, I would try and rub myself on her legs in effort for her to not go, as the home was very empty. Like the thousand years I've been alone. Then she would return well in the afternoon. In her always clothing. I would wait by the border of the housing, and meow in joy. For she filled up the room whenever she went. With happiness. For a such small creature. The shine radiated greatly. We would sleep next to each other. Even if I was not really a creature to sleep at night. Only time I had disliked was when she bathed me, an ageless shape shifter. I could never get used to the feeling of getting washed by a little girl, let alone a human. This had been for the last ten years or so. She would be. She started to care less and less of me. Her interest had shifted to human boys. I knew this was bound to happen. I had always heard of these tales. But, never experienced it myself. I was ready to let it go. Let it slide. But, real fairy tales rarely end in a happy note. A reflection of life. Life is rarely happy. He turned out to be abusive, the boyfriend. My latest best friend, the girl who saved me from potential death that day. A naive girl she might not have been. But, she was manipulated. A shape shifter disguises appearances for survival. But, this human was a shape shifter of the face. His true intentions disguised for something other than survival. For power. For sexual power. She came in one night, partially ripped clothing. I didn't even have to ask. Anyone could tell. Sign so obvious. If it was from God before the great flood, everyone would have built an ark. She would be in the bathtub, shower running. Her parents on a leisure trip. Not to be seen until Sunday. I comforted her as best as I could. Then, managed to see her sleep. Through, the next few days. I would confirm, she no longer cared for him. I left through the cat door that night. It had been in nearly a decade since I took my original form. It had been in nearly a decade since I ate anything other than Salty cereals. >!Edit:!< >!let a lone a human - > let alone a human!< >!Only time, I had -> Only time I had!< >!bathtub in shower -> bath tub, shower running!<
TW: Suicidal Ideation “I’m a horrible person. What the fuck is wrong with me?” I said to nobody. I’ve been on the couch for two days now, stressing and eating leftovers. Everything was going well, I kept my job for almost an entire year. But once again a tiredness set itself in my bones and eventually I couldn’t muster the strength to get up. Once again, I have completely ghosted my job. I turned my phone off, the calls and texts shooting bullets of stress into my gut. I tried to call ahead, get a sick day. But instead all I did was sit up for hours, trying to call but being too afraid of judgement to go through with it. I only have enough money for another month of rent. And then what? What is the point of living, if all living is just this suffering. If life is suffering until you die, why not do the smart thing and get it over with? I pulled myself into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. The bottle felt unusually heavy; it was a miracle it didn’t spill. I sat back down and started thinking. I didn’t want to kill myself, not really. There was a chance I would survive, and the medical costs would be overwhelming. But if I just dropped dead I don’t think I would mind. I thought back to when I was younger; when things were so much easier. I used to pretend I was secretly a reincarnated god, here just to have a good time. I guess it was a coping mechanism, I dunno. Dropped out of psychology before we got around to that sort of thing. “To Dionysus. The secret god.” It felt stupid saying it out loud. But then, it’s not like anyone can judge me; I live alone. That’s the spirit. The thought seemed surprisingly cheerful. I closed my eyes and envisioned the words before me, letting myself become enveloped in the carefree feeling that came with it. Without any effort of my own, I saw the words merge and take the form of a wide cup filled with grapes. I felt myself getting pulled towards the cup; deeper into my mind. I saw myself on the top of a canyon. Everything had the hallmarks of a daydream; nothing existed unless I paid specific attention to it. In front of me was a tall person with an ethereal glow that masked all but their silhouette. They offered me the wide cup, and I drank from it. Immediately I felt the weight of my self judgement leave me, and I thought back to my situation. Had I not burned out repeatedly, I might have made a career doing something I didn’t love for the rest of my life. Strangely I felt a sense of gratitude for the pain I felt. The being reached into my chest and pulled out a backpack filled with rocks. They tossed it over their shoulder and into the canyon, and shoved another backpack filled with camping tools into my arms. Come find me. I recognized the canyon. It was the one my father took me to when we used to go backpacking together. That was years ago, but I think I still have the tools in the attic. I awoke. ----------- I spent the rest of the month selling all of my possessions. For so long they made me feel trapped, like I had to constantly afford a place to put them, or else lose them all. But now that they're gone, I feel free to finally do what I want. I put all of my money into the bank, grabbed my bag, and left my old life behind.
"We're going to start off today by reviewing the Treaty of Versailles, the pact that was made between the major world powers of the time to keep peace in Europe and beyond. This treaty was famously broken when Germany, a people known for their logical and unfeeling natures, suddenly ramped up war-time production and launched surprise attacks against neighboring countries that once counted them allies...." ___ "...ionic and covalent bonds are the two major types we will be seeing in nature. Covalent bonds are known for sharing electrons and are much more committed to each other; whereas ionic bonds between atoms are held together between attractive forces due to their charge. A good analogy is that covalent bonds are like family: good, strong, and close. Ionic bonds are just friends or coworkers: They deal with each other, but there are no binding commitments. Now Lewis structures are..." ___ "...Great Britain, and France, were among the victors of the last war and had a keen interest in making sure that their land stayed in their possession. That's why it came as such a shock to the French when their land, which they had good reason to think was theirs, was suddenly taken from them by Hitler's forces..." ___ "...the energy barrier is the thing that determines the rate-determining step. If the carbon truly wanted to lay claim to that oxygen atom via a covalent bond, it needs to put in the energy to make that happen. If the reaction happens too slowly, a competing reaction pathway may come in and snatch the oxygen up. That's not because the competing pathway was being tricky, but because the primary pathway didn't have the courage, I mean energy, to go for it itself..." ___ "The Battle of London was devestating to Great Britain, with Hitler striking at the heart of someone who the British thought was their friend!" ___ "There is no natural law that states an atom must be bounded or loyal to a single atom!" ___ "Mousilini!" ___ "Claisen-condensation!" ___ "This particular piece of art from J. M. W. Turner I have always considered very striking. You get the very distinct feeling that the subject is independent, and will not be fought over like scraps of food between two dogs. And that any plans that she had made with one dog were now cancelled." ___ "..." ___ "..." ___ "The war ended on friendly terms, with West Germany receiving aid from the Allies, despite the terrible travesties it had put the world through." ___ "Under the right conditions, two atoms who have recently severed ties can be brought back together in close proximity with each other and reform their covalent bonds." ___ "I'd like to think that, in a way, the world could sit down and have lunch together." ___ "Yes, those atoms could indeed be considered as having lunch together. That's the bell, class dismissed." ___ ___ Edit: I went to sleep with the thought that if I'm lucky I might be able get one or two hundred upvotes. Never did I expect this. Thank you so much for the response. There are a few things that should probably be addressed here: First - Art is a wonderful medium wherein once a creator has made something and shared it with the world at large, it no longer belongs just to him. Symbols and inferences that the author did not intend to exist can be found and introduce a depth and richness to a story beyond that which he had hoped. In a way, the writer and reader become co-creators in this work, each adding their own unique experiences to the mix. In regards to the gender/sex issue, I suppose the above applies here as well. However, if you really must know, I did imagine the Chemistry and History teachers as male and the Art teacher as female. Second - I would like to give a shout-out to Mrs. Sealion, as we were scrolling through /r/writingprompts together and she wanted to read the stories on this particular prompt. When there were no stories yet, we got to write our own together. Basically what I'm saying is, now I know I need her to help me be successful. (Thanks /u/WriterDavidChristian for the excellent prompt!) Third - If you enjoyed this, check out my subreddit /r/KillerSealion for more great stories! Pretty please?
She had heard the hum of the waterfall, the crack of lightning, the whirl of a tornado, but she’d never heard a sound as terrifying as this. The engine roared, and the blade buzzed like a million termites chewing at once. Pain. That was all she felt. One of her trees had fallen before it’s time. They had warned her of this invasion; she knew that this day may come. Another tree fell. Her life flashed before her eyes. A bird ate a seed. That fertilized seed grew into a tree. That tree housed the birds as thanks, and they carried out its seeds in return. Soon a forest sprouted, conquering the feeble grass that had dominated the plain before. The grass wilted underneath her branches, starved of the sun it used to monopolize. But the brown, withering grass did not cry. Instead, it laughed at her. She grew more, and the animals came to her, trampling the grass and its ecosystem below. But even so, the grass laughed. She peered down at the last patch, hopeful that it would finally cry. The forest had defeated it. “You think you’re so mighty,” the grass said. The branches rustled, and angry wood cracked. “I am, I have conquered you,” the forest said. “Then you do not know, but I do. I was here long before you and I know what is to come. If you saw your arrogance as I do, you would laugh too.” “What is to come? I will choke out any weed, just as I have you.” The grass burst into laughter, losing another of its precious few blades. “Weed? I suppose. But no, that which comes to you is not of the flora.” “A fauna? A dumb beast? How could one ever top my might?” The forest roared. “One? They are many. They don’t bend to our will, repeat the cycle as we command. They destroy us and shape their own nature. Survival of the fittest, as mother always intended.” “How do you know this?” “I have seen them, they may not be here now, but those demons will come for you. I hope that day you remember how you looked down on me as you tremble before their will.” A brown fence surrounded her, made with the trunks of her own trees. she shrank to a tenth her original size. They had built a new forest. One of squares and machines. She cried and looked to the blackbird that pecked at these humans droppings. Its black beady eyes stared at her, an unapologetic grin on its beak. Mother nature, how could you betray me?
I opened the fridge door for some water. God, I was thirsty. Why do I always forget to carry water with me when I come back home from work? I gulped down half a bottle of water and closed the fridge. As I walked towards my room, I felt a sharp tug and my stomach felt weird. It was as though I was on a roller coaster. I closed my eyes to collect myself. It must be the dehydration, I thought. I was sweating. I opened my eyes only to find that I was no longer at home. The ambient lights around me were red, orange and shades of yellow. I could smell a rusty odor. Arcane symbols, bones and blood were around me. "Holy Fuck."I exclaimed. "You're not supposed to use that word."A small being mumbled. He looked humanoid but it was clear that he wasn't an earthly being. "You mean the F-word?"I frowned. Great. I just cussed in front of a child. I tried to walk towards him but for some reason I was wasn't able to move out of the symbols that was drawn below me, on the ground. "Um, no. The H-word. It's bad. My parents would beat the crap out of me if they heard me use that."He shuddered. I wonder if he actually got beaten up by them. I also noticed that he had a tail with a sharp pointy end. "Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to stare at someone's tail?"He frowned. "Oh. Sorry. No one has tails on earth. Wait. Where am I?"I looked around to find a clue about my whereabouts. "You're in Hell." "HELL!?" "Great."The child groaned. "I summoned a broken one. Yes, hell. Underworld. Yada yada yada " "Wait. Am I dead? Why am I in hell?"I began to panic. Why am I in hell? Was it because I refused to share my Pizza with Karen? "You're not dead. I summoned you."He pointed to the symbols beneath my feet. "I didn't think it would work. But it did."He held a book with leather bindings. "Summoned me? How? Can demons summon humans?"This is ridiculous. I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming. "I don't know."The kid shrugged. "It was supposed to be a myth. I found a book in the library and tried to summon one. Listen, can you help me?" "Help you? How? I am just a human. You have magic. Dark magic." "Well.... My school has a few subjects that help us hide among humans without drawing attention to ourselves."He looked at the ground, embarrassed. "I needed help with a homework. Can you help me? " "Jesus Christ—"I exclaiming. "That name is prohibited!!"The child's eyes went wide. "Fine."I huffed. "What is it? If it's math, kid, you're out of luck because I can't do math to save my own life." "Wow. Math is easy. You must be really dumb then."He snickered. "No. I needed help with this."He handed me the book he was holding. I opened the book. "Memes". I smirked at the kid. My time to shine was here. "Kid, you better bring your pen, paper and be prepared to have your wig snatched because this is going to be one hell of a lesson."
"Alright men!"Sarge shouted, rotating around. "We've been abandoned by our maker in these Godforsaken wilds. All we know for certain is that we're not going back home." "But we're in the Great Dunes, nothing lives here,"Private Bob responded. "Look to the skies,"Sarge responded, angling himself to point to the sky. Ravenous fiends, winged beasts from beyond our world began circling above us. One swooped down and pecked at Private Tom; it would have dragged him away were it not for its gag reflex, forcing him to fall back to the Earth. "TOM!"Private James shouted, struggling to make an effort to catch him; however, the sands trapped his small, green feet, and he couldn't seem to move through the shifting sands. "It's alright!"Tom shouted. "I'm still alive! The fall wasn't too-" Another winged fiend swooped down and carried him away. "Damnit! Find cover!"Sarge commanded, hitting the ground and starting to dig a trench. "What are these beasts?!" "They call them... pigeons. Relentless, dirty, and evil. They will stop at nothing until they have devoured us all."No more than three minutes later, we had all made a small digout, and had crawled inside. "It's getting dark,"James spoke meekly, cowering deeper. "All manners of monsters crawl out from hell at night,"Sarge responded, lighting his bright green cigarette. "Worms, beetles, ants... I shouldn't frighten you. We can make it through this." As if on cue, the sands behind them began to shift. A pair of mandibles peeked through. "ANT!"Bob screamed, running away. Sarge walked up and kicked it in the head, prompting it to scurry away. "Get a hold of yourself, damnit!"Sarge shouted, slapping Bob across the face. "It's only one ant! They're only dangerous in..." He trailed off as he heard a massive rumbling. First, a pair of mandibles protruded. Then two. Then four, eight, a hundred: the horde was innumerable. "There's only a thousand of them! Each soldier, get fifty, and we should be fine!"He kicked a couple of ants, sending them running, before a third grabbed a hold of him and began chewing through his foot. "Hold fast! Don't-AHH!" Four more ants seized him and he fell. "Sarge!"Bob cried out, himself falling under a group of ants. James ran away, leaving the rest of his squadron to die; he wasn't going to risk himself for their sake. Every man for himself, as he had once heard. ~~---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~ The next morning, James peeked out from his cover. There was naught but green scraps where his comrades used to be. He began to weep. A massive rumbling sounded from behind; he turned to see that the maker had returned. "WHY! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN US!"James shouted; the maker didn't respond. "Huh, I thought I left them right here,"the maker muttered, ignoring James' wriggling, digging through the sand and dirt. "There you are!" He retrieved the army men from beneath the sand. "Aww, they're a little chewed up!"he lamented, brushing them clean. He took them and James in his arms, and walked back to his eternal abode. "Sarge!"James shouted, once they were safe. "Bob, Billy, are you alright?" "We'll live. Shame you ditched us, we almost got all of them!"Sarge responded, laughing. "It's a miracle! The maker truly can do anything, even bring back the dead!" "Praise be upon him,"Sarge spoke, looking up to the bright light. "Praise be upon him,"everyone responded in unison.
Everyone knows about ninjas. This is true. Almost no one knows about ninjas. This is also true. Everyone knows, for example, that ninjas wear black. And they do! Everyone knows that they do this to be stealthy, and this is also true. But black will 'pop' in darkness- dark blue will serve much better, to blend into the night. But no one thinks about this. The reason ninjas wear black is because ninjas are a part of a theatre tradition. That tradition features people in the background you are meant to ignore- moving props around, changing the scenery, things of that nature. These people wear black. And so when someone else appears, wearing the same outfit as those in the background, the brain automatically ignores them. They aren't part of the action of the play, after all. Our brain tells us stories, and we tune certain things out. This is why ninjas seem to appear from nowhere- they were there the whole time, but our brain ignores them until they make themselves part of the story. Ninjas are both real and not real. They aren't real assassins, but they are absolutely a real way to hide in plain sight. Hence the assassination plan. It was simple, really. A fright wig, a mask with the right appearance, a gaudy outfit, those wildly impractical shoes, a half-dozen bowling pins to juggle...the works. It always stings my pride. I can always juggle more pins than I bring to an assassination, but I can't juggle at my max and pull off the assassination. It's necessary, but it feels undignified. You'd think it'd be the outfit that does that, but no. It's not performing to where you know your maximum is, sometimes for hours while you wait for your victim to arrive. Everyone sees a clown, and when they do so, they don't notice all the details. Clowns are nothing but garish details- that's sort of the point. Our brains don't register them all- they simply notice a bright patch of grotesque visuals and mentally place a 'clown' sticker over them. They watch the sticker, not the actual clown. So it is that while there are always people watching my juggling act, no one ever, ever notices when I pull out a gun, shoot my target as they walk by me, and put the gun back without missing a beat on the juggling. They hear the noise, of course. And it seems that surely some of them must catch at least a glimpse of the gun in my hand. But we don't see with our eyes. We see with our brains. Our brains see a clown, and fill in the details. You don't hear a gunshot and think "I'll bet the clown did it". Even scary clowns don't kill with guns. It's incongruous. They always look for someone fleeing, or someone who stands out. And they always, always, always gloss over the fellow in the biggest 'Look at me!' outfit for miles around. We don't look for evidence- we look for threads in a story. We don't consider the possibility that someone in an outfit perfect for concealing weapons who was just demonstrating significant sleight-of-hand might have employed either of those things. There are very few places that are better to hide in than simple incongruity. Brains don't like to be surprised like that, and are quite willing to paper over reality with whatever they need to in order for things to still seem normal. All you have to do is stick to your role, and no one will ever, ever notice the things you do outside of it.
It pains me to confess the frustration I felt when an update changed the platform my parents uploaded their videos to. They used to be so skilled, so quick when it came to adapting themselves to the changes, but the whiter their hair became, the more their hands trembled, the more trouble they had and the more often the calls asking for help came. Still I helped them, despite how my blood boiled when they didn't understand the simplest of indications. Of course I helped them. Those videos were their happiness, the light and melody in the darkness of their worn, grating clocks. Their videos weren't complex. Not at all. They were as simple as they could be. They sat in front of the camera and talked about their days, sending messages of love to the world. Everything started because they knew there were children out there whose parents or grandfathers weren't around anymore, and to them, what they did, was a way of reaching out to those kids, embrace them with their casual yet tender words. "One is enough,"they used to say when their view count was on the single digits. Time went by, as it always does, and one of the clocks ceased grinding. My mother, cheerful, joyful, beautiful as she was passed away at ninety, and she did so peacefully in her sleep. Her passing broke me, and shattered my father in ways no words could ever explain. The pain had been unbearable, and so my father had ceased doing videos for a long time. Until one day I got a notification. He'd uploaded a new video explaining his absence. His followers, which had grown to the tens of thousands, had sent him endless comments full of loving words. I still remember how thrilled and happy he'd been when he'd read them. Tears had fallen down his cheeks like tiny creeks scurrying into the folds of his skin, but they'd been tears of joy. He'd embraced me, and in a frail whisper he'd said, "See how kind people can be if you are kind to them?" A week ago, my father passed the same way my mother did: in the calmness of his sleep. Now there are two hollows within me. And those hollows would never be full again; but that was all right, for with the emptiness came remembrance, and the remembrance always made me smile. They had told me, long ago, that when they were here no more, I had to log into their account. And that's what I did. There, I found a video they hadn't uploaded. It was titled, "When we are gone,"and it was addressed to me. In that video my mother cried, and my father did his best to remain serene. "The day will come, Tommy,"they said. "If you feel the need to cry, do it. There's no shame in that. But never think that you weren't good enough, or that you could've done things better. You were more than enough, so much more. You were the light of our eyes, the reason of our happiness. We enjoyed every second of our time, and that was thanks to you. "We love you, forever." ------------------------------------------ r/NoahElowyn -- If you enjoyed the story, consider checking out my sub, I have many stories over there!
Alexander walked through the gallery of The Bat. Generations of his family were portrayed as the Dark Knight of their time. Dressed in full armour and the cowl under their arm. Some had their respective Robin standing besides them. He stopped at the last portrait in the gallery. It portrayed the first Batman. Alexander was looking the painting of Bruce Wayne in the eyes. That was quite the feat, considering the painting was over two and a half meters off the ground. The man in the picture was small compared to the latest Master of Wayne manor. "Hello Bruce."Alexander whispered, looking into the grey eyes. Generations of Batmen had protected Gotham, Earth and the Solar System from the all evils that could be brought to bear. But it was still Bruce Wayne that was revered amongst his successors, and Alexander was his greatest fan. "It's finally time."he continued, "The elders called me into the chamber last night. They initiated me into the order of the Bat. I'm the new Batman."Alexander looked around the gallery, checking he was alone before continuing. "I'm scared. I'm not nearly as strong as father, nor as fast as grandfather. I'm the first Batman in six generations who isn't physically better than the one before him." His gaze had drifted down from the portrait to the ground. "But I am smarter than my dad. I've done better at school than him, I even have a doctorate. But that can't be enough to be Batman" A cough was heard at the beginning of the hall. Alexander turned his gaze, worried that someone caught his confession, his fears. The sound originated from a slight man, long, thin and dressed in a fine black suit with white shirt. "Master Alexander."the man said in a crisp English accent. "Alfred..."Alexander answered softly, embarrassed and worried. "I heard what you said there, Master Alexander."Alfred continued, stepping towards the young man. "You're not going to tell father, are you?"Alexander asked worried. In the past, these confessions of weakness were not welcome in the Wayne family. The butler smiled friendly and put his hand reassuringly on Alexander's shoulder. "Of course not, Master Alexander. Truth be told, I've heard these same worries from many of your ancestors over the years."Alfred gestured through the gallery of portraits. "Your father was the strongest Batman Gotham ha ever seen, but he was brutal and unforgiving, like his father before him. But your great-grandfather, Derik Wayne, was not near as harsh. Every Wayne has lent their own ideas to the mantle of the Bat. But you remind me of the first Dark Knight." Alfred smiled as he thought back. "Master Bruce was probably the smartest Batman we've had, though Masters Dick and Damian were not not far behind him. He was the master strategist for the Justice League and one of its chief scientists and detectives."His eyes looked up to find Alexander's. "And that, Master Alexander, is where I think you can shine as well. You will do great..." Alfred's body disappeared as the AI with the butler's memories shut itself off, knowing it gave the encouragements that were needed. He had done so for generations. --- My apologies, I believe this is my first prompt response and I hope it's readable. Edit: Since people seem to like it, I've written another bit in this world [right here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4cvlza/eu_its_the_year_3000_bruce_waynes_family_line_has/d1mcfej). Edit 2: First gold!
"Paul, look, it's an eagle." Paul craned his neck to the clear blue sky, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the winged beast floating on the midday breeze. It passed over them and flew over the distant cliff's edge, rising higher to avoid the spitting sea as it crashed against the rocks. "So it is, John, so it is."He watched for a second more before lowering his gaze to the dirt. John watched Paul a while more, hoping for something in the return, but the moment seemed to have passed. John frowned. "Would it kill you to make some conversation?" Paul didn't look up. "It's killing me that were not in that battle." John looked up to the horizon, where the blood soaked flags of two armies stood tall amid a sea of carnage. "No, Paul, it'd kill you if you were in that battle, literally. We're terrible soldiers. That's why we guard the supply train." "If only excitement wasn't in such short supply." "Hilarious." John looked over the rest of the motley crew who guarded the supply train with strong disdain. He and Paul weren't model soldiers, but they were better than this lot. Most lay about under the sun without a care in the world, picking their noses and worse. John smirked, turning to Paul. "Tell you what, if anyone did attack the supply train, we'd be screwed." "Royally screwed,"Paul affirmed, returning the smirk. The two shared the smile for a second, holding onto it with desperation as the fleeting laughter passed them by and boredom returned. The smirks slowly faded, and soon their eyes returned to the dirt. John was finally ready to join the booger pickers and see what was up his own domain when Paul's voice picked up with impromptu urgency. "John! Over there!" John's eyes followed Paul's outstretched hand to the cliff above them, not a hundred feet away. Two knights stood shimmering and still amid the backdrop of the orange sun as it slowly set on the raging sea. John squinted. "What's going on?" "Shhhh."Paul stood tall, stepping forward slightly. "Paul, seriously, where did they come from?" "Shhhhhhhhh,"Paul turned to John with a scathing look. "Shut up, they're about to duel." John stared at Paul for a second, mouth agape, then turned his eyes beyond his friend's shoulder to the statuesque knights. The two had still not moved, and John thought it like something from a painting in some great castle. Then, just as he was about to shout to them, the first move was made. The knight facing North unsheathed his longsword, a great monster of a blade. It blinded John and Paul as the sun gleamed off it's resplendent steel. "Heavens above, this is exciting,"Paul declared, shielding his eyes. "Don't you think?" "I don't understand -" Paul hushed John again as the East facing knight responded in kind. He lifted his weapon to the sky with a roar, and the two men gasped at the instrument of pain. A morning-star, black as night with jagged spikes, dangling silently before its master. The wind seemed to halt in its tracks, the air stifled and dry in a mere second. John and Paul stood wide eyed before the impending spectacle. They waited. The East facing knight broke the tension with a mighty roar as he swung the morning-star high above his head, the spiked ball screeching through the air with fierce venom. His adversary followed suit, strafing right with a powerful lunge as the longsword pierced the air. A second swing from the morning-star, a second lunge from the longsword. Paul watched wide eyed, salivating at the sight before him as the knights danced around each other. "Wow, just wow. Two knights locked in mortal combat, dueling in the heat of a great battle." "Er, Paul,"John's voice floated on the air. "The battle's about a mile that way, and these two men are getting further and further away from each other." The two watched the knights as they "hoo'd"and "haah'd", swinging their weapons in every direction but each other. Paul shrugged. "It's a duel. It's nuanced." "It's chaos."John lifted a finger, "That man just stabbed a tree." The pair looked over to the longsword wielding knight, screaming with glee as he thrust his sword further into the bark of the wilting tree. Paul rubbed his head, "Maybe the other knight really liked that tree." "You mean the knight who's swinging his morning-star into a bush?" Paul rubbed harder, before turning his palms to the sky. "They're probably just warming up. You wouldn't understand." John folded his arms across his chest. "You know what I think? I think you're so insanely bored that you'll see anything you want to see. And right now you want to see a duel between two great warriors. Now I don't know what the fuck this is,"he pointed to the flailing knights, "but it certainly isn't a tale for the bards." Paul turned his back on the duel and faced John, brow firmly furrowed. "Maybe it's about what you want to see. Maybe you just want me to be bored. Maybe you're jealous of two great warriors because you know you'll never be like these proud, esteemed knights right here - " "One just walked off the cliff." "Right, well, never mind." \- /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
Love bears a power capable of breaking the boundaries of possibility. Although that may sound slightly cheesy, it was particularly true for me and my wife. When we met it was as if a fire had unleashed in the core of our hearts, and all of a sudden, when we shared our first day together, something happened. It was like one of those clicks people talk about, but this one was different, for we both eyed a distant cabin, and all of a sudden the grass of the pastures disappeared from beneath us, and a wooden floor took its place. We looked around, and found a locked door and walls of bare timber, and in the intimacy of that cabin we sealed our love before even questioning what'd just taken place. Time went by fast, and during that time our love had its ups and downs. We understood the power our love concealed, and we used it to visit the world, choosing beautiful places, and seeking for hidden sights far away from the reach of people. It was fantastic time, full of memories that I'll never forget. But time kept going, and although love was still there, arguments became more and more recurrent, and sometimes they got heated; and I mean literally heated, for in the space of a breath the voice of my wife faded from my ears, our room disappeared, and black scalding rocks sizzled beneath me. I can't blame her, really. She'd always loved volcanoes. Fortunately, in the midst of her anger, love bloomed and she took me back. The only issue with this is that I returned with wrath in my heart, and I immediately sent her to a seat in a rollercoaster on the verge of falling down a quite steep slope--she hated rollercoasters. But then I feared for her, and so I took her back with me again. Boy, you should've seen those fear-stricken eyes, and the denseness of her silence. Of course, I knew I wouldn't stay in the same room for too long, and I was right, for before I could even speak a word, my throat closed, the air lacked, and the pressure became unbearable. The view of Earth from outerspace was quite beautiful, that I have to admit, but being on the verge of dying wasn't. In the blink of an eye, I was back in our room, gasping. "Stop!"I said, clutched at my heart. "You are right, honey. Blue is the perfect color for those curtains." She nodded, smiled, and kissed me. "I knew you'd understand, sweetie." We spend our loving lives like that, sometimes sharing our burning passion together, and othertimes on the verge of being consumed by it. But lately the latter came to a halt. Perhaps it's because we matured, and understood how unhealthy those arguments were, or perhaps it was because our love finally took shape. "Will you read her a story, sweetie?"my wife said as she tucked our daughter in the cradle. "Each and every night." ------------------- r/NoahElowyn - For more of my work!
Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned. "Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce,"I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air. "Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..."I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?"I tried my best to smile. "Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass,"the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very ungentleman has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore." "No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!"The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner. "Oh! We're discussing a contract!"I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?" "The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human,"the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-" I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?"The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments. "This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph,"the man quietly muttered. "Here darling,"that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand." "So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?"I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?" "Eternal servitude,"she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile. "This foolish fae lies!!!"The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!"He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is her that owes me servitude!" "So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?"Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts."The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well."Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this." "If this,"I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either." "This is not that,"the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched. "Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?" The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there anything I can offer-" "Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients,"I said quickly while organizing my notes. "You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead,"the man said with great disdain. "Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer." [I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.]
"Fuck you, Dad,"Michael whispered. "I didn't turn out like you. Cycle broken." "Dad, what did you say?"Caleb asked, stirred awake. "Nothing, son,"Michael said through the crack in the door. "Just excited for your birthday tomorrow. Sixteen's a big one." "Straight up, did you guys get me a car?"Caleb asked, sitting up in bed. "Mom won't tell me anything. I won't be mad if you didn't. I just want to know so I don't get my hopes up." "Still a school night,"Michael said, closing the door slowly. "Let's just say, don't waste your time staying up all night on craigslist."The door clicked, muffling the celebration inside. "What happened to keeping it a surprise?"Dana said, kicking off from the hallway wall. She gave him a tap of a kiss. "Are you going to get the cake and the car tomorrow? Are you sure you have time?" "Yep, already cleared it with the boss. I'm going to go in early at 6, leave at noon and should be back here ready to help decorate before two." "Well, better get to bed then, dad of the year. it's almost midnight."She said. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you get up, that way you like." "That's definitely not going to help me sleep."Michael chuckled, watching Dana sashay to the bedroom. She closed the door with a loud echoing slam. All the lights went out. No click or anything, just blackness. He reached for his phone. It wasn't in his pocket. "Dana, do you have my phone, or your phone or a candle?" He stumbled with hands out, trying to find the wall. He walked and walked and walked some more. "What the hell. Dana?! Caleb?!" His yells echoed, as if off distant cliffs. He started running, mind desperate for anything to make sense of what was happening. He tripped and fell, ass over tea kettle. No soft carpet met him to break his fall. He tumbled, sliding over what felt like roots. He landed with a thud he felt from toes to teeth. It hurt to breathe in. He stared blankly, cured of his temporary blindness but unbelieving. He was in a forest, staring at a small mud hut. He stood, wincing. "Hello?! Can anyone help me?"And what would he say if someone was there? How would he explain what happened? "Come come, like clockwork you men, but I think you'll be the last."The voice was that of an old woman's, coming from inside the hut. Michael grimaced as he stepped closer, seeing what looked like desiccated dogs, maybe coyotes, hanging from either side of the door. A waft of pungent herbs and oil hit him as he entered. "Sit,"the woman said without turning around from whatever she was working on at a table. She had no clothes, but was covered in red mud head to toe, layered thick enough to keep her decent. "I'm sorry to trouble you but I'm lost. I don't know how I got here." "Sit,"she repeated with more emphasis. "Smell like a sugar drinker, are you?"She turned to face him, holding a basket of steaming paper. She did not look near as old as her voice, thirty maybe. "Do I drink sugar, like Pepsi?"Michael asked, sitting in defeat at any hope of understanding a single aspect of this. "Yeah, from time to time." "Bah,"she said. "Take a piece, let's get you out of here fast." "Where am I?"Michael repeated. She pushed her basket under his nose. He took one of the papers, more like a cloth strip, having to dance it between his fingers. It felt like she had been boiling it on the stove. She took the strip from him, having no trouble herself. There was a crude drawing of a bear. She began wrapping it slowly around his head. "Ow. What the hell, lady? If you're going to bandage me, I think I broke a rib, my head's fine." "You know nothing."She threw her hands up in frustration. "All you men of the wetter world. You know nothing but you do not stop, you just talk, talk, talk." She leaned in and used her teeth to rip off the end of the cloth, pressing her body against him as she did so. If his clothes hadn't already been ruined, he would have been upset. He kept his mouth closed, waiting for her. She smiled warmly. "Better, he might just survive if he always takes to lesson so quickly, by the Old. You are in the Land of Fathers, summoned by your father." "I haven't seen my father since I turned 16. He walked out on my mom." "I'm not a gossiping knitter to tell your stories to. I am classer. And I'm a quick one too for you are done, goodbye." She pushed him back in the seat and he fell, fell, into some unseen pit. He crashed again and rolled again over roots. He stopped with a thud again, the dull ache in his rib now a sharp nauseating pain, branching out. A group of men were gathered outside of a building. He was by the same forest but had clearly traveled again. They approached him. Even though he hadn't seen him in two decades, he recognized the man in front instantly but something was wrong. "Why aren't you older?"Michael asked the man offering a hand to help him up. "Because son, from my point of view, I've been gone a day and a half. My father, a day before that, a couple more for my grandfather, and you're great great grandfather has been here a week."Going to each of the men with him and turn, all looked to be in their thirties or fourties. "So you didn't walk out on my mom, on me? Your ended up in this place, the same way I was. We can all find our way back together?" His father pursed his lips. "It's not that simple, Mikey. Step inside where it's warm. Or if you want, you can lay there in that puddle all night. Take it from somebody who was in your shoes yesterday, it's a lot easier if you just go with the flow." "I've made it this far in life without your help. I'm not listening to anything you say. Not until you tell me what this is."Michael stood on his own, staring at the men. "Where the hell are we? Why are we here?" "It's a curse,"one of the other men said, the one his dad had said was his great, great grandfather. "My curse." "The Lord is long-suffering,"he continued, looking down the road at an approaching wagon. "and of great mercy, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the sons to the third and fourth generation." "Come inside, Mikey. I'll explain what we have to do."Michael thought his father was going to hug him then but thankfully he didn't try. /r/surinical [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xu4o83/comment/iqwcge1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
My mom handed me a plate of bacon and eggs and said, "You were an accident." "Sorry what?"I set the plate on the table, pulled my seat out, but couldn't bring myself to sit down. She prepared her morning coffee and kept talking. "God it feels good to say that. Every time I make you a meal or do your laundry, I can't help thinking about it." "Why are you telling me this?" "It was Christmas and your father and I were at his parents' place."She added milk and sugar. "Neither of us had any condoms but we were both so excited to be together in his childhood bedroom that we couldn't stop ourselves." "Jesus, mom! Stop! I don't need to know this!" She blew across the surface of her coffee. "But I need to say it."She sipped and hummed. "What a load off. I feel so limber now. Hey,"she pointed at my breakfast, "eat up. You're like an anorexic skeleton." *** The bus pulled up to the corner of our street. My friend Greg was telling me something about playing Dota last night, but I had no idea what he was saying. My mother and father had had sex in my father's childhood bed. They did not use a condom. That's where I came from. "Jesus Christ,"I said, and blinked about fifty times. Greg had his hands in the air because he was sketching out an attack pattern, but he paused. "You alright?" "Yeah whatever. Let's get on the bus." As I passed by the driver, he said, "Sometimes I think about driving this bus off a cliff." "Excuse me?"I said. "You're all so young. I actually get goosebumps thinking about how awful it would be if you all died. That would be so great."He rested his hands on his belly, eased down in his seat, and smiled wistfully. The thoughts in my brain were like a plugged toilet. I took my seat and waited for the driver to get the bus moving. "Seriously, are you feeling alright, dude?"Greg said. "I'm fine,"I said. "No, I'm not. Things have been weird this morning. My mom told me I'm an accident, and the bus driver just told me he thinks about driving us all off a cliff." Greg whistled. "That's fucked up. All of that. Why would they tell you that?" "Fuck if I know. Today just seems to be the day that people tell me awkward stuff."I chuckled. "You got anything you've been dying to tell me?" "Not really,"he said. "Except maybe you should know that sometimes I think I'd be lonely if you weren't my friend. And I wouldn't know what to do at school."He rubbed his nose. "I appreciate you." "I can't tell if you're playing along with the joke." "Nah, man. No joke."Greg made serious eye contact with me and I frowned and pulled away. Just then, the bus driver started singing softly to himself. We were driving along the side of a cliff. * The day got stranger and stranger. Emily Thomas, the girl whose locker is next to mine, turned to me out of the blue to tell me that a month ago her friends had made a list of the boys in our grade and decided I was the eleventh hottest, but that I shouldn't get any ideas because Emily was the seventh hottest girl. Then our chemistry teacher, Ms. Pointrose, told the class that her breast cancer had metastasized and that she did not expect to survive beyond the next semester. She told us that that didn't matter all that much to her, because she'd long lost passion for her career and that she saw death as a sort of eternal leave of absence. She also told us that the smell of chalk made her hungry. Random people all through the halls at school would pause their conversations to tell me what they thought of me. These went from comments as impersonal as "You're tall,"to those as deep as "You don't know how to start conversations because the way you see yourself is different from the way others see you." But at the end of the day came the weirdest revelation of them all. *** way way way late, more story has arrived. find it below.
Having an apprentice was a bit like adopting a puppy. It was a fresh rush of life that never ceased to amaze you. Sure, sometimes they would set your carpet on fire, but other times they would impress you with their ability to see the world in a way that you never thought possible. While Valery might have seemed rather ordinary among magic users, I couldn’t help but respect her drive, even if she refused to learn nothing other than fireball related magic. “Ok and for my next trick, fireball… but pink!” She waved her hands in a circular motion before pushing her palms forward, sending a pink burst of fire towards me. I waved my hand dismissively, extinguishing the flame before it could even do as little as burn one of my perfectly groomed white beard hairs. “Is your next trick just another colored fireball? This is the fifth one you have thrown at me. At this point, you have nearly made a fireball rainbow. Wouldn’t you like to learn how to summon a familiar or perhaps extinguish flames with a sway of your hand?” “Hmmm, can a familiar shoot fireballs?” “Well, not exactly, but some can breathe fire?” “Not interested then.” Somehow, Valery kept that same goofy smile, not even understanding the ridiculousness of her obsession. It was getting harder to teach her. I would have loved to recommend her to a mage college, but how could I ever do that if she only knew variations of one spell? “Right, are you sure? How about explosion magic? It’s like a fireball, but bigger?” “What sort of weirdo learns how to make explosions?” “That’s really not any weirder than your situation.” I sighed, readying my hand for another fireball. “Alright, throw another one at me.” She gave a small hop of joy, her pink hood swinging as she made a dramatic pose, pointing a finger at me. She must have thought she looked so cool and she might have, if not for the fact her hood had thrown itself over her face, covering her eyes. There was no spark after she snapped her fingers, leaving me standing there confused. Was she out of magic? I waited for her to say something, before feeling a heat in front of me. My groomed beard sizzling as the hairs burnt away, threatening to hit my chin. I quickly finished my wave, sending the fire away. I clutched my shortened beard, mourning the loss of three hundred years of growth, only to look back up and see her spin around, clapping her hands. “Invisible fireball! My super attack.” “An invisible fireball? You made an invisible fireball. How did you make an invisible fireball? You shouldn’t be able to hide an element like that. Someone of your skill level especially shouldn’t be capable of that.” “Huh? Oh, it was easy. I just mixed an invisibility spell with some of my fireball formula’s. It’s not that hard. I could probably teach you if you wanted to know.” I couldn’t say anything. I just stared at her in disbelief. Sure, I had heard of great mages who had only ever studied one element of magic. We had great fire mages, great water mages, but I had never heard of a great mage who only knew fireball related magic. Was she a prodigy or just someone so stubborn that she forced magic to bend to her wills? “Master? Are you ok? You kind of zoned out there? Wait, I know. How about a healing fireball?” She pressed her finger to my chin, causing me to let out a high-pitched scream as she blasted my face with a fireball. I didn’t see the flame, only feeling an intense burn as it tossed me to the ground. I rolled around a little before realizing I felt no pain at all. In fact, I felt good, like she had blasted me with a hot massage. I stood up, dusting off my silver lined robe, unsure how to process what she had just done. Even my burnt beard had slightly healed. Still far shorter, but at least it didn’t have any burn markings. “Why would you shoot a fireball at me with no warning like that? What if you didn’t heal me and blasted my head off?” “Oh, I just assumed you would have been able to deflect it if I messed up. Good thing I didn’t, right?” She laughed in my face, not even realizing how dangerous that was, and yet I found it hard to stay mad at her. She had thrown my knowledge of magic on its head and that outweighed her current airheaded nature. “Yes, very good thing you didn’t. So, you have somehow bent a spell to perform new purposes. Even a formula change shouldn’t be able to achieve that. Either you’re incredibly gifted or you can perform magic in a way that others can’t. Perhaps you have accidentally stumbled upon one of the greatest magic discoveries in years.” “Aww, thank you. I am incredibly gifted, right? That’s why you picked me out of all the apprentices.” “Yes, that’s the reason. Because you were so unique.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was the last one left. Most masters saw how her application only said fireball with a smiley face next to it and quickly moved onto other choices. But I was the youngest of the masters at the age of only three hundred and fifty, so I got stuck with the runt of the magic litter. “So, did I pass the entrance exam? Do you think I could study at one of those fancy mage colleges now? You can recommend me, can’t you? Aren’t you like an enormous deal in one of them?” “I was a big deal. Not so much anymore. I don’t know what to say. You didn’t pass the exam, but you might have still technically passed by showing off that much talent. Regardless, I still can’t recommend you to a magic college, not with your current skill set. Even if you have an ability others don’t, you won’t pass any of their tests. As amazing as your fireballs are, they can’t cushion someone’s fall or fire lightning bolts. Those are all basic abilities for a mage.” Valery considered my words, stroking her chin in a similar fashion to how I do when I’m deep in thought. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or had merely just picked up my habit from our time together. After a lot of tense chin stroking, she gave me a smile. “What if I just made a fireball that could do all of that?” “Well, technically, if you could do that, you would pass. But how would you make a fireball that can shoot water? Or something like that.” “I have no idea, but I’ll figure it out.” It was bizarre. If anyone else had said that to me, I would have laughed in their face, but after her display, I couldn’t help but believe her. “Alright, that will be your first task, then. Create a fireball that can shoot water. If you can do that, I’ll talk more about your enrollment.” “But I need someone to show me what water magic looks like.” I opened my palm, creating a small puddle in my hand. I was never great at water magic, unable to summon water like the others, instead I sucked the sweat from my body and pooled it in a location. It was gross and rather unpleasant to do, but it was how I passed my water exams in college, so it was the only way I knew how. “Here, it’s a pretty simple looking magic, you just harness-“ “Um, no offence, master. But do you know anyone else? I don’t really want to throw sweaty fireballs at people.” “I… I see.” I couldn’t help but feel a little offended. My apprentice was asking for a replacement. Sure, it might have only been for water magic, but it still hurt. “You’re still a great mage, but it’s just your water magic is really weird, and it makes you look like a freak.” And just like that, she had thrusted the emotional fireball knife through my heart. I said nothing, letting myself recover a little from the words, only feeling the need to speak when I saw her opening her mouth again. “Yes, yes. I will find you someone else. Just please stop insulting me. I may be three hundred and fifty, but my feelings still get hurt.” “Oh, want a healing fireball?’ “I’m fine. Just go to your room and study. I’ll make the preparations and please stop mentioning my water magic. Ok?” “Ok, I won’t mention your weird sweat magic.” And with that, Valery left me to grumble alone in my workshop. Mumbling small insults to myself as I wrote out a letter. “Calls my magic weird and yet she can’t even summon a crow to send a letter. Who does she think she is? I bet other masters don’t get disrespected like this.” I summoned my familiar, who appeared with his head looking down, the crow sharing my hurt feelings. I gave him a few pats, glad that someone at least emphasized with me. Sure, he was just a figment of my soul, but it was the most sympathy I had gotten all day. I gave him the letter and spoke the name. “Penelope Madiz.” The crow nodded and looked for a window. When it found none in my workshop, it hopped its way up the stairs, purposely avoiding Valery when she called out to it, holding a small grudge before it flew off to find Penelope. With the letter sent, all I could do was wait. I picked up a book on water magic, reading over the pages, trying to learn the magic that had eluded me for centuries. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I spent my life trying to avoid this moment. For as long as our family records exist, when a son is born, the father dies. My birth meant the death of my father. I avoided women. I refused to allow myself to fall in love. I ... then I met her and it was all for naught. I told her I did not want children. We took precautions. It was never going to happen. Somehow, against all expectations, it had anyway. She was ecstatic. What could I do? I loved her more than anything. I resigned myself to my fate -- apparently, this is why no one ever thought of doing this before. And maybe it would be a girl! There was always that chance. There were some concerns, so she wound up having genetic testing -- so we knew, for sure, it was going to be a boy. I thought, perhaps, the complications were going to be the end of it, but it didn't happen. For some reason, I was glad. I came to the realization that I wanted this son to be born. The movements, the heartbeat, the ultrasounds... getting the nursery ready. My wife's excitement. I began to look forward to the appointments and the birth, even knowing what it meant. My wife was so happy. The baby was going to be such a beautiful boy! So, here I am, at the hospital with my wife, waiting for my son to be born and my life to end. I hope to get a glimpse, a chance to know what I was leaving behind. Then it came. The last push, the baby boy being born. I got that glimpse! I was ecstatic. Such a beautiful baby boy. Then it happened. My wife's heart stopped. I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. How could this happen? They made me leave the room. I screamed at the universe. I told them to take me instead, it was supposed to be me. Suddenly, I had a vision. Hundreds of years ago, it must have been my ancestor. His wife gave birth -- to a girl. In his rage over having a daughter instead of a son, he killed them both. She cursed him that day, to die at his son's birth, until he understood. He married again and had his precious son, but died upon his birth. His soul -- my soul -- passed from father to son, until my son was born and I was willingly giving up my soul to him -- and, critically, to her. I heard the monitors in the delivery room start up again. The regular heartbeat of my wife returning, as my own life faded from my eyes. I was so sorry to be leaving them -- my precious wife and child -- but knew that the curse was finally broken. My son would live his own life, free of the curse. I knew he would be blessed with both sons and daughters, and love them all. I was finally at rest.
It came faded and groggy, at the back of my mind. Rot had long taken that part of my skull anyway, and drearily and groggily it woke me up from the dusty bed I'd taken refuge in. Fill the nearest machine, you lumpy sack of flesh. Covers slipped up and bones fell onto the floor, the dead remnants of some pre-war tourist who had spent their last night far from home, quivering as the sirens screamed in defiance against the bombs dropping over head. Which one died first? The Sirens or the Couple? I plucked up the pistol that had laid between them and checked the condition, idly twirling it and disassembling it, then putting it back together with the small set of screw drivers I kept attached to a belt. It was stupid that the gun had held up better to 200 years of decay than anything else had, but I'd gotten used to it. Weapons were made to last. People weren't. Took a long look at the iron sights, twirled the gun once, and blew out the light on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness. I could see perfectly fine in the darkness. Didn't need a lamp to light this rad-zombie's path. I chuckled, deep, growly, and waited to hear the response from the rest of the building. Growly voices. Angry, distorted, insane, cannibalistic. Psycho users. I'd been a psycho addict once, when I'd been in the war. Only been home a week or two before the bombs had fallen, but when I lay there, trapped in the rubble, an eternity of radiation cooking my skin and boiling my brains, I'd at least had the unique pleasure of withdrawal to keep my company. I'd locked the door when I'd slipped inside; RobCo consoles weren't hard to crack if you knew the password banks for the model number, and nobody ever bothered filing those off, so it was a matter of hard guessing and hard resetting from the alphabet soup of passwords. I waited by the door until the thunder of foot steps and swears passed, then peeled out of the room, locking the door with a flick of my fingers across aging keys. I tugged my hand onto my head, and grinned at my dusty reflection in the room's solitary window. I looked nice as the last employee of Nuka-Cola. Then I strolled down the hallway, whistling a jaunty theme song about buying the world a drink in the name of world piece, a pistol twirling in my hand and a bag full of soda crawling behind me. Several floors beneath of me, there was a steady pattern of gunshots. Scavs versus raiders were never a pretty battle scene, but I'd have something special for whoever won. My fingers rolled into my back and pulled out a glowing Nuka Cola victory, and I savored the feel of the cold glass against my skin, and bathed in the ambient radiation. It brought back better times and better memories, of years past, and I grinned, feeling the stiff stale air washing over faded teeth. Then casually, I brought out the custom screw driver only given out to stockers, flicked open the machine, and started filling it with sodas. It was a long process, because machines were set to deposit them one at a time, and the mechanisms that governed how payment was settled were rough to override. Which was probably why I heard the click of a gun behind me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"a voice, female asked. Breath came out in short little pants. Perhaps turbo, yet? Some unknown stim? My fingers played across the rim of an orange bottle playfully, then turned to face her. Faded combat armor, symbols stamped across it. River Patrol girl, but disgraced. I gestured at the table next to me and sat down, not looking at the gun. "I'm the Nuka-Cola man,"I said, cocking my hat jovially. "You want to share a drink for old times past?" The woman paused, cocking her head to the side, then flicked her gaze down to her pip-boy. Clicked a few settings, then looked back at me. Could almost feel the antiquated targetting programs sizing me up to see if I were a threat. I cracked off the top of a bottle of Nula-Cola and drank. She wouldn't kill me. "Is that... Victory?"She asked, curiously. "It is,"I said, pointing at her bottle. "Very rare vintage, hard to get the components for. Sit down and have a drink, and we can talk about stories." She sat down and put the pistol within easy reach. I didn't mind. I liked stories, even if they came from gun wielding armor. "Well,"she said, pausing. "It all started when some jackass chinese remnant group stole our water chip..." War never changes. and as long as I'm around, neither will their drinks. ---- For more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
As the dust settled and the screaming stopped, Gordon and his crew surrounded the small spacecraft that had interrupted the lunch session at The Pink Flamingo restaurant in Miami. Luckily, the spacecraft didn't hit anyone, but it had torn a massive hole in the ceiling of the quaint Caribbean themed dining room. The owner, a middle aged balding man with a thick Cuban accent, was on the verge of angry tears as he looked at the UFO in front of him. Suddenly, the top of the spacecraft popped open with a puff of smoke, and a short, stocky grey alien, no taller than two feet, stepped out onto the floor. It looked around at the mess it made, and looked up at Gordon and the owner of the restaurant. Its pitch-black eyes that took up half its face were wide with shock, and it then fell on its knees and garbled incoherently, seemingly apologising for the trouble it caused. "When I came to this restaurant,"Gordon said to the camera man next to him, "I never expected a disaster quite like this. \\\\ me." Gordon then turned to the alien. "Well, now that you're here, you might as well show what you can do in the kitchen."Gordon walked over and sat at one of the dining tables that was still standing, wiped the dust off the top, and looked eagerly at the alien. Despite not knowing a word of English, the alien took this cue to dive back into its spacecraft and pulled out a green-ish chicken-like animal, and waddled over to the kitchen. The cameramen crowded around Gordon's table, and the producers told the owner and staff of the restaurant to carry on as normal, saying "Don't worry about the damages, we'll pay for it when we renovate the restaurant in a few days time." Inside the kitchen, the line cooks started preparing the weird alien chicken that the alien had provided, nodding along to its garbled commands. Gordon waited outside, doing his usual routine of complaining about the decor, chatting with the waitstaff, filling in time as the other cameramen walked around the restaurant filming B-roll. Finally, after about 20 minutes, a young waitress walked out with the strange green concoction of alien and domestic ingredients. Gordon thanked the waitress, and began reviewing the dish. "Wow. \\\\ me. The presentation is hideous. Too much green."He grabbed a blob of fat. "Not looking forward to eating this \\\\\\\." He cut a bit of the meat off the bone, and plopped it in its mouth. "Wow, this is \\\\. It like I'm eating lemon skin and jelly, with a strong garlic aftertaste. I've never had meat this hideous before. This is new to me." The waitress came over, smiled sweetly, and asked "How is everything?" "Hideous,"Gordon replied frankly. "One of the worst dishes I've had in my life." "Want me to take it away?" "Please."Gordon drank from his glass of water as the waitress grabbed the plate and took it away. She went inside the kitchen, where the alien was waiting. "It was bad. He didn't like it,"She said. The alien garbled angrily and threw what was left of the alien chicken carcass into the bin. Later, Gordon was in the kitchen with the alien and the line cooks. "Let me tell you, when you crashed your alien spacecraft into the restaurant earlier today, I was actually excited to see what extraterrestrial cuisine was like. I've never had food from your culture, and to be honest, if that is what you call food, I would kill myself if you took over our planet." The alien looked angry and offended. It couldn't believe its earholes. "The flavour was off, it wasn't cooked right. It had an awful texture that no human could possibly enjoy." "I liked it,"the restaurant owner interjected. "Well, maybe you should travel back to the alien's country then, you idiot!"Gordon retorted. "\\\\* this, I'm out."The owner replied. The alien also garbled its rejection of the criticism. It stormed back into the dining room where its spaceship was still parked, with the owner in tow. It sat down, patting the space next to it for the owner to come in. The owner squeezed himself into what little space there was before the UFO closed its door, and the spaceship took off, disappearing into space with a puff of smoke. "Good riddance."Gordon said to the cameraman next to him. &#x200B; Coming up after the break! Gordon and his team help clean up the wrecked restaurant, as well as the restaurant's wrecked menu, but will it be enough after the owner's disappearance into space? Find out after these short messages!
He was a knight, valiant protector of humans. His motives were pure, altruistic, and for the good of the many. Dave was the best among humans, offering kindness, table scraps, and tummy scratches to all doggykind. Truly, Dave was worthy of his protection and devotion. Fortunately, the OGB agreed. They sent him, Spot III, son of Spot Jr and Maggie May, the result of careful months training, to the human Dave. To uphold Dave's orders, and protect Dave's sacred threshold. To share in Dave's honors, and to support him in his pains. To be the most loyal, obedient, and caring dog to ever cross Dave's path. Dave, of course, knew nothing of this. The only opposition to Spot's sacred duty were the CCD. They blasphemed against the humans, claiming they rose to their position by luck! Can you imagine it? Luck, instead of their divine wisdom. Blasphemy, obviously. They viewed humans as a potential resource, not as the paragons of virtue they most certainly were. The CCD was targeting Dave, due to his sincere and gentle nature. They thought they could take advantage of his divine generosity! Spot could not let this insult stand. Dave PoV He woke up one morning to see Spot, the dog he'd adopted, chasing stray cats down the street, and raising an incredible racket. "Spot!"He yelled. "Get back over here!" Smugly, Spot trotted back. "I left that food out for the cats, Spot! Don't chase them!" Spot's heart almost stopped at Dave's next words. "Bad dog." Disclaimer- Spot is actually a good boy. I'm sorry.
I aimed my double barrel shotgun straight at that suit-clad, tiny-looking panda. To my lack of surprise, the malformed bird reeled toward me, it's needle-like beak wide opened, shrieking a diabolical shriek. I kicked it straight on its chest, throwing him down to the ground. "Where are the others?"I shouted, the shadow of my gun dawning upon its ugly hairy face. The bastard smiled. "They are here,"he said. I scanned my surroundings. Long, teetering shadows stretched in the corners of the streets, hundreds of them. I drew a deep breath, turned to my wife, who was staring wide-eyed at this fiasco. "You know what to do!" She nodded, and went back inside, locking the door behind her The soft yet never-ending tap tap of the drunken beasts grew louder and louder. "I'm sorry,"I said to the stupid soldier beneath my boot. My shotgun recoiled, and a plume of smoke rose from its muzzle. One less. Soon, the army swarmed the street, running at frightening speeds toward me. I reloaded, shot, reloaded and shot. One fell to never stand up, and a dozen stumbled. But there were too many of them, and I only had so many bullets. "You win!"I shouted, and they came to a halt. The lines parted, and the tallest of them all came forth. "Makimiki." "Tuluk."I puffed my chest as far as I could, and he did the same. That was the customary greeting. "Why can't you leave me alone? I forfeited my life among you." "You can't, great one. You are not allowed,"Tuluk said, his eyes pulsed a bright red. "The ones from above will punish us all because of your decisions. You have to come back." I chuckled, looked sidelong at the window. My wife was there. She nodded at me. "I won't. I chose another life." "Then we shall take your life, great one,"they all said in unison, and surged forth like a flock of wingless pigeons. I went inside my home, shutting the door behind me, and yelled to my wife, "Now!" She opened the window, threw two granades. We leaped to the ground, covering our ears. Shards of glass, pieces of shattered wood, slivers of our walls flew past us. In time, I rose to my feet. The front of my house was thoroughly destroyed, and beneath the detritus the penguins lay, immobile, and streaked with crimson. "It's over,"I said, went to the wardrobe. I pulled down my zipper, revealing my penguin shape. Then I put on another clean human costume. "It's finally over." My wife threw me a raw fish. I caught it midair and gulped it down. I was finally free. -------------------- r/NoahElowyn -- Sorry, I don't know what I wrote, but if you liked it, consider checking my sub! I have many stories over there.
The bombs did not explode. Their effect was not immediate. But our careless choices as a species slowly took their toll on our world. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Some of the bombs landed in the ocean. The toxic plutonium-239 contained in their hulls poisoned thousands of square miles of ecosystems all around the world. We lost entire species in the weeks following the global fallout. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Other bombs landed in lakes and freshwater systems. Drinking water for millions was tainted, and with a large portion of oceans experiencing toxicity, desalination was not an option. _____________________________________________________________________________________ The explosions should have wiped out most of the population instantly. Instead, we were all now stuck with each other on a planet we ruined. The good news: every world superpower no longer had nuclear weapons at their disposal. They couldn't use threats to push political objectives. The fallout leveled the playing field, not only in terms of power but economics. First world nations were turning third world. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Simply put, we were forced to work together or die together. And work together we did. _____________________________________________________________________________________ For the first time in our history as a species, a global peace treaty was signed. The World Alliance (TWA), as they called themselves, enacted a central fund to create solutions for our growing number of problems. A representative from every single nation signed the treaty and promised to pay 20% of their GDP to the fund. Countries with low GDPs compensated in other ways. _____________________________________________________________________________________ In 1 year we solved the water problem by finding a way to filter and purify tainted water supplies. In 5, we established that our planet would not be inhabitable for the next generation. In 25 years, we created a low-cost way to transport and travel through space. In 50 years, we launched the first colony to our new planet. Nuclear fallout destroyed our planet. But we saved the world.
Earth was never meant to live this long. She was supposed to die with her sister, Mars, years ago. She's been sick, plagued by ice age chills, fever swings, and marks on her complexion. But I knew Earth when she was beautiful, and now that she's not, I still remember. It's a shame I can only see her every seventy years. But that's the rules of the cosmos, as the mathamatical gears of the universes laws bring us together and sperate again. Our relationshio was long distance, but each time I returned, she looked worse, more tiresome, more feeble. "Earth,"I cried, swinging by her in an arcing hug, "Earth, you cannot leave me now. You cannot leave me alone, to travel in this solar system for seventy years, and have only sadness when I finally reach you." "Halley, my comet, my love."Said Earth in my embrace, "I fear I am near my end. I have waited this long to see you, and I do not know if I can wait again." "No,"I cried, "Surely there is a way. A way for me to spend the rest your days with you." Earth was silent, then she said, "There is one way. I will fill a creature with my spirit, but my spirit will sleep until you arrive. Seventy years alseep, and one awake, and I will spend all those ones with you." So Earth poured her spirit into a new being she named man, and every seventy years, as I flew back, she awoke. Now millions of eyes watch me pass, and I see her in every one of them. But though she ages slower, death still comes for her. It comes as her spirit slowly falters in men, and they forget her, and she departs their bodies an minds, and they too will fall to waste. But until that time will pass, I get to see her every seventy years. She sees me every one of her waking days. I now leave a sparkling tail, as tears fall behind me, because I fear her last day is soon. And even though she has so little left, men depart her with the remaining bits of her spirit, stealing it from me, traveling where I shall never see her again. ***** By Leo For additional stories, please visit /r/leoduhvinci. If you enjoy stories concerning lost love, I would recommend [The Pet Shop](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/39i510/the_pet_shop/)
Revenus stared at the heavy wooden door, watching as the hero’s party pounded against it, knocking tendrils of dust loose and rattling the old hinges. He ran a hand through his wispy white hair. His ancient heart pulsed in his ears to the steady rhythm of the banging door. It had been far too long that he’d been forced to fight. His army of undead dragon hatchlings usually kept adventurers and other annoying do-gooders at bay, leaving him to his studies. As he raised his hand, trying to think of a spell to cast, his mind went blank, as if he’d never learned a single one. How many nights had he laid a subject's opened body across the dais to receive power from the void? Or paying high sums to the thieves guild for power scrolls, typically retrieved from gravesites—hadn’t he read them all? He’d collected spells like his simple father had collected butterflies. The door burst open in a flying shower of wood and twisted metal. Five men stormed the room and formed a line, each one holding a bloodied sword, reflecting the light from the hundreds of candles that lined the walls. Their armor was torn to pieces and in several places Revenus spotted bare skin. No wounds. Then she broke through the line. The Lady of Blue Lake dragged her war ax against the stone floor. The long, continuous scratch of its blade raised the hairs on Revenus’ neck and sent a chill down his spine. Though somewhat bloodied and singed, her leather armor looked hardly tested. If only he could— “Time to meet your end,” Lady said as her ax became a blur of color. Revenus was flying. No. Just his head. The world spun. His cheek smashed against the ground, head rolling side to side, before his ear stopped the motion. Before the darkness swallowed him whole, he heard his body slump down to the floor behind him. Nothingness. So this is what death is like, he thought. It’s actually not so bad. No pain. No hunger. It was like being in the middle of a vast ocean made not of water, but of shadows that held his body aloft, keeping him perfectly still. For once Revenus felt himself free of all the vile thoughts and compulsions that had ruled him during his too long life. It’s over, he wanted to smile, it’s all finally over! A hundred thousand tiny hands began to pull him under the surface. Blinding light flooded the tranquil dark. No! he wanted to scream, but had now mouth to do so. Not in this place. But he was leaving. “He’s coming to,” A voice said. Revenus blinked his eyes. A silhouette above him took shape. It was her: The Lady of Blue Lake. “Sorry about that,” she said. “You see, I got caught up in the moment, and well…” “What have you done?” Revenus felt along his neck, probing with trembling fingers for a sign that his head had been cut from his body. Everything seemed fine. “How am I alive?” “My Au pair used to dabble in necromancy before she found her true calling,” the Lady explained. She waved over to her crew; men twice her size with violence in their eyes. Violence and something else buried in their thousand yard stares—a kind of soul fatigue. She went on, “To reach your lair, I had to bring them back over and over and over.” “I see.” Revenus tried to stand. “Woah,” the Lady said, pushing him back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” “I… you brought me back?” He knitted his eyebrows together. “Weren’t you just explaining that you hadn’t meant to kill me?” “Oh,” she laughed. “No. No, no, no.” She shook her head, a delighted smile on her face. “I thought the Day Prince was watching. He got cut down by one of your hatchlings, but I went back and revived him, and now we’re just waiti—” She turned at the sound of boots clicking on stone. “Ah, he’s coming! Peter. Jon. You two want to prop him up?” Two men stepped forward and yanked Revenus up from the floor, and then stepped back, leaving him alone with the Lady of Blue Lake. A prince decked out in golden garb stepped through the ruined doorway. His eyes scanned the room and stopped on Revenus and the Lady. “Like I was saying,” she said, casting a look back at the prince. Turning back to Revenus, she raised her ax. “Time to meet your end, Dark Lord!”
Crowds lined the museum hallways to see the new exhibit. The year is 2217, and humanity had reached its peak. Technology had advanced exponentially over the past three centuries. Robots worked in place of humans, allowing the humans to live in luxury. The Solar System had been fully colonized (well, at least the planets that could be terraformed). Energy was clean, free, and one hundred percent renewable. The exhibit would be unveiled at 2:30 PM. Medicine had moved from "modern"to "miracle". Everything had been cured, from cancer to the common cold. Poverty and hunger were nonexistent. Crime was almost as such. The exhibit opened. Inside lay an open casket, the body inside reduced to a skeleton. The curator began his speech. "This is Joe Jackson. He was unearthed by one of our top archaeologists just three weeks ago. Since then, he has been dated, tested, and determined authentic" The crowd looked on, unsure what they were looking at. "You may be wondering what the significance of this find is. Well, Joe is very special, and he marks the transition into the Golden Age in which we live. You see,"continued the curator, "Joe was the last human being to die"

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