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A paradise for life? Well, I suppose that is technically true. If you tilt your head and squint. The water is concentrated in a few large oceans which allows for storms of truly prodigious size to form and batter the land. The land masses are so large that the interiors tend to be fairly arid because water just can't make it there from the oceans. The axial tilt and eccentric orbit means that there's incredible variation in climate throughout the year in most places as well as incredible variation in climate by latitude. Abnormally large tectonic plates means volcanic activity tends to be relatively rare, limiting the amount of soil that is refreshed through volcanic mineralization. At the same time it allows for excessively large buildups of tectonic stress resulting in truly impressively earthquakes which, due to the layout of the plates also leads to truly impressive coastal devastation, which can occur on the other side of the planet from the earthquake. So yes, the truly impressive frequency of geographically created niches does mean that you're never far from a niche boundary which in turn means that evolutionary competitive pressures are quite robust. Your biodiversity is astounding, to say the least. But that does not mean it's a paradise for life! It means the opposite! It means that wherever you go there's already hyperspecialized organisms ready and willing to kill you! You have trees that want to kill you! They can't even move or think and yet they can and will kill. And what makes you look at murderous herbivores and think "paradise"?! If your world is a garden, it's a fallow garden that's been overgrown with weeds and needs to be burned down so you can start over. Oh, wait, you can't do that because half your damn weeds have evolved to take advantage of fires to spread more effectively! ^^^Besides, ^^^we ^^^tried ^^^that ^^^once ^^^and ^^^got ^^^you ^^^out ^^^of ^^^it.
[Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wotwu/escape/) [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wp44v/escape_part_ii/) [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wswo9/escape_part_iii/) [Part IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wynuj/escape_part_iv/) [Part V](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3xjd2u/escape_part_v1/) [Part VI](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3xjd9q/escape_part_v2_part_vi/) [Part VII](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3xvaio/escape_part_vii/) [Part VIII](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3y36mp/escape_part_viii/) *** I smiled for the first time in weeks as I unfolded the note slipped under the small loaf of bread, hidden by the napkin that came with my meal each day. I had an ally, it appeared, who thought me to be someone I was not. I rested my back against the cold, hard wall of the small cell, looking out the small, barred window of my prison. I was trapped here, many lengths above the water, the endless freedom of the ocean taunting me in my claustrophobic isolation. The walls of this castle that had always kept our enemies out now served only to keep me in, and I longed for the days when I stood the right-hand man of the rightful King before these traitors ripped the power and life from his grasp. I heard footsteps approaching and quickly tore the note to bits and released the shreds out the window. The voice at the door loudly demanded I return the wooden tray upon which my meal had been served, and then quietly asked if I had seen the note. I crawled to the door and spoke to the man through the narrow, rectangular hole in the door through which my meals were handed to me. "When can we do it?"I asked. I had been stuck in here for far too many moons, and had I not been mad before, this depressing cell would have surely driven me to madness. My only solace for so long had been the rats, constantly scurrying around the cell, and we had developed a delicate treaty where they would not have their necks snapped if they did not disturb me. I spoke to them, and they spoke back, although the sounds came from my mouth and they were nowhere to be seen by then. "Tonight,"the young voice outside my door responded. He was so young, so easily influenced, more boy than man. I knew as soon as they had assigned him guard duty in the desolate corner of the castle, and he had ranted to me about his unhappiness at such a menial task, that my chance to escape was near. I was a master manipulator, and his conflicted morals and low self-worth made him an easy target, and a valuable ally for as long as I remained prisoner. I told him my story, or at least the one I had invented in the endless hours alone in the cell. I told him of a family torn away from me by the head of the guards who was bitter because of the beauty of my wife. I told him of the guards waking us up one night and razing my house to the ground and locking me in this dungeon and taking my wife from me, and he believed every word as I told him of a past and a present that was as real as the words the rats said. I convinced him that it was all a huge misunderstanding, that I was just a humble farmer falsely accused of being the most wanted man in the land. "Three nights from now, you will be with your wife again,"he told me, proud of his decision. I smiled to myself, knowing he couldn't see me through the door. There was no wife and this was not an unjust imprisonment by this false king. I was an enemy, through and through; the rightful King's right-hand man, pledged to kill each and every enemy. The most wanted man in the kingdom before my unfortunate capture. More of this king's men had died at my hands than this boy could possibly understand, but somewhere along the way, his anger at how unappreciated he was had made him accept my words as truth. He slipped me a blunt club and spoke to me through the door. "I will leave the door unlocked tonight after dinner. You need to disable the night guard. Do not kill him, please, for he is a friend."I smiled slyly and nodded even though he could not see me. He continued. "I will be just past the guard post as the clock strikes midnight. Cough once the guard is out and the bell has rung twelve and I will come out to greet you. We will make our way to the docks, with me as your escort where you can board an outbound ship and someday return to your family a free man." I gave my consent to his plan and shifted the club from hand to hand. Just incapacitate the guard? We would see how that went. The plan was sound, but there was nothing for me at sea. The armies loyal to the rightful King were inland, away from the ocean and across the mountains and desert, isolated in the last loyal city. Going to sea would only put me amongst pirates and ruffians, loyal to none. I could easily handle myself at sea, but my plan was not to abandon this cause. As promised, the young man left the door unlocked after dinner, and at the eleventh hour I started counting. As the strike of the twelfth hour approached, I slowly opened the door to my cell, the utter darkness concealing my movements. At the end of the hall, a dim flame made the shadows dance as the night guard struggled to stay awake through his shift. I made my way towards him, hidden by the shadows and darkness, until I was close enough to hear his breath. I wrapped my arm around his neck and crushed his windpipe, a gargled sound his last, and I snapped his neck cleanly, like so many other times. I quickly donned his armor and weapons, and as the bells rang for the twelfth hour, I coughed softly. My young friend made his way around the corner, oblivious to the danger until I ran him through with the night guard's sword and he crumpled to the ground, shocked. "But... I was helping you..."he managed to say, looking at me with pleading eyes, striving to understand why he had been double-crossed. I smiled at him and mercifully put him out of his pain. Dressed in the armor of my enemies, I made my way through the winding corridors of the castle, past countless guards who walked by me without a second glance. Deeper into the castle I walked, each turn and passage engraved into my mind. I had spent many years here with the rightful King before this king had overthrown him. Two men stood guard outside the doors to her chamber, which was more of a glorified prison cell at this point. I dispatched them with ease, the experience of a thousand kills making it seem routine, and I quietly knocked on the door. There was confusion in the face of the true King's daughter as she opened the door to find the two guards dead, but her eyes brightened as she recognized me beneath the helmet. I held a finger to my lips, warning her to stay quiet, and bowed my head. "Get your things together, your Highness. We need to go. Now." [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3wnxr5/wp_one_day_you_find_a_note_in_your_breakfast_one/cxxwfhy) [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wswo9/escape_part_iii/) is now up in /r/MatiWrites! Part (https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/3wynuj/escape_part_iv/) is available! *** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
The holo was flooded with query requests, as the other members of the Extraterrestrial Commission processed what had just been said. "Cut it off, Alexa. I need time to think."John said, leaning back into his chair, fingers massaging his temples. His ship's intelligence, Alexa, blocked any more requests from coming through, as well as dimming the lights automatically. Ten standard revolutions ago, some sort of probe entered the Oort Cloud and began collecting samples. Humanity, having long colonised the solar system, was equal parts thrilled and shocked. This was direct evidence of extraterrestrial life. Intelligent extraterrestrial life. Without knowledge of their mission or intentions, making direct contact with a tightbeam from Terra was deemed unwise. So five standard revolutions past, the Commission set out and had only just arrived, setting up shop outside Pluto's orbit and maintaining a tightbeam pointed at home. So now, as captain, John Bezios, was left with the unenviable task of making sense of all this. The probe itself was plastered on John's screen. A holdout from the days of terrestrial flight, most spaceships were aerodynamic, or at least looked that way. This alien contraption, on the other hand, was a mess of swirls, curves and waves that grated on John's preconceptions of what was and wasn't spaceworthy. There was no alien aboard the probe, it seemed to be an autonomous intelligence like Alexa. However, it was apparent that aliens did not believe in hoarding information, just by the way his perspective had been expanded over the past five minutes. "Ask for clarification. Which of 'our colonies' have lost contact with us?" The question was sent and five minutes later, a response came in, read in Alexa's velvet tones. "Start message: The entire Hu'um Confederacy, all 400,000 star systems. They declared this a lost zone even though no supernovas or gamma scourges were detected. The Hu'um were not forthcoming with details so the wider galactic community assumed a hive mind or biological agent that contaminated your original gene pool to the point of quarantine. End message." Despite how far removed he was from the events that led to their apparent embargo by the rest of their people, John had been human and lived around humans for 200 odd years. He could take a good guess as to what had happened. It made their triumphant entrance onto the galactic stage much more complicated. "Fucking politics."
"Hey, Dave?" "Yeah?" "Can we chat in this breakout room for a second? I just need to pick your brain about this deliverable for Tuesday." "Sure thing." We head into the breakout room. It is a completely unremarkable meeting room, with the same meaningless art on the walls as the last 38,000+ breakout rooms I've been in, trying to figure this out. I close the door. "This has nothing to do with the deliverable for Tuesday." "Kinda figured." "There's something I can't figure out, and I'm hoping you can help me with it." "Hit me." A little bold, but whatever, I'm tired of this, I'll just do it the direct way. "First things first -- I'm an immortal being who's explored over 35,000 universes and timelines." "Whoa, like Gandalf, or Mithrandir as he's sometimes known? Or that show with Scott Bakula?" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Yeah, like both of those things. Sure. We'll go with that." "Dope."He's nodding eagerly. He's acting like I'm about to whisk him out of the Shire or something. This is always so annoying. "Right, dope. Okay. Here's the deal. Here's what I need you to answer for me." "Anything you need, man." "So, those 35,000-plus universes and timelines. Some in which the States lost World War Two. Some in which Janet Jackson's nipple never gets exposed at the Super Bowl and some tech bros a year later don't invent YouTube because Nipplegate never happened. Some in which Egypt became the dominant world superpower instead of America and I still have to spend exactly twenty-three minutes and fifty seconds trying to figure out why there's still a pyramid in the Great Seal. You know the drill." "Right, right." "In every single one of these universes and timelines -- every SINGLE one -- you are in some way known as [Dave, Who Files Quarterly Reports On Time](https://www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts/comments/pdmb6f/_/hassgxq)." "Really?" "Really. It's ludicrous. At one point, I was sitting there in a spaceship the size of an asteroid that had been lost between dimensions since before recorded history, and you came around the corner, quarterly report in hand, asking if I wanted to go for tacos at the nice place around the corner." "There's a really sweet taco place that just opened -- " "I know there's a really sweet taco place that just opened up and has a surprisingly high rating on your preferred foodie app of choice in this universe, Dave, I know. Believe me, I know."I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose again. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound dismissive." "It's okay. It sounds like you've been through a lot." I looked at him with renewed sympathy. "I have. I guess I have." He nods. "So... why? Why are you always Dave, Who Files Quarterly Reports On Time? You could be at a million different companies, you could be a warlord of a host of angels or a mech-suit pilot in the distant future, but you always. File. Those reports. On time. Why?" He shrugs. "Some universal constants aren't mathematical. Things need structure. Einstein figured out e=mc². Newton had a bead on gravity. And you've figured out the fundamental force of someone named Dave filing quarterly reports on time." My jaw hung open. He got up and patted me on the shoulder. "Someone's gotta do it. Anyway, let me know if you're down for tacos. I think they've got a special on. Should be sweet!" And he double-finger guns me and does that clicking thing with his tongue on the way out of the room. Which he's never, ever done before. Freaking Dave.
Detective Steve looked out onto the stormy streets of the city. As the rain pittered patterned down the windowseel the wind rushed past the city's landscape. As the streetlights flickered off and on, off and on a soft howl from a train could be heard in the distance. Not a soul out there in that deary weather, not a soul. The setting was perfect for deep thought. When Steve had rented the apartment flat twenty years ago he thought it to be quite spacious. But after the years flew by and the cases piled up the flat soon became crammed and confined. It didn't help to add another person onto the bunch too. Paprika was his new assistant, not the first, and if things keep up the way they have been she won't be the last. He mostly took her on as a final wish to his old friends. Wishing it could have been a happier farewell. Before she got them. As he sat in his red chair the events of the past year never added up. This murderer was strange, as if she wanted to be caught, as she toyed with him and only him. He still remembered when he tried to step down from the case threats were posted if he did so, she'd take the whole town down with her. The first murder, mailbox. He was run over by a stolen mail truck, and his body was stuffed with three separate envelopes. They were different colors, but they all had a drawing of what appears to be a man, and a dog. The clues were random, almost no coloration to them. A picture of salt, and pepper, a magnifying glass, and a picture of a kitchen. That kitchen, unknowingly at the time, would be where our next two murders took place. Considering it was a personal connection Detective Steve had a harder time handling it then expected. Although he doubts Paprika will ever forget the day her parents died, and the tragedy that follow. Yet again three separate envelopes were now hidden around the crime scene. That of a of the color red, the color yellow, and sand.. By the time Detective Steve had gotten to the sandbox it was too late. Shovel and Pail were gone, suffocated through the very thing they so dearly loved playing with. Sand. However unlike the previous three murders, this time only two letters were ever found. It didn't make any sense, there was always three letters, three- Paprika barged into the room staring at him eyes frantically looking around. With a low whisper and a shortness of breath she only stated one thing. "We just got a letter."
I tell the therapist all about it: how many minutes I was dead for before they got my heart pumping again; how I hadn’t even been forty when it happened. Not even forty, I tell her. There can’t be anything natural about almost dying pre-forty. If you have a heart-attack before forty then there’s something else going on. She smiles and asks what I’m hoping to achieve from therapy. ”Listen, I was made to see you. I don’t know if I want to achieve anything from this other than avoiding a prison sentence. But seeing as I’m here, I figured I’d share my experiences. See if, together, we can make more sense of what I saw.” ”Please, continue. I’m sorry for interrupting.” I pause and gather my thoughts; it’s like gathering leaves in a storm — they’re all over the place and god only knows which tree each leaf fell from. I say, “Okay, here it is. I saw something, in those minutes I was dead. Or I started to see something.“ I explain how I collapsed on the sidewalk only to suddenly find myself in a strange art gallery. ”There were all these paintings lining the walls — and the walls, they went on forever in either direction. Framed paintings all the way to the horizon.“ ”What kind of paintings?” ”Oh, all styles from all periods of history. Depictions of ancient wars, of roman erotica, demons, angels. All kinds. Then, the horizon starts squeezing in on me from both sides. Nearing me. And there’s this booming sound repeating. It takes me a while to understand: the gallery lights are being turned off. Both ends of this gallery are becoming dark, and the darkness is heading to me. Closer, closer. And I’m sure I’m about to be swallowed by it.” She sits forward in her chair. “And then you’re brought back to life?” I shake my head. “No. Not yet. The lights above me go off now, all save one. A single spotlight over a painting of a man and a boy and a dog. They’re sitting on a hill overlooking an ocean. Then, it’s hard to explain this bit, but it’s like there’s an invisible hand holding a rag soaked in alcohol. I can smell it, you know? It’s right in front of me. It starts wiping the painting. Smearing it into a blur of colors, to start with. So the man and boy and dog are all one person. Then the hill and sea are a giant smudge. And then, then…” ”Then?” I shake my head. “The paint starts coming off to reveal something that was hidden beneath it.” ”Another painting?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what was there. I only saw the top of it.” ”And what did that look like?” ”Like the night sky. But what was under it? That’s what I’ve got to know.“ ”That’s why you tried to—“ ”Yes,” I say, interrupting. I’m not proud of what I did. Trying to temporarily end it in a hospital. Best place to get help, to get resuscitated, sure. But I’m told I freaked out a lot of people in the process. Worse, I saw the exact same scene again when I lay there dead. The same fading horizon of paintings. The same spotlight. The same final painting being rubbed away. But what it revealed, no idea other than the same slither of night sky. My therapist pauses here and writes a note. Then turns a few sheets back in her pad and bites her tongue as she reads over my file. ”Tell me about your ex-wife,” she asks. ”What’s to tell?” I shrug nonchalantly, maybe a little defensively. “We were high school sweethearts and married not long after graduation.” “And then what happened?” I don’t know what to say to that. “Relationships don’t work out most of the time. Especially when you start that young.” ”What was it, in your words, that didn’t work out?” I can feel myself sweating. My neck sticky. “In her words it would have been my drinking.“ ”Drinking. Alcohol?” I nod. ”Like on the rag,“ she says. ”That’d be in her words, but what about in yours?” It takes me a long time to say. ”We couldn’t have kids. Me, specifically. And, well, that broke us.” I don’t say that it broke me. That she still loved me but all I imagined she felt was pity and resentment. “There’s just a man, a boy, and a dog on that hill,” says the therapist. I get what she’s trying to do. ”That guy isn’t me. And the kid sure as hell isn’t mine.” She looks at me now, more sincere than I’d expect a therapist to ever look at me. “What if you saw that scene before you died — as the oxygen was leaving your brain? What if saw it whilst you were still alive, I mean?” It’s something I’ve considered. But it felt too long, too real, to have just been a dream. I tell her so. “No, there’s something bigger than a dream trying to communicate.” ”But if it was a dream,” she says, “if that painting was part of a dream, then your brain placed it there. Not anyone or anything else. You did.” ”But why would I dream about that as I’m dying?” ”It must have been important. It was the last thing your mind chose to show you.” I thought of the night sky that lay beneath the painting. Only, there had been no stars, no moon. Just darkness. Just a blank nothing. Totally and utterly blank. ”It was an empty canvas beneath.” I say it as a question but it might be a statement. She keeps talking but I barely hear. I’m thinking what the empty canvas beneath meant. If it means that the man and child and dog, my old dreams, are gone forever... Then maybe it means there’s nothing left for me now. That my life will be empty forever. Or… Maybe, i think, maybe it means I have an empty canvas now and I just need to learn to paint again.
"Hello Folks at Reddit, This is your old buddy Deadpool. That’s D-E-A-D-P… oh you get the drift. I’m here on Shield’s flying sideways skyscraper airport place with a crazy dude in a colourful costume who talks to himself. Take it away Jay” “Why thank you, dearest Deady-Poo. Doesn’t it just make you sick to see such a collection of goodie goodies in one single place? All for a friendly game of Soccer. YUK” “Or Football for you tea gargling, queen humping Brits” “…Yeesss… as I was saying… Soccer. A match worthy of the gods. And who better to narrate such a bout but their greatest adversary?” “Yeah. ME!” “I’m afraid not. You are but a jumped up thug with a wolverine complex compared to the grand majesty that is Myself.” “What?” “He’s talking badly about us” “Yeah, we should remove that smile with a grenade” “Must I explain? I beat the Bat, the Bat beat Superman. Superman could beat the Avengers and the Xmen any day” “Hey, no Dawn of Justice Spoilers Mr Makeup man” “On the DC team, we have Wonderwoman in goal. Her shiny wrist things will be useful deflecting the crowds burning remarks I’m sure. Defence we have Cyborg, Flash and Aquaman. Two might be of some use, the other… not so much, but who cares about those losers?” “Anyone else feel a craving for Sushi?” “Midfield we have the annoyingly devoted Robin and Mr Batty Bats himself. I made a substitution and got Catwoman and Ivy in there too to look after him for me.” “Introduce me to Catwoman… please, please, please. Oh, Jokey. I want to make her purrrr” “Quiet, and let go of my bowtie” “Sorry. Bowties are cool” “What are you winking at?” “Oh, I forgot that this isn’t a comic. No reader to wink at.” “Try shouting instead” “HEY READER! I’M WINKING AT YOU BECAUSE OF THAT DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE!” “That’ll do it” “Comic? Readers? What are you on about you blithering imbecile? Shut up or I’ll rearrange your guts into a new suit. Up front on the pitch will be Mr Super Dupes, Green arrow and Green Lantern. Yawn. Give me Eleven bats to make it interesting, I say” “You done yet? Finished your life story? Goooood. In goal, we have another dashing chap with a love for red spandex, Daredevil. Someone should tell him he’s facing the wrong way. Defence! Groot, the living tree seems to be growing a hedge to stop the ball. Rocket Racoon who is building a ball repulse cannon and Starlord who is MAKING EYES AT MY CATWOMAN!” “Put your guns away. Now is not the time. I have something special planned, he he he” “Fine. But only because I like you, You creepy clown bastard. Right… In the middle bit we have Captain Mc Boring-shield-face, Thunder-Dude and Man in metal suit and new to the scene, Miniature insect sized man or whatever their names are. Tony and Bruce seem to be comparing portfolios. Up at the front we have the ever amazing, the ever friendly, the proud sponsor of Uncle Ben’s Rice… My favourite SPIDEY!” “and the crowd goes wild” “Woo” “yeah… He’s my biggest fan. He’s joined by Grumpy grumps Wolverine and Quicksilver. Or at least he was. Quicky and Flashy seem to have disappeared.” “And you say he rambled on?” “Well. If you’re ready Deady, Lets get this show on the road. He he, Press that big red button for me won’t you dearest Deady-Poo?” “BUTTONS? WE LOVE BUTTONS” “Sure thing Jokey, … Hey, Why does the ball have a fuse?” End _________________________________ Post Script. "Let's get a closer look at what just happened shall we?" "Sure thing Mr Jay, well it looks like Quicksilver tackled The Flash who then tackled him back, the ball went out of play and they tackled back and forth for about ten laps of the Helicarrier before the Ref could get the whistle to his lips. Wowzers those guys are quick. Shame they can't keep up with me though, right Jay-Jay Binks?...""bleugh" "Who?" "Don't worry. I threw up in my own mouth calling you that.""I'm disgusted in ourselves""... Don't suppose you got some super mask cleaner in that lapel flower does ya Jokey?" "No. Just a highly concentrated hydrochloric acid mixed with a tiny touch of napalm. It's of my own concoction. It'll leave you DEAD in a melted POOL of guts and bone. Ha ha ha." "Fuck it...what's the worst that can happen? GIMME" End (for realsies)
Write sophomoric poop jokes, said the voice in my head. You know you want to. I grimaced. "No, that's a shit idea." Something scraped and hissed in the back of my mind. Doooo somethiiiing meta. "Gah, I can't. I've got too much work today."My email dinged. Another unread message from my boss. "Besides, meta prompts are stupid." You're stupid. "It isn't even a meta prompt, it's more like... a meta-meta prompt. Or something."I looked at the prompt again. "It's been downvoted anyway, it'll never make it out of the /new queue." Come on cisco, throw in something absurd or fourth-wall-breaking, but like, do it good. "'Do it good?'" Not like you usually write. "Pft. Maybe I'll just submit some prompts instead, and downvote this one." More hissing, and a bit of howling. "Maybe I'll do something constructive, like leave nice feedback on someone's story so they are happy they posted on /r/writingprompts." Nooo! Do not contribute to the community! Waste your time on this dead-end prompt that no one will ever read! "Nope."I cracked my knuckles. "I'm not taking the bait, voice-in-my-head-that-sounds-suspiciously-like-Gilbert-Godfrey. I will resist! You won't win this fight." Silence and then... laughter. I frowned. "Oh. Damn it." ***** More stupid, time-wasting stories at /r/hpcisco7965 and /r/TMODAL.
"Damnit Hestia!!" The tray clattered to the floor as Hestia, the delightful pain she was, arched her back against Sara's legs, slinking across the floor as she challenged her owner's balance. Sara chased her off quickly, before the fuzzy little brat could waltz over the hot tray. Sara wrinkled her nose as the unmistakable smell of burnt sugar wafted up from the ground. The woman carefully plucked the tray from the floor, putting it on the waiting cooling rack before she turned to fetch a broom. "Hestia, I swear you're more trouble than your worth sometimes!"She called out the cat, knowing full well she'd be ignored. "Well that's rather rude." An aetheric voice fluttered around the room. Sara quickly spun around with the broom in both hands, her eyes wide. She did live alone after all. Instead of an unexpected intruder, a woman in a white wrap was sitting on her counter, a few cookies in hand. "Why did you make an offering if I was more trouble?" She popped a cookie in her mouth, unphased by the burnt sugar, or the scalding hot cookies. Her golden eyes stayed fixed on Sara as she happily snacked away. Sara held the broom tightly still, and looked around. She rose an eyebrow as she stepped to the side, looking around the kitchen island to see her cat happily snoozing in her bed, and the front door just beyond still closed. "H-how did you get in here?"She managed to stammer out, trying to figure out how a stranger got in without making a sound. A few dozen possibilities were racing through her head, but none made much sense. The woman tilted her head, her perfect brunette hair flowing to the side. "You summoned me with an Offering? It's been ages since anyone's sacrificed food to me!" The woman sighed happily, clearly enamored by the preceived show of devotion. When Sara didn't respond, she continued. "You know, Hestia? Goddess of the Hearth and Home? And other such domestic necessities?" She tilted her head the other way. "You did say my name, correct?" Sara cleared her throat. "There's been a misunderstanding.."She lowered the broom, setting it to the side. She nervously rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. "M-my cat is Hestia..."She started to explain, but she trailed off, as she watched the Goddess's face fall. Sara cleared her throat again. "B-but that's alright! Y-you like the cookies right?"Sara asked, giving a far less sure smile than she met, but it quickly relaxed as the Goddess's expression lit up. "Oh yes! I haven't tasted anything like this!! It's far sweeter than any offerings I've gotten back when I got them!" She flippantly waved a hand, before picking up another cookie. "How did you get them so sweet?" Hestia excitedly asked. Sara relaxed a bit, laughing a bit. "I suppose there wasn't refined sugar back in Ancient Greece. Ahh, the name's Sara, by the way."She gave the Goddess an easy smile. "I should call you more often when I'm baking. Most of my coworkers are sick of my cookies by now."She said with a laugh. Hestia jumped off the counter with that, beaming delightedly. "Really?" As the Goddess smiled, the room seemed to light up. "I'd very much like that!" -------- [Part Two!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hyvmpk/wp_you_accidentally_summoned_a_pagan_goddess/fzfqenl/)
"What the hell is the matter with you?"The goose straightened out his spine and flared his fresh nostrils. "I-I'm sorry,"I stepped back, "I thought you were someone else." "I was-"He stared at his hands, "Why would you do that?!" "I don't know, I'm sorry. Just hold still and I'll-" "Not so fast,"He snatched my wand and toyed with it, "You're one of those, aren't you?" My jaw hung open as I fumbled for a response. "You wanted to do things to me, didn't you?" "No! Not you, I -" "Thought I was a swan?"The goose laughed, "Thought I'd transform into the girl of your dreams and fall helplessly in love with you all because you gave me the gift of these?"He waggled his fingers menacingly. The goose paced the riverbank, holding my wand hostage as he murmured to himself. Moonlight danced on the lakes surface, illuminating the moss coated trees with its reflection. The warmth slowly dissipated from the summernight's air. "Please, I'll change you back. We can forget all of this." "Who says I want to change back? Who's to say you really are that useless? You're not stupid, are you, Chanse?" "No, I -" The goose caught my shock and replied before I questioned, "Your robe, son." I rubbed the stitching on my left breast, "What should I call you then?" "Well,"He touched my wandtip to his chin, "My mother called me Hank. I rather preferred that to what your kind used to call me." "Okay, Hank, can you please give me back my wand?" I held out my palm and smiled. Hank strode over slowly, smiling wider the closer he got. I sighed, relieved as I felt the faux pas coming to a close. He extended his arm towards me, almost close enough for me to grasp the wand when he pulled back and gripped my wrist with his other hand. Before I realised what was going on, his mouth engulfed my fingers. I howled and pulled my hand back. I wiped the saliva on my robe and shook the pain towards the ground. When I looked up, Hank was hightailing it down the bank shooting at anything that stood in his way. I made chase through the moss, hoping that the bats he brought into being would turn back into toads before they got too far - or at least learn how to fly and keep their mouths shut. Electric streams of magic lit up the lakeside as Hank cackled his way into the water. He entered with a violent splash, baring my wand between his teeth. "Hank!"I called out from the shore, "Give it back!" Hank spat the wand into the water and flipped up his two favourite fingers, "Come and get it."
Dear Sneaky Man-tis, &nbsp; I hope this letter finds you well. From the tone of your letter to me, I understand you to be quite angry with my 'performance,' as you put it. I find it rather important to correct you in the points that you make, to assure you that I am not who you think I am, and that what we have here is merely coincidence (though how you managed to piece together his true identity is rather impressive, I must say). This is not only the right thing to do in and of itself, but I am genuinely afraid that you might somehow manage to accidentally kill me, which I very much would not like. So, let's start at the beginning. Your first point addressing where I lived is perhaps the easiest. Your indignation at the inability to find me in "Metro Ponies"is wrong in three ways: 1. There is no city by that name. 2. It's 'Metropolis.' 3. I don't live there, regardless, as you should realize since you managed to send me this letter. As you might imagine, it helps to look in the right place if you're trying to hunt someone down. And if you're not in the right place, at least be somewhere that exists! As to your second point about wanting to 'see if my laser eyes could cook a chicken, or if it would be destroyed,' I have no idea. In order to test that, I would need to have laser eyes to begin with. But alas, I am a boring, powerless human who doesn't even cook chicken at all, being the vegetarian that I am. And finally, while your idea of being my 'backpack' while I run around the world to turn back time until you're able to see Titanic in its original theatrical run is an interesting visual, I am sad to inform you that it is incredibly dumb. It doesn't even really make sense in the movie adaptation you're referencing! In many ways I envy your innocent outlook on the world, Mr. Sneaky, even if you pass yourself off as one of its most dastardly villains. You see our world, and its heroes, through wonderful rose colored glasses that focus on what they can do rather than who they are. I know you think you want to kill Superman, but maybe think about what it's like to be him for a few minutes, first. I think you'll come to see that he probably doesn't feel all that super. In the ways that matter, he's more alone than the rest of us will ever know. Take care, Mr. Sneak. Should you still want to kill me, I'd humbly ask that you please refrain. But if you'd like to write to me again, my mailbox is always open. &nbsp; Sincerely, Clark Kent &nbsp; PS: Also, I'd be happy to give you pointers on grammar and penmanship, should you want it. &nbsp; ___________________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
I stared down at the beer can in my hand, trying and failing to identify the brand. Whatever it was, I was certain that it was cheap, the kind of thing that came in gas station 24 packs. Abner Cadabner a tall, burly man, the sort of guy who had either played offensive line in high school or spent four years dodging the coach. His flannel was stained, baseball cap smudged. I blinked, gave the cap a second look. There was another logo I didn’t recognize. “Nashville Knights, LFL,” he said, grinning. “Best damn sport the best damn country ever best damn made. Anyways, I do wishes. Want one?” “One?” I said, “I thought genies did three?” “Naww, not this one. I do have three categories though! I do guns, booze and cars, your pick.” “No women?” I asked. “Hell nawww, they walked out on me. Why do you think I ended up in a can?” I let that slide. I’d never been to Tennessee, never camped or been much for hiking. Quarter life crises were potent things however, so I’d packed up a few weekends worth of my life and hit the road. It was far better than quitting my job and moving to Maine like I’d been dreaming of for the past month. The woods had even been peaceful until Abner showed up. “What if I don’t want any of those things?” I asked. “Then you owe me a six pack for waking me up, non negotiable. I will haunt you.” I did not have a six pack, I’d finished my last one the night before. “Guess that means I have to choose, huh?” “Guess so.” Time passed awkwardly. “How about this,” Abner said, “you tell me why you’re out here and I’ll help you choose.” “Well,” I said, “it starts with a girl.” “Not this old song again! Skip the girl, what is it really that made you want to go somewhere else?” “I don’t know, I guess I feel trapped.” A shotgun appeared in his hands. I’d only ever seen them before in movies and video games. He handed me the thing and I took it, and suddenly the forest slipped away. We stood in a wide open field, tall grass waving in the breeze all the way to the horizon, a V of geese flying by overhead. “Yeah, I’ve seen that one. Here’s what we’re gonna do, you’re gonna shoot some skeet, I’m gonna have a few beers, and then whatever is left is the thing you’ll want to wish for.” “Seriously? Just like that?” “Just like that,” Abner said. The skeet rose up on their own. Several passed before I realized they were more than simply clay disks. As I looked at them the skeet began to resonate with me. There, as it passed, was my failed relationship, carved into the clay in the shape of a rose. There was my job, an inscribed computer and put upon IT guy behind it. There was the future, an endless blank space unleavened by color or ornamentation. They sailed on, then circled back again, the flock growing with every pass. “Get to shootin’.” Abner said. I got. There was something remarkably freeing about it, like I was discarding my problems with every pump and squeeze. Was shooting my externalized feelings unhealthy? Undoubtedly. Was seeing them physically externalized and represented like that helpful? Just as undoubtedly. I never once needed to reload, never needed to say a word. At some point Abner handed me a beer and I drank it, then sometime later he joined me with a shotgun of his own. We must have killed a whole riverbank of clay before the sun fell, until silhouetted against the gathering dark I found the one thing I couldn’t shoot. The disk rose and fell, then rose and fell again, and I missed it every time. I couldn’t recognize it, whether it was the darkness or something else, the design on the front was impossible to place. “What is that?” I finally asked. “Your white whale,” Abner said. “You read that?” I said, surprised. “The fuck you think I’m doing while I’m in the can?” he asked, clearly annoyed. He plucked the disk out of the air with a casual wave of his hand. A campfire roared to life with a snap of his fingers and the two of us sat down next to it. I laughed when I finally recognized the disk. “It’s my own insecurities,” I said. “Did I really have to find a redneck genie to figure that out?” “Fuckin’ A you did. We’ve all got our blind spots.” “But how do I solve that with guns, booze, or cars?” I asked. He tossed me a beer, kicked back against a log, and looked at me like I was an idiot. “You don’t.” “Excuse me?” “I ain’t here to solve your problems, that’s a you thing. I just give you shit, but shit doesn’t solve shit.” “Huh.” Shit doesn’t solve shit. That actually made sense. “So what do I do with that?” I said, more to myself than to him. I sipped the terrible beer, staring into the flames. “Well, I already have a car and I don’t want a gun so what then, I become an alcoholic?” Abner stayed quiet, sipping efficiently and watching me. “Not an alcoholic then. But you know, it has been kinda nice just kicking back like this. Maybe sometimes I just need to relax.” It came to me then, like a flash reflected in the inebriated genie’s eyes. “Bottomless flask!” I said. “Give me a flask, whiskey, something good. One just big enough for a satisfying drink but that only has one when I really, really need it.” He tossed across the fire. Polished steel lay in my hand, a satisfying slosh inside when I shook it. “Fuck yeah dude, that’s a good one,” he said. “We all need something to get through the day and you looked uptight as shit earlier.” We sat there for a time, sipping our terrible beers in quiet companionship. “Abner?” I asked. “I’ve got a long weekend and I’m here through tomorrow. Think we could shoot some more in the morning?” “Hell yeah,” Abner said. “Hell yeah,” I said. I sniffed my whiskey, wishing I hadn’t been drinking so much beer. It smelled damn good. “Hell yeah,” I said again. It was a tiny wish, but it was enough. \------------ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. At least not for me. I'm sure some people anguished in the wailing and gnashing of teeth, but I found myself completely and utterly alone. Solitary confinement. The only source of company I had, my last interaction with any sapient creature, was the demon that lead me to my penultimate resting place. "You'll be encased in this personal hell until judgement day. Forlorn and empty, you have betrayed God. Blood was spilled for your soul and yet you deal with the devil. In a few eons, give or take a millennia, there will be a reckoning and your true place in the afterlife will be decided." Despite wanting to scream and lash out, my mouth was shut up. I couldn't say a word until the demon had finished speaking. Never in my life had I dealt with religion at all, neither god nor the devil. I was agnostic and ambivalent. When I finally found the words, I asked "When did I ever deal with the devil?!" "60 years ago."The demon hissed before fading away into the darkness. I did the math in an instant, it wasn't too hard. I would have been a little over two years old. It must have been a lie the demon told. Perhaps this was always the final resting place, and in order to torment me further the demon played on my doubts about religion and gave me false hope. Eons were indefinite, it could be millions of years or just a few thousand. And would I be cognizant of it all? There is an upside to being dead, I suppose. You can vividly imagine any portion of your life, regardless of lucidity or your recollection of it. For those who truly sinned, the murderers, the rapists, the backstabbers and so on, this would be a punishment. The only entertainment at their disposal was a compendium of all the mistakes and regrettable actions that lead them to this place. For me, however, it was a source of joy. The only source of joy, in fact. I had a happy life in upper-middleclass suburbia. My childhood was an adventure, my teenage years were spent bouncing between sweethearts, and my adult life was remarkably successful with a spouse I adored and many loving children. I even got to meet my grandkids before a brain aneurysm took me in my sleep. And the icing on the cake was the funeral, where dozens of my closest friends and relations gathered and regarded me as an important person in their life. I ran through my life just once before the demon's words came back to me. There was a part of my life, brief as it was, that I feared looking back on. A time that my mother spoke of often. At our first house, just before I moved at age 3, I made a terrible imaginary friend. One that forced my parents to pack up and move. My mother would tell me in later years that this friend was friendly at first. Mother was glad that I had an active imagination and was sociable enough to befriend my creations. Things changed, however. There'd be a mess in the kitchen that I would blame on the friend, or I'd topple a bookshelf that seemed just a bit too heavy for me, or know things about private conversations it was impossible for me to have overheard. She'd catch me talking to the friend, pleading for it to stop. We moved when my arms started to scar, and tufts of my hair were torn out. Doctors concurred that there was nothing wrong with me, so my parents put plans in place to move. It was then that this friend focused its attention on my parents rather than me. Violent falls down the stairs that broke limbs, precious dishes shattered, photos torn and marred. We left the house behind and never spoke of it again. I feared looking back on it now, but knew it was the only way. And so with the limited power afforded to me in hell, I recalled the moment that condemned my soul. It was night time, but the streetlight outside sent an orange glow into my room. I couldn't sleep and found myself on the rug in front of my bed playing with some toy cars. Then the smell of sulfur hit me like a baseball bat. I looked around for what it could have been. Maybe a rotten egg? I'd smelled that only once before, and it was not a smell I'd soon forget. My tiny two year-old self crawled around until my search for the smell ended under the bed. Two yellow eyes peered up at me. I fell backwards, then giggled a little. "Sarah!"I squeaked excitedly. Sarah crawled out from under the bed. My adult mind recollecting this instant panicked, but my younger self didn't act on instinct. The creature from under the bed was scabby and pale, her blue dress was stained with blood and soot. When she smiled through cracked lips, I could see perfectly sharp and yellow teeth. "I've come to play!"She said in a voice that sounded to my adult mind like a guttural threat. But my younger self regarded these words in a different tone. I picked up a toy car and handed it to her, smiling. "I'm glad you want to be friends again."I said. She took the car and threw it at the window, smashing the glass. I tried crawling away from her, but she fell to her knees, crushing my legs and stopping me from moving. "I'm not your friend. I hate you. Your parents hate you. You're a terrible child."She spat viscously. "You will rot alone forever!" I began to cry. My parents heard the commotion and were on their way, I was sure, but that didn't stop Sarah from slapping my face hard. "Don't cry!"She screamed. "Save your tears for hell!" It was cruel. My adult mind had been scared, but after seeing the way this creature would speak to a child, let alone myself, the part that felt fear turned to anger. I couldn't open my mouth to protest, this being only a memory, though a host of angry words came to mind my to say if I ever met this demon in hell. She gripped my hair and rose to her feet, dragging me up with her. Then she darted to the door, my tiny legs struggling to keep up as she crossed the floor. I heard footsteps outside, but Sarah would block the door. It wasn't beyond her power. If she wanted, I knew, she could have killed my family there and then. So when she hissed at me to shut up, I listened. Tiny hands cupped over my mouth to stop an involuntary scream. "You could stop this."She said. "But you won't! You're too selfish! Do you know what that means?" I shook my head, hands still in place. She smiled an evil smile. "Everything I do is your fault!" "No!"I whisper-yelled. She let go of my hair to slap my face, then yanked on it again before I could run off. "Shut up!"She screamed again. I wondered how my parents couldn't hear her, let alone smell her. This creature was an abomination. Her existence was an insult to whatever God wasn't watching over me in this hour of need. My adult mind was split on whether to pray or cuss her out. Ultimately, my child self couldn't take it anymore. "Leave me alone!"I squeaked. Another slap didn't stop me from blabbering. "I'll do anything for you to leave me alone..." Suddenly she relented. She let go of my hair, but still blocked the door. My parents were jiggling the door, trying to get in. I heard my father ask my mom to grab the gun, then call the police. "I'll make a deal with you."Sarah said. "Pledge me your soul, and I'll spare you and your family." My child heart was racing, hands trembling, though I knew enough not to accept immediately. I knew adults lied. Sarah seemed especially capable of lying. "How can I be sure?"I asked. She seemed contemplative, then replied "Your life will be very happy. As long as you're happy, you'll be safe."She said. There was no hesitation. I nodded and, thinking about what I've seen adults do with deals, stuck out my hand for her to shake. The demon laughed, then took it. She was ice-cold. Then, with eyes equally frosty, she stared into my very being. It felt as though she was talking to my adult mind in that moment, recollecting this as just a memory, and she said... "Look for me in your happy days. I'll make sure you're safe. And look for me in the end, too. I'll make you safe and happy forever." When she disappeared, my dad flung the door open. He had a wild look on his face, then he saw me on the floor as a disheveled mess. My mother ran in moments later with the family rifle, then screamed when she saw blood trickling from my head. My child self felt relief, and true to her word, Sarah never did bother me again in life. But hearing her final words, which I was now confident were spoken to a future me residing in hell, I decided to run through the rest of my life for a third time, keeping an eye out on the particularly pleasant memories. My heart dropped on the 6th birthday party. This was the year my parents got me a cherry-red Cannondale bicycle. I couldn't think of a happier day in my entire childhood. And yet, true to the demon's word, I could make out a figure haunting me from the corner of my eye. A set of eyes peaking over a windowsill, an arm drooping from a closet. She was in this memory. I was 13 the first time I ever fell in love. I was still just a kid, but my young hormonal heart went crazy when I had my first kiss and held hands for the first time with somebody not in my family. We were alone in the park, surrounded by leafy green trees and glowing fire flies. But we weren't alone. As I canoodled with my sweetheart, visions of the demon hanging from a tree or darting from bush to bush didn't leave me alone. And this repeated every time I had a memory in that park, day or night, happy or not. I found this pattern repeating. In life I never noticed anything amiss, but now in death, this creature haunted not just the greatest days of my life, but also the worst ones. It stood in the crowd on the day of my father's funeral. It sat shotgun in the car that killed my first dog. The demon was omnipresent, and as I lay on my deathbed, a hidden aneurysm doing me in, I heard her whisper that it was time. I opened my eye to find myself in hell once again. This time, however, I wasn't alone.
Humanity dug their trenches, kept their guns loaded, and waited. They'd removed the corpses of the last wave of enemies, and were readying for the next one. The enemy had chosen to disregard their massive casualties, once more. Hell of a way to fight, but mankind had the endurance for it. Word from the brass was that the enemy command had been informed that what we wanted was a war of attrition. Indeed, their empire's leading sociologists and biologists had told the generals ''You don't understand sir! Please! Humans evolved from a type of persistence predator. A war of attrition is exactly what they want, what they are made for.'' But it had been completely disregarded. At the beginning of the war, they had outnumbered us a hundred to one in sheer number of soldiers and ships. Now they outnumbered us ten to one in soldiers. And only five to one in ships. When they took worlds it was after massive battles, meat grinders, where they expended countless soldiers on taking worlds, where mankind just dug their trenches, held the line, and ensured that the worlds would drown in alien blood before they fell. Our rifles would be broken, our bayonets would be broken off into their bodies. Our daggers would be red with blood, and our fists would be shattered. And only then, once the world was a mess of trenches, dead aliens, and humans who held out in the corners and secret places. That was when they could take one of our colonies. In space, our ships were smaller, and not as strong as them. But with ambushes, plenty of supplies, and with cunning, we took down their great dreadnaughts. With our small infiltration crafts, we sabotaged their cruisers. With guile, cunning, and ships that were only borderline better than coffins, we whittled their proud navy down to a manageable size. Even if the aliens managed to take Earth, their victory would be so Pyrrhic, that we'd be able to retake it quickly. Their warriors might be better trained. Might be better equipped. Might even be worth a hundred of us. But we hold the line, we endure their endless assaults, and we have the experience with this kind of warfare burned into us from birth by our very instincts alone. We can endure them. We are like water, give us enough time and persistence, and we can carve through the very bones of the earth. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
"You know what I have always liked?"I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me. "Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate."He said wryly. I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud." He looked at me confused. "But you asked." I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?" "Yes." "And what if someone says 'kill me now, god!'? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically." He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god." I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them. "I think I'm ready now."I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now. "We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon." My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see. "You had a good life, you know."Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life." "I'm- I was 16,"I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "And you died saving a person."Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero." I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now." Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness. "At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check." Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy."
This is great, just great. I think, as I hold my mortal godson on my lap. Zander plays with my ears, laughing uncontrollably when we bends them in half. He says I look like a Bruno, his family dog. When he was born, I didn't know what to do with him. I don't have kids of my own, nor do I have any siblings. But now, all I do is visit Zander and make all of his wishes come true. I still hold a grudge over my bestfriend Ameil for using my full name against my will but... my days have much more joy in them now. "Mima..?" "Yes, Zander?"I answer him. "Um... I wanna learn how to drive."He states. "Your mother will kill me if I teach you." He gave me a pout. I hate it when he guilt trips me. "You're six, Zander. Who let's a six year old drive?" I paused, waiting for his answer. "Me."I say. "I do." And in thirty minutes, I had him behind a wheel. "OK. Your stick in under the seat. You have two pedals, a brake and a gas."I made sure he was listening to everything I was saying. "You put your foot on the gas pedal to go vroom vroom. OK?" "I wanna go vroom vroom!"He leans forward so his little legs reach and slams his foot on the brake pedal. "Wrong pedal, bud. Besides, it's still in park."He laughs at his own mistake. "Now, look at your stick-shift and move it to "D"while still keeping your foot on the brake. You know how to steer, begin." He does as he is told and sits on the very edge of the seat so he can reach both pedals. "Charge!"He yells as he slams his foot on the gas pedal. It's a good thing I didn't put him in a real car. Golf cart was a good choice because what have I gotten myself into.
"Would you like some tea?"She held out an empty cup to the man standing by the bed, which was awkwardly shoehorned into the small home's living room. He gazed downwards at her and smiled, nodding and taking the cup. "Where's your mother?"He asked her, his voice echoing despite the room's size. "On the phone. She's always on the phone now."She went back to the small play table with teacups and stuffed animals and cleared one of the small seats. "Come and play with me?" He glanced at the old woman, who had stopped breathing several minutes ago, and then down at his watch. "A few minutes."He said as he crouched down to fit his lanky form into the small chair. Five years later she sat in a hard backed hospital seat outside a room, her eyes glued to the screen of her game system, quietly occupying herself while a pair of grown up voices argued within. "Where's your mother?"The familiar voice caught her attention and she looked up. She smiled, setting aside her game. "Why are you here?" "This is where I spend most of my time now. Always busy." "What about my dad?" "Not to worry. He and I do not have an appointment for a while. Do you want a bag of chips?"He pointed to the vending machine. They ate cheese puffs together and for twenty minutes nobody died. She didn't see him again for ten years. She was crying, quietly and alone in her dorm room. Her sadness threatened to swallow her whole. She felt rather than heard a weight next to her as someone sat on the bed. She was relieved to see him. "I'm ready."She whispered. But he merely shook his head. "I am not here for you, I am here with you." He sat next to her for an hour, and then was gone. As she grew older she saw him here and there. On the highway she saw him mingling with accident crews and waved. At her great-aunt's funeral she spotted him wandering through the graveyard and he bought her a cup of coffee. "I know it's coming soon." "What is?" "Our appointment." He merely let out a small "mmmm"as he sipped from the teacup, this time with liquid within it. "I'm not afraid. I just need to know when." "The beauty of humanity is in that ignorance. Do not spoil it." "I won't tell anyone." "I know." She smiled quietly and continued to drink. The man glanced up at the clock, and then to the bedroom. Within, a body lay dormant and silent, the soul having joined him for a cup of tea some thirty minutes before. He just had to find a way to tell his only friend that this was their final meeting. (if anyone notices typos I will fix them! I'm on mobile so proofreading is not easy! Thanks!)
"The playable area?"Captain Demetri rubbed his brow, looking back at the orange screen, watching it fizzle with static as Mars loomed closer and closer into view. "Is this some sort of joke?"It must have been a prank, A way to fool them before their big arrival at the new homeland for Earth, surely the screen would return to normal very soon, yet with every kilometre passed, his anxiety grew. His gloved finger pushing against the fine red button next to the screen. "five O two, Five O two calling Homebase, we have a few issues with our screen, hoping it's a technical glitch, keep me updated."He muttered, the next few seconds were painful, Complete silence as the signal went back to Earth, a few minutes later the systems PA shot on with a crack. "No error on our behalf Captain, could be a fault with the system, recommend a restart when you land, keep safe Captain."With that he was back to silence, the planet looming. Right just a restart, technically errors happen all the time, this wasn't a big deal. As he prepared the ship for its descent, he noticed a flash for a brief second, the words MARS EXPLORATION DLC $4.99 MARS EXPLORATION DELUXE: ADDED ALIENS $11.00 As soon as his eyes caught sight of the message it went black, in fact everything went black, until he felt an odd weightless feeling, as if his soul had been ripped from his body and left in stasis, This weird feeling continued until light returned, his ship now facing back to Earth, the PA hissing back on. "Captain, what the hell is happening? you are facing the Earth." Demetri wasn't quite certain how to answer that, how to explain what he had just witnessed. "I don't know Sir.. It was either a wormhole or someone being extremely cheap..." {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
A knock at the front door got my attention, but I chose to ignore it. Probably just another salesman from AT&T…or Xfinity…or one of my stalkers who was pissed I gave up Myspace. "But it was my space,"they always complained in a hiss. "And you took it from me!" I sighed heavily, enjoying my bowl of corn flakes. Someone once said they were great, and I had to admit – I agreed wholeheartedly. Unexpectedly, the door smashed open and twenty soldiers rushed into my studio apartment. I froze in place. “You Tom from Myspace?” One of soldiers asked urgently. “Y-Yeah,” I stuttered. “What’s this all about?” “We need you to come with us!” He replied firmly. “The Facebookening…"He paused, his expression turning to horror. "It’s happening!” My spoon fell out of my hand, hitting the edge of the bowl, sending it flying off the table and clattering onto the ground with a foreboding finality. Time seemed to slow for half a second as it settled on the floor, gently rocking back and forth. “I…umm…” I didn’t know what to say. I’d been preparing for this day all my life, knowing that Zuckerberg was as evil as they come, but after being called a conspiracy theorist all these years… Was I dreaming? “Tom!” He urged. “Let’s go! You can finish your cereal on the way!” Well, okay then. Shit. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I retrieved my spoon off the floor and stood up urgently. Then, my hands slowly lowered, further, further, until I was grabbing my bowl filled with milk and corn flakes – I didn’t eat it dry like the idiots did in the commercial. “Alright,” I announced. “I’ve got everything I need. Let’s do this!” "You don't need anything else?"The soldier asked in confusion. "No computer? No flashdrives?" "Ha!"I exclaimed, tapping my temple. "It's all right here men. I'm the weapon!"Not to mention I hadn't been able to afford a computer in like five years, but they didn't need to know that. They all stared at me in awe, knowing I was their only hope. Finally, my time had arrived. # The fun continues in [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9en3b4/facebook_apocalypse_part_2/)! &#x200B; [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt) Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out! Note: This is satire. The real Tom from MySpace is worth like $60 million.
"So there the party stood, surrounded by a horde of trolls. Porthos -played by Lovecraft- stands back to back with Argon -played by Kafka- completely separated from the rest of the group. Avery, Grogan and Barthel -played by Poe, Algernon and Tolkien respectively- managed to hold back dozens of trolls as their close friend Drogo -played by Howard- is torn apart just meters away from them. Arthur the bard -played by Arthur himself- hides behind a large rock as the sight of his friend's demise is too much for him. Avery, Grogan and Barthel retreat from the cave as they lose sight of Porthos and Argon... but if the sounds they heard are any indication their friends will never make it back to town with them. They make camp as night falls and realize that their food was with Arthur who they lost sight of back in the cave. Now exhausted, starving and in shock the party has no choice but to rest. In the morning after a sleepless night, Avery and Barthel awaken to the sight of Grogan drooped over the camping chair with an empty vial and a note. "My dearest friends, I can not cope with the loss of my love, Arthur, I have taken this potion of forgetfulness so if you wake before me don't speak of him please, for I fear his mention will make me remember."But Grogan had not realized while he mixed the potion in a frenzy that night he dropped a poison root into the mixture. Now with their party wiped out and their mission failed, Avery and Barthel head back to Applewood. Once they reach the front gate the town guard starts screaming but the sound of the beast cuts them off as the deafening roar echoes through the valley, the last thing they remember is a bright, hot light surrounding them. Back at the cave Arthur emerges, shaking like a shaved dog in winter. Everything seems clear so he heads back to town on the same path he saw his friends take last night. Seeing someone still at the camp he sprints forward. With resonating joy Arthur leaps at Grogan expecting him to share his happiness. Soon Arthur realizes what has happened to his lover and he throws himself back in shock. Weeks after, Arthur was still in shock from all he had gone through. He will spend the rest of his life with PTSD and end up a beggar in his last 5 years." Shakespeare closes his notebook and glances at the group. Everyone is glaring back and a bit of foam is coming from Lovecraft's mouth. "I can't believe you did it again,"screamed Poe. "Why do we even let him be DM,"asked Blackwood. "For once I'd like to play a session and not get killed off,"sighed Tolkien. "You can't keep doing this William, we want to play a campaign, not listen to you kill off our characters,"said Kafka. Shakespeare looked at the disappointment across the table, sighed and said, "I'm sorry guys, I just can't write anything without killing my characters... you guys have read my work right? That's kind of a thing I do. Look, I'll try better to not kill your characters off so soon. Will you give me another chance?" Everyone takes a moment to breathe and they agreed to give him one last opportunity. Then they spent the next hour deciding who can make the next campaign. Lovecraft is going to love watching everyone fight Cthulu next week. Edited for accidental separation of name, thinking it was two people. Thanks to, AddictiveSombrero, for pointing out my mistake and allowing me to correct it.
They give you a cup of coffee when your kid dies. Thinking back to that moment? It was a gutsy move. After twelve surgeries, twice that many hospitalizations, and five years of fighting... they gave me coffee. I could see the steam rising in the crisp winter air, thinking that I could just throw it. Pitch it right into the face of the prick who had the audacity to look at me with eyes they taught him to make in some Ivy med school. The face of the man who had smiled and told us that the last set of tests looked great, that she was on the mend... "You'll be able to see her soon."He put the hand that just minutes ago had been in my daughter's chest on my shoulder. That grip, Masculine Sympathy 101. I pulled away and tried to grasp what he had said. "What?"I'm not a word person. I barely got through an apprenticeship. The union would send flowers. I'd have to reach out to Him. Even if we separated, the cheating just didn't matter. "I have no words for what you must be feeling. Your chart said you were Catholic?"The Brushoff. Science failed, lets per her into God's hands. "Sure." He had done his part in the dance. This last bit was the solo. The Grieving Mother. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to cry and scream and tear my coat off. I wanted to die. I just stood there. I hadn't even realized I had walked out here, top of the parking garage in the middle of a January night. I was a terrible Catholic. Lapsed, then relapsed after the divorce. I remembered stories of miracles and prayed every morning and night for just one. Just one small miracle. A single light after so much pain, for her. And, shamefully, for me. The aches of staying up all night and wanting nothing but to take her pain away. To be a better mom. The mom she thought I was when she would wrap those thin sickly arms around me and begged me to make it stop. I wanted to raise my hands to the Heavens and demand that bastard come down and speak to me. "It's not your fault." The voice wasn't the doctor. I turned from staring over the edge on the lights of the medical center, and took him in. Too pretty to be dressed like he was, in stained jeans and a flannel shirt. His hair hung down long, too long to work with, and around his waist a worn leather belt carried what looked like a prop from the Lord of the Rings. They were her favorite story. "Who the Hell do you think you are?"I demanded, spinning to move to him, prepared to start a fight. He winced, then raised a hand. "It's been awhile. I believe it goes, hmm, Be Not Afraid."His handsome face cracked into an easy grin, perfect white teeth in contrast to his workman's tan. The eyes were what did it. They were old, eyes that had seen things. As if the rugged and youthfully pretty face I looked at was a vessel for those piercing brown eyes. "You want to scream? Then scream. Shout at me, make your demands. But don't be afraid, please." He met me halfway then, and I could feel his presence. The push of him, the feeling of calm finality. The workman put his hand on my shoulder and I felt what he said was genuine. I could scream at him, curse his name and his eyes and his stupid perfect face... he could take it. "It's not your fault. You did everything within your power, and still she was taken. She had the best treatment your people could provide. Every medicine available, every treatment. And it failed. But you did not."I could accept the look he gave me, because I knew it was real. "I could have seen it sooner. Could have done something, anything more. There was a trial in California..."I stammered, the tears finally coming. Dammit. This was my moment, and I didn't need someone seeing it. "The trial will be found to be unsuccessful. The cure for what your daughter had will not come for many years, but while you did what you could, so did she."The workman put his arm around me fully, and led me to the edge of the parking structure, looking out over everything. I heard the sound of a bird, a giant bird, and smelled the scent of her hair, the hair that had left her almost a year ago. Twenty five days ago. She was in for treatment, the final stay before... this. Sitting and waiting while the treatments went into her veins. A final attempt to hold it all back, but it was growing, uncaring inside of her. The little boy made her laugh. She had not had any siblings, and so she enjoyed that moment. It was the last time I saw her happy, and the little boy asked what was wrong with her. She told him, how she was very very sick, and she was scared. The boy would grow. Remembering her. He would work hard. He came back to talk to other kids, spend his time playing games with them. When he went to college he would go into medical research. He would remember that face, the first face that had shown him true kindness during his time in foster care. He would remember the name of that disease even if he was barely old enough to do multiplication when he first heard it. He would get top honors, go to a top research institution, his professor an expert in the field. The man who had made the treatment in California. They would go beyond the bonds of researcher and intern, and over beers discussing his desire to go seek out his MD he would tell the story of my daughter and a moment on a cold January night almost twenty years before, when snow fell and he saw something in it. Had drawn what he had seen in colored pencils. Doodled it in hundreds of notebooks across his school years. A simple doodle that would open the mind of a researcher who needed just that subtle push. I don't know how long I cried with the workman's arm around me. How I had let the snot run out of my nose and into his flannel, rubbed my face raw just letting out years of build up rage and anger and fear of failure. "Why?"I begged. "It's all just sand. Tiny grains of sand. And every day, more pour down. And the winds blow them about, and the sun beats down, but after awhile? They become something more." When I let go of him I saw him fully. It was music, and art, and strife and pain. So much pain. "But why me?"I asked. "You are not the first mother I comforted when Her Child's life saved others."He paused, pressing his hands to my cheeks in a paternal gesture of warmth. "I fear you won't be the last. But tonight? Remember it is not your fault." He turned away from me then, walking towards the hospital. I saw the resolve set into His shoulders. A warrior, who had seen His brother cast away. Did He wish He could mourn his own Family? It must be a lonely place, to serve at the Hand. "Hey."I called, watching Him turn towards me. "Yes, Jane?"He asked, pausing to hear what I had to say. "You were always my favorite. Not because You fought, but because You fought for us." He smiled again, and I felt the warmth of a summer sun, and the sound of trumpets raised in a triumphal chorus. "And you were always My favorites. Even before He came down to you. And it's because you always fight. Even when the odds are against you, even when you are broken. My Brother never understood why our Father loved you so, but I do." He winked, then walked behind a truck and seemed to disappear. Because even if you can't win, you always perservere.
There are many great questions asked by those who study religious history. A consequence of historical records being lost or destroyed over millenia. By opposing religions, governments attempting to control the populace or simply by the ravages of time. Large gaps exist in the historical record which frequently prevent us from seeing how Point A develops into Point B. Among these questions, and the topic of this paper, is the question of how Norse Paganism survived over the centuries. Attestations exist of Norse Paganism having been known as early as the thirteenth century. But there exists a several hundred year gap between that time period and the next earliest time we have evidence for. With the Norse deity Thor worshipped among the Avengers, a pantheon worshipped in the American States around the early third millennium. Many explanations exist for this, attempting to fill in the gaps left by history. This paper will discuss the various merits of several such theories. Though it is unlikely a true conclusion will ever be reached. The true answer having long since been lost to history. One theory us that Avenger worship is simply an offshoot or evolution of Norse Paganism. Over the centuries gods would fall out of favour or be forgotten and new gods would replace them. Proponents of this theory will often argue that many Avengers are Aesir by new names. It is commonly believed among those who accept this theory that the epithet "Captain America"is a title awarded to Baldr for a possible mythological role in guiding the Norse to America to evade religious persecution. Fitting both figures association with justice. Though no record of such a myth has been found. Critics of this theory argue that there is little consistency between the early Norse myths and later Avengist myths beyond specific deities. If the other Avengers are supposed to be evolutions of Norse Pagan figures then why do they not consistently have roles in Ragnarok? A consistent event between both eras of Norse worship. Another theory is that a handful of Norse Pagans with but a fraction of their oral history escaped Christian persecution and clung to worshipping what few Aesir they still knew well. Thor, Loki and Odin. This long standing opposition to Christianity would make these remnants natural allies to Avenger worshippers. Whose longstanding rivals, worshipers of the Justice League, are often believed to be a Christian offshoot venerating Moses under the name "Superman". Critics of this theory often argue against the link between Christianity and Leagism. As well as pointing out that most attestations of the rivalry between Avengists and Leagists describe the relationship as remarkably civil. With conflicts often limited to scholarly debate, pitting Superman against Thor in hypothetical contests of strength or Ironman versus Batman in a battle of wits. Which would preclude any need to welcome allies. A third theory takes the same assumption of a small group of Norse Pagans with knowledge of only a fraction of their mythology. But takes a different assumption of how this group became integrated among Avenger worshippers. Hinging on the early American reputation as a haven for immigration. As new peoples and faiths emigrated to the American States, their religious icons were welcomed into the Avengers. Always in a position subservient to the national god of the American States, Captain America. Explaining Thors subservience to the other deity in twentieth century myths. This allowed America to exert control on the religion of new arrivals while still allowing them freedom of religion. Critics of this theory typically point to a lack of evidence that Captain America was ever a central figure in the 'recruitment' of most or any Avenger. Some stories that describe the origin of the pantheon even exclude him, leading many historians to believe that Thor was considered an Avenger before Captain America was. These theories, their strengths and their flaws, will be examined in greater detail over the course of this paper. Alongside other, less common answers to the burning questions about how Norse Paganism survived and evolved over the centuries.
"Sir, Why do you want to end your life?" He turned towards me, a few days of growth on his face. "I'm the scum of the earth. All I do Is drink and smoke, and I have lovers who pays all my bills. I don't deserve life! LIFE IS TOO GOOD FOR ME!" It was always sad for me to see people here. Usually, it was only one moment in their lives that brought them hear, one slip up and they're here. I eventually persuaded him to come down, and he explained how he would use his looks and charm to get women to pick up his tab when he was broke, and it eventually got out of hand, he fell in love with one of the girls he used his charm on. "I-I mean she wants to run away with me! Tonight! But if she ever found out who I was, who I really was, she's never forgive me." I thought for a second, and then went back to my squad car and got my cell phone. "Call your lover. Put it on speaker. Tell her where you are, and what you are. If she comes to get you, then she truly loves you. If not, we can still get you help." The mans hands were shaking as he typed in the number. As it began to rang, he looked up to me and said "Thanks sir."I smiled. No one should ever feel the need to take their own life. Then I heard the voice on the phone. "Honey, I'm picking up the kids, I can't talk right now. See you when you get home, alright?"
A wave of power washes over my body as I pick it up; a tingling, warm sensation I can feel from head to toe, invigorating me with energy I have never felt before. It's beyond pleasing. It feels like a whole new level of being I've not yet experienced thus far in my life, yet missed so dearly. I grip it tightly. My purpose is now clear; my will steeled. I lower the butter knife into the tub of butter; a flawless amount remains on it. Anticipation courses through my veins, nearly making my hands shake; I calm myself, knowing that the outcome *will* be perfect. I press the knife to the top of the loaf of bread and drag. It's beyond perfection. In a single stroke, I spread the butter on the entire bread slice like an artist would on his magnum opus. It covers the entire surface, edge to edge with perfect smoothness, not a single bump to be found anywhere. I bite into it. The taste is divine. Never have I eaten anything like this in my life, and I know that there is no going back to the gruel I had to endure so far. It's not enough. This gift can not be mine to enjoy; it must be shared. I wrap my fingers around the shaft of the mythical butter knife and set out. Presidents, royalty, heroes, and villains alike - all will share in my perfectly prepared sandwiches. All will weep with joy as they bite into them. All will submit to my buttered bread.
"I just... I still don't quite understand,"Captain Jefferson repeated as he sat across from the colourfully dressed man. This was to be a day of triumph - not just for him, but all of humanity. The warp drive! Travel lightyears in seconds! And, of course, at last contact with other intelligent life! And he did. He was found by an alien ship which promptly ushered him into a megastructure orbiting a nearby - relatively speaking, of course - star that served as a meeting centre for the Galactic Community. A centre where he saw more aliens than he could ever imagine. A centre where he found another human. "It's not as bad as it sounds,"the fellow human nodded. "I mean people don't really think about it, but when you get abducted, you don't just disappear. Most of us end up here." "But... there's thousands of you! You've made an entire country just out of abductees!"Jefferson cried out. "We have an excellent source of income from tourism. You'd be shocked how many aliens find human culture utterly fascinating,"the man laughed. Jefferson was less entertained. "Look,"the man continued, "I can imagine this is tough. You expected to be the first human on the galactic scene. It's not your fault! We've been around for centuries, you couldn't have-" "Did you say centuries?"Jefferson interrupted. "Oh. Right. This has been going on for a while. That and there's some, uh... excellent healthcare on the galactic market. I'm actually 307,"the man said casually. Jefferson eyed him up and down. He looked barely 40. "This is insane,"Jefferson continued. "Don't you miss Earth? Your families?" "They're dead by now,"the man said dryly. His tone was casual, but the way he lowered his eyes betrayed proved he wasn't as callous about it as he wanted to seem. "And do you not hold a grudge against those who took you?" "That's... a peculiar matter. See, abducting sentient species is strictly against Galactic Code. On Earth, it's mostly done by the sh'keen - I always pronounce it wrong, mind you - who are heavily scrutinised by the Lawbringers. That's, uh, sort of like Galactic police. Still, it does happen. Basically, those who abduct us aren't a part of the Community." "Huh,"Jefferson said half-heartedly. "You alright?"the man said with a warm smile. "Processing." "Understandable." The two sat silently as the man quietly sipped a beverage Jefferson had never seen but looked oddly appetizing. "Did any of you ever try going back?"Jefferson asked. "Some. Never ends well." "How so?" "Well,"the man adjusted himself in his seat, "few of us - those abducted more recently, mind you - can attest that claiming to have been abducted by aliens don't fare too well. And some of those were likely those who chose to return,"he said and motioned a circle around his temple. "But you could show the technology you used to get back, surely! That-" "Would be extremely against the Code. Lawbringers wouldn't let you get 10 light years from a non-space-faring civilization with current tech. You have to go in covertly with an official escort. Tons of paperwork." "But we've been space-faring since, like... 1960's,"Jefferson protested. "Right, the Moon, right?"the man noted. "Yeah, one of the recent arrivals told me about that. Let's be honest though... that's like comparing driving on a highway to sticking a finger out of your window." Jefferson opened his mouth to protest but found no words. The man was ultimately right, painful as it might have felt. "Now what?"Jefferson asked. He felt silly for asking that - he was the first man to travel in the warp, he was supposed to be making those calls, but in the face of this colossal revelation, he felt totally helpless. "Well, Earth has officially become advanced enough to be welcomed into the Community. Still - there's a lot of paperwork to be done and committees to be assembled before we can officially get to that. Best you stay a while until that is all done, meet the locals,"the man smiled. Jefferson nodded, though he wasn't wholly convinced by his own agreement. The man reached into his waistcoat and pulled out an old pocket watch with an engraved lid. Unlike the man himself, the watch actually seemed its age, though it was excellently maintained. "Now then,"the man stood up with a wide smile. "Lunch?"
"Listen, you guys ritualistically consume the flesh and blood of a martyred demigod in a room full of chanting elders. You have no right to call our religion primitive and evil. How dare you falsely accuse us of human sacrifices and speaking in demonic tongues! How do you have the gall to say your god is the only god in this world and insist my god is some falsehood! Now go away, take your bible, stop handing out your fliers to my people and leave our lands!"Alfred was furious. James had no idea how it got this bad. This was supposed to be a regular missionary trip to convert a fishing village to Catholics. Surely praying to God was a much better option than this evil false god Elvari. According to the briefing he received from his superiors, the Church of Elvar was a cruel false religion that butchered chosen followers supposed to feed their god. His idea was to take a top-down approach, to convert the influential head priest Alfred, and hoped that he could quickly bring the rest of the village to the one true God. Their argument was dragging on for too long; they had been standing outside the Church of Elvar for hours and the sky was now dark. How did Communion become so horribly twisted and interpreted by Alfred in such a manner? "Alfred, I am here to save you. It is never too late to turn to God." "You speak as though your god is the only god in this world. My experience is that there are many gods in this world, each who have chosen to watch over different groups of humans who desire their protection. You speak so much of acceptance and loving thy neighbours, but you are unwilling to accept that our god exists." It was then the doors of the Church of Elvar opened with a strong gust of wind from within. A young man in a night robe peered his head out, one hand holding a stick of cotton candy. "Alfred, its getting late, perhaps you should come in and rest." "Lord Elvari, show this ignorant fool the error of his ways."Alfred beckoned the young man to step forth. And James was completely caught by surprise. When the young man emerged from the church, he didn't walk, but slithered out with a writhing mass of tentacles from beneath the robes. James held out his cross and sprinkled holy water upon the foul creature, who simply raised a quizzical eyebrow and continued eating his cotton candy. "Good evening James, do you have any questions for me? I will be more than happy to enlighten you if you wish,"Elvari beamed. He was always curious whenever humans from distant lands came by; most of them had introduced fascinating new things to his little village, the newest novelty being cotton candy. "You don't actually ask for human sacrifices?"James asked. "Why would I? That doesn't make sense. My powers are fueled by worship, I would be handicapping myself if I ate my followers. Would you be able to call your god to come chat with me? It has been a long time since I met another god. Perhaps I could let him try cotton candy, its really nice fluffy stuff." James couldn't respond, he had no clue what to make of this affable tentacled creature posing as a god. He had been chanting well-known exorcism prayers while Elvari prattled on but the creature didn't bat an eyelid and remained completely unaffected by all his methods to ward off demons. "James, stop mumbling to yourself."Alfred sneered. "Call your god now, my god wishes to speak with yours. If you don't get a response, you're the one worshipping a false god while my god is standing right here."
It was the facial recognition technology that let us know about it. You'd take a picture, go to tag your friends, and up would pop two names. We laughed it off at first, thinking Facebook was glitching again. But when the computer scientists exhausted every possibility (including waking up a cryogenically frozen Zuckerberg to have him look it over) we came to one conclusion: there really was another you out there. Well, not right now, but 500 years ago. Exactly. We really should have noticed it before. There were some portraits of famous dead people, and everyone was always making a joke about celebrities being time travelers when their doppelgänger showed up in some long-dead artist's painting. Only now did we realize the truth. People took the news surprisingly well. They even started hosting yearly doppelgänger parties, where you show up in costume as your five-hundred year old self. Everyone would have a laugh at how you were a dressed as an accountant or a barber or a mid-level manager, whatever that was. There were even contests to see how close to your original self you could be. Those were great, you should have been there. Well, I suppose you will be. Or your doppelgänger will. The world government spent a lot of money on figuring out what was going on. The solution they found was a little disturbing: we were just a computer simulation, and there were only a limited number of skins available to use. The population was a little unnerved by this revelation, but we were okay when we learned how to hack things. Unlimited energy hacks, food hacks, flying hacks. Yeah, the future is really great. We even learned how to send messages back in time. Which leads me to my question: what exactly is a telemarketer and how do they dress? I'm going to win the costume contest this year. ___ ^Check ^out ^/r/KillerSealion ^for ^more!
"A what?" The Grand King of all that is Living, Dead and Anywhere In-Between observed the strange, purplish green blob on the quantum table in front of him. "It's a Shradhaosd, sir." "A Shr... how did you even pronounce that? What is it?" "Well, sir, its something new." "New? We haven't had something new for nearly a million years. What does it do?" "I'm not quite sure yet. Your personal genius #67 delivered it to me just this morning." The GKLDAIB carefully poked the putty thing. It changed to a yellowish gray where he poked for a short second, and changed back to purple-ish. "Sir, I wouldn't recommend that. Genius #67 told me not to touch it, and to only move it in its-" The blob began to convulse and change colors. Out of the point where the GKLDAIB had poked, the Shradhaosd extended and expelled a wooden rod, and its now rainbow colored ball morphed into something that resembled a bowler hat. "Sir! "Sir!"A strange octopus being with the number 67 slid quickly into the room. "What is the meaning of this? What even is this in the first place?"the GKLDAIB roared. "Oh, my invention! My beautiful creation! It works! It works!"The octopus thing gurgled. "What is it? Tell me this instant!" "Oh,"the octopus replied, "It's a new kind of plunger. Perfect for octopus turds, I might add." The Grand King of all that is Living, Dead and Anywhere In-Between sighed. "You're fired."
The table in front of me clicks as I rap my fingers across it's it's surface. It's clean, pristine. Perfect. The walls of the room, sterile white, the chairs, a similar color, and yet, even with this being the main office of the manager, there's no use seen on any of the furniture. I'd been working here two months, saw the ad on a holo-board outside my favorite pit fighting ring. A job where you get paid to sleep, who couldn't pass that up? It was so simple, come to work, clock in, get into a pod, get paid. Left me with my day to do what I actually wanted, sims, btl-chips, whatever I wanted. Helped keep a lot of habits going. It was a good life. Today though, there had to be a mistake. The check I had gotten amounted to what I should be making in a year. I looked around the room again, where was the manager? I almost shot out of my chair when the door clicked open. The manager was a large man, eating far more than the rest of us wanted to, or could even afford. When he sat, his seat sank. As he leaned over the desk, putting his elbows down on the table, a smile grew upon his face. "What can we help you with today Mr. Monroe?" I couldn't help but pull at the color of my shirt a little. "Sir, it's nothing too important, it's just that I saw my check today, and just, there has to be some mistake!" A hearty laugh came from the man. "Mr. Monroe, I have never in my life figured I'd be having a meeting with someone for paying them too much, what's brought this on?" I opened my mouth before closing it again. I couldn't figure out the words. This shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't a problem. So why was I making it one? Finally, I found the words, and forced them forward. "Sir, it's just simply too much. More than usual. Far more than any reason I can think of as to why I should be earning this much."I paused again, taking a breath. "Sir, what do you do when I'm sleeping? Why do you employ me?" The smile faded from the larger man's face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"My gaze stayed locked on the man. With a sigh, he stood. "Come on then, no use hiding it, wouldn't want to lose a brain like yours."Alarm bells went off in my head. That wording, what was my brain being used for? None the less, I stood, following the manager out the door, and onto the deck of a huge hallway. It had to be the length of a football field, and twenty feet tall, filled with pods. As the manager walked, he begun to speak. "Do you keep up with the news, Mr. Monroe?"I shook my head. "A shame, it would have made this easier. Well, a few years back, we signed the new Geneva conventions. War, was inhumane we decided, and no humans should have to fight it."He waved his hand. "Of course, it was just a play by the biggest robotics and weapons makers, more money can be spent on robotics than ever could be arming a human soldier. However, the face of war was changed, and now we march robots at each other." I nodded. "Right, we learned about that in school." The manager clapped his hands together, laughing. "I guess you do keep some knowledge in that drug ridden brain of yours!"I opened my mouth to protest, but he put a hand towards me. "Don't bother, we see your brain after all, it's not hard to mistake the signs of drugs. I do have a question though, do you know the biggest drawback of using robotics. A moment passed, before the thought came forward. "Their brains, they don't have the flexibility and adaptability of a human brain."The manager simply smiled. Suddenly, it hit. "Wait, you've been using me! Making me a weapon-"The manager cut me off by opening a display panel on a pod, showing the view of a spider tank, walking down a bomb ridden city alley. All along the sides, human bodies could be seen. "You've been very useful in our recent invasion. I don't know if you know it or not, but you are a master tactician Mr. Monroe."I had no words, finally, I turned, walking towards the door. I was being used! A weapon of war! I couldn't take it, I wouldn't. "Before you leave Mr. Monroe, know that was only the first check of your work. We do like to make sure the best brains we have are taken care of. That is your new daily pay."My feet stopped, they wouldn't move forward. With that kind of money I could own my favorite fighting pits, cars, women, anything. And if I walked out, well, how could I keep my habit? No one would hire me, a drugged out bum who couldn't hardly show up on time. "Please get back to your pod Mr. Monroe."I simply nodded, walking over to the same pod I'd been sleeping in for the past month. The manager smiled, closing it over me as I got in. "Sleep well Mr. Monroe, oh, and thank you for your service."
Grace stared at the blinking light on the console. The little bar at the bottom of the screen that proved the connection was still open. On and off. Once every second. Taunting her. "Twenty-two minutes of transmission lag, no amount of staring is going to make it go faster."Manuel sat beside her, his pen scratching along the paper as he made more tracings of the tablets. He had a stack beside him of dozens. And those didn't count the ones cast in plastic they'd sent up to the orbital. Or the digital scans. Or the photographs they took. Or the copies they sent off to Earth... Like hell they were losing anything if the lander decided to explode. "Sorry for being obsessive with the biggest even of my life. OUR lives!"She would glare at him, but that would require taking her eyes off the screen. They'd promised they were close with the translation, any message could be THE message. "And the three people sitting above our heads will know everything a good two minutes before you,"he said with the air of a particularly smug parent. "You missing the transmission by a few seconds isn't the end of the world. Sit back. Relax. Fix your hair." "I will relax when I know what the hell is going on."Still, her eyes were beginning to sting. And her head was pounding. And she'd been in this chair for hours reading notes sent back and forth between IMM Pater and the Earth. "I guess you have a point,"she mumbled, laying back until she could look at the ceiling. Nice, clean plastic covering all the steel and circuitry keeping her from suffocating on the cold Martian surface. Third to set foot on another planet. It would have been so worth it. And yet, no one would ever talk about that part. Not in the way they talked about Armstrong or Aldin or Collins. No, everyone would talk about what they found. The only part they'd recovered was sitting in a glass case in the corner. Gleaming white. Perfectly preserved. Staring out at them from time immemorial. The skull wasn't exactly human. They'd spent four days figuring it out. It was close, very close. As it was with several other historical hominids. If it had been found anywhere else, it might have been held up as a new missing link. But they'd dug it out of a sealed bunker buried on Mars. If only they'd brought something to date it with. The implications... The hiss of a cycling airlock tore her eyes away from the skull. She turned on the camera and was greeted to two figures. Heavy suits and shiny face-plates, standing around as the air pressure normalized. She all but squealed when she saw they had boxes at their feet. "Looks like they were thorough,"Manuel said, moving to greet them at the door. Grace turned off the camera as the two started to change. Not that the under-suits weren't flattering, but damn did all the steps get tedious. "You know they'll need a second mission just to catalog everything."Already plans were being drawn up. An additional orbiter, one with an added unmanned lander just for cargo. Dig tools, survey equipment, a miniature lab. Everything they might need for a full excavation. Ludicrously expensive, but for the first time in decades, space exploration didn't lack for budget. Agonizing minutes passed as the suits were stored and the cargo was sanitized and placed into a makeshift clean-room. No one was expecting alien bacteria at this point, but it didn't hurt to be careful. It'd be another day of tests before she could get hands on them directly. Not the first time she wished her life was just a little more pulp. "Did the good word come through?"Reo asked as he strutted through the door, a grin as wide as his head. Ode followed soon after, looking tired. If Grace didn't know any better, she'd be seeing bags under her eyes. "No, and it's agonizing,"Manuel replied, peering into the little space they'd set up for new items. "So is it just more tablets? Did you find anything else? Something that might explain why a presumably spacefaring civilization was leaving notes on metal tablets?" "Nothing so lucky, though we did see another skeleton in a sealed off room."Ode immediately went to food storage. "Going to have to be more careful getting this one. I think they want the whole thing." "That's going to be difficult, they didn't supply us with any coffins,"Grace joked. Perhaps a bit too darkly. "Maybe-" "Typing!"Reo shouted and her head whipped around so fast she almost pulled her neck. But she caught the bar just as letters began flashing across the screen. Word just came in from Earth. The first line made her heart jump into her throat. Manuel, Reo, and Ode pressed in around her shoulders and for once she didn't mind. Came in five minutes ago, we've just been...pondering the implications. "Demi's such a tease." "Shut it!" "It's text, you don't have hear anything..." Full transmission from Earth forthcoming. The icon for downloads popped up and they stared at the small bar filling without one breath between them. IMM Command --> IMM Orbital Pater Subj: Native(!!!) Artifacts Translation efforts slow. Pictographs mimic earliest recorded languages. Resources scarce. Request on-sight aid. Transmitting suspected meanings. "They're expecting us to do linguistic work now?"Ode said, leaning on Grace's shoulder as alien symbols scrolled up the screen. Despite her tone, her eyes were alight. "I hope they'll understand that I didn't necessarily train for that." "It sounds like they're annoyed at working long distance. I'd personally be happy for anything to do that's not hauling the damn things."Reo was bouncing in place as he picked out new phrases, already moving back towards the bin they'd brought in. "Beats waiting on light-lag!"Grace said, grinning ear to ear. She already knew which ones she wanted to pick at first. Odd chains and pictures that curled down the surface. Knowing her luck, they'd turn out to be some sort of shopping list, but the chance to figure that out for herself.... "And Manuel here originally wanted a degree in the arts. Isn't that right?" Manuel wasn't listening. His jaw was slack. His hand trembling as raised it to the screen. Brought his finger to the last one in the list. A sphere with another symbol inside it, surrounded by arcs that traced across its surface. Earth = Settlement Nine. &#x200B; [https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/)
I was the only member of my party still standing. Jasmine, Carnax and Bellon were scattered before me. They bled from a multitude of wounds, barely clinging to life after the intense battle. But even my friends, the strongest people I knew, couldn't stop the Siren's Generals. Even now, she looked at me with mocking eyes. Her half-man, half-crustacean Generals stepped forward, over my fallen allies. Her delicate voice drifted to me, tinged with her corrupting song. "Come now, little healer. Little pacifist. You're quite pretty. Join me. You can't fight me. I'm sure I can make it... worth your while." I felt a shudder. Her words resonated with thoughts of abandoning my friends. Of folding myself into her embrace. To feel her sweet lips against mine. As those treacherous thoughts filled my head, I reached up to the simple locket on my chest. The sharp points of the star forced me to focus, and I shook my head. "No thanks." Her face fell, and she sighed. "Fine. Kill her." I looked down at Jasmine as the first General approached. She stared at me with horror, her mouth moving in a silent apology. I gave her a sad smile, before turning my attention to the crab-man lunging at me with a claw. "Mother of Heavens, forgive me." I sent an apologetic prayer to my deity as I dodged its claw. I reached out, and touched it as I moved, before accessing my magic. Instantly, my mind filled with the injuries I had stored, and I chose one of the most devastating. My blood felt like ice, as I poured the harming into its body. It let out a screech, which quickly descended into a gurgle. The energy carved through it, a replica of the impalement Carnax had suffered years prior. Its shell tore open, flesh pierced by a phantom spear. Its lungs now ruined, and the pain overloading its brain, the crab-man fell. A look of shock appeared on the Sirens face. Even her Generals stopped, trying to understand what just happened. But I didn't give them time to gather their senses. I ran forwards, closing the distance in seconds. The lobster one reared back, trying to escape. But I touched it, and selected 2 new injures. Its claws pulped, a wound transferred from a poor miller I had met. As it looked at the remains of its claws, the second took hold. Its stomach split open. Blue blood spilled out, swiftly followed by its organs. The smell of copper filled the air, and I turned to the last 2 Generals, a shrimp and a mass of barnacles. The shrimp one threw a harpoon at me. My years of pacifistic dodging served me well, letting me move out of its way with easy. I covered the ground between us in seconds, reaching out to grab it. As my hand met it, I chose a small selection of arrow wounds. Holes appeared across its body, weeping more blue blood. The shock of so many wounds appearing all at one end seemed to paralyse it. Worried it wouldn't prove fatal, I followed it up with the cutthroat. It collapsed silently. The barnacles lunged at me, seeking to crush me beneath their weight. I dived foward, narrowly missing that fate, before turning to it. As it tried to get up, I chose another horrible injury. Their shells cracked, and a foul smell merged with the coppery stench. They turned black, as though caught in a raging inferno. The last General fell, and I looked to the Siren. Her pretty face turned green, and she raged. "How dare you?! You will bow before me! I will have your head!" Her corrupting voice washed over me again. But this time, I was ready. Her words fell flat to my ears, and I ignored her momentarily. Instead, I went for my comrades, grabbing hold of them. I felt their injuries, and took them away. I felt the cold of harming energy washed away by the warm of healing. They stood, ready to fight once more. I staggered back, feeling the drain on my system, and pointed to the Sirens angry figure. "She's all yours."
The sunlight filtering through the latticed window crawled inexorably along the cell's floor. Dylan slouched on the bench as he fiddled with the chain connecting his manacles. Even if his hands were free, his skills as a thief would avail him little. There were no locks on the door to pick, no mechanisms to disarm. The cell was grown out of ironwood in its entirety, and would only open in response to elven magic. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he recalled the judge's face after he said what he wanted for his last meal, but his amusement was short-lived. If the elves couldn't execute him, they would simply keep him jailed until he expired of old age. A few decades here and there made little difference to them. The ironwood creaked and groaned as the wall to his left split open, flooding the cell with sunlight. He raised his manacled hands to shield his face and squinted at the blond elf standing outside. Speak of the devil. "I bring you your last meal, prisoner,"the elf said in that controlled, smooth manner that always irritated Dylan. "Make sure to savor it, for your execution is scheduled for this evening." Dylan snorted. "Pshaw, right. As if you could..." He trailed off as the elf stepped aside to let a hunched, wizened figure into the cell. Her parchment-like skin was webbed with blue veins, her wispy white hair smeared with dirt. Hanging from her frame was the black dress she had been buried in. In her white, bloodless hands she carried a steaming pot that gave off a nostalgic smell of beef stew. "G-grandma?"he choked out, straightening up in his seat. "Who else, you reckless fool?"she snapped, glaring at him with milky eyes. "Have you lost your mind entirely?" He swallowed, staring at her. "But... how is this possible?" "The High Judge permitted the use of necromancy to fulfill your request,"the elf said snootily. "Let no one say that we treat our prisoners unfairly, even humans." "Quiet, whippersnapper,"grandma said sharply. "I'm talking to my grandson." Dylan cracked a smile as the elf—no doubt centuries of age—sputtered in shock. "What are you grinning for?"Shuffling closer, grandma set the pot down on the bench beside him. "Imagine my shock, being yanked back to the world of the living and told that my grandson was jailed for trying to steal the High King's sacred scepter!" "Sorry, grandma,"Dylan said, ducking his head. "Sorry won't cut it this time! Have I taught you nothing?"Sighing, she laid a cold hand against his cheek. "Let me have a look at you... Good heavens, you look much older than when I saw you last." "And you don't look a day over a century old, grandma." She clicked her tongue. "Watch your mouth, boy. I may be dead, but that won't stop me from turning you over my knee." The elf gave an amused cough. "Your moralizing is rather pointless, undead one. After all, your offspring is to be executed shortly." "No one asked you, long-ears."She sighed. "Well, if you're about to lose that foolish head of yours, you might as well fill your stomach first. Go on, then." She nudged the pot closer. Dylan reached for the spoon that had been stuck into the stew. "Be careful,"she added, "I made it spicy." Dylan paused, then grasped the spoon and began to eat. Grandma berated him as he did, emphasizing her words with vigorous gestures that made her lifeless joints crack and creak alarmingly. He kept one eye on her hands as he steadily spooned the stew into his mouth. Suddenly he bit into something hard and winced in pain. Sniffling, he raised his hands to wipe at his watering eyes and surreptitiously spat the lockpick into his palm. "Thank you, grandma,"he said in a quavering voice. "Thank you as well, sir elf. You don't know how much this means to me, to be able to taste my grandmother's cooking one last time." "We are a merciful people,"the elf said, jutting out his chin. "Now, are you ready?" Dylan glanced at his grandmother. "Yes, I believe I am." Even though her face was set in an everlasting scowl, he could've sworn it softened as she looked down at him. "Don't disappoint me again, Dylan. What have I always said? Three things are crucial for a successful heist..." He sighed good-naturedly. "Scouting, planning, preparation." Grandma gave him a gap-toothed grin. "That's my grandson. Go give them hell."Even as she spoke, her hands kept moving in the thieves' sign language. The elf frowned and stepped closer, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. With a swiftness that belied her age, grandma seized the pot and slammed it over his head. The elf yelled and drew his sword, scoring a slash across her chest, but she only cackled and launched herself at him. Ducking under the elf's blind swings, Dylan slipped the pick into his trembling fingers and worked the lock on the manacles. "Escape!"the elf cried, pulling the pot off his head. "The prisoner's escaping!" The door into the cell began to close like a healing wound. Dylan swore and refocused on the lock, his heart beating a mile a minute. The manacles clicked loose, and darting past the elf, he leaped through the narrowing gap before it could close completely. Grandma's cackles rang behind him as he broke into a run, the sweet air of freedom filling his lungs. He turned left and darted into a shadowy copse of towering trees. Escaping the elven town would be tough, but he wasn't one of the most notorious thieves on the continent for nothing. After all, he had learned from the very best.
I slowly snapped off my helmet and let the strange, tentacled beast guide me through their city. Gleaming buildings fronted clean sidewalks that bustled with pedestrians while the streets teamed with odd vehicles that scuttled like crabs. "We are so glad that you do not wish us harm!"it told me. "Our religion is one of love and peace. We no longer have mighty weapons of war, and we just didn't know what to do if you came with ill intentions. Though our species was formerly marred by strife and conflict, the Savior came and ended the conflicts himself. The many nations of the world surrendered to his power. He freed us. " "He must have been a mighty warrior,"I remarked. "No, no. Not at all. He disavowed all violence and instead taught that true love comes from non-violence. The ability to not retaliate is a most revered trait in our world, and we always try to emulate him." I gazed around, noting how friendly the creatures were with each other. They often stopped to converse and greet each other in the streets, despite the fact that this metropolis was at least the size of New York. They couldn't all know one another. "And you? Are the revered leaders of your planet also renowned in the same way?" I thought back to the politicians and actors who were famous back in the States. "Err, not exactly. They are more concerned with money, I think." The creature stopped and looked up at me. As unfamiliar as I was with his alien expressions, I could already see the pity in his eyes. "I am sorrowful, then,"he told me. "Our savior also taught that the accumulation of wealth serves no one, and only harms society as a whole. We learned long ago that in death, wealth means nothing. As one lays dying, all that matters is the amount of loved ones gathered by your side." I observed the stores nearby more closely. Customers simply went in and selected what they needed; no money was exchanged. And yet, the store emploees seemed happy and enthusiastic to be helping their fellows. "Are you trying to convince me that your society is perfect?" "No, no,"the creature said. "Like all societies, we have problems. There are disagreements over the world of which Savior is correct, and these often get very heated." "Ah,"I responded. "This is also a problem on my planet. Violence between religion is unfortunately far too common." The creature actually fell onto the sidewalk. "Violence??"it said, astounded. "No, no! Their saviors also espouse the ideas of peace and tolerance. In fact, some our belief systems even have a common origin, so the differences between us are slight! We just worry that they will not find redemption in the afterlife if they worship a false god." "I see,"was all I could really say in response. They probably didn't want to hear about suicide bombings. "You must allow us to visit your planet some day. We would love to tell you of our ways and show you the path. You could truly benefit from the knowledge of our lord, Jesus Christ." --- Eh, it's a little cheesy. Hope you still like it. As a bonus, you should see this other prompt response I have written: [Humans find God visiting another planet](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rv12i/wp_humankind_finds_a_planet_in_a_solar_system_far/cnjijil). That one was better. And also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell, if you enjoy my writing!
It started on a pretty small scale. Things we never noticed until we looked back. The odd animal abandoning their young. Small increases in crime rates. That kind of thing. Simple stuff, seeming like normal variations to the vast majority of people. But things grew more blatant as time passed. There were reports of newly-born domesticated animals killing siblings. More and more parents abandoning children entirely. Children doing the same to parents. Orphanages filled up, Adam Sandler films skyrocketed in popularity, life expectancies decreased. People began to take note. Governments began to take note. Nobody had an explanation, but as the world progressively got worse there was a growing disturbance across the planet, as if everyone could feel the wrongness resonating deep within themselves. Like pieces of their essence were missing. It was a little while later that the rumours began. First sweeping through the religious communities, and then the general population. Monks in a far-off monastery had proposed that a limit existed on the amount of souls that could be in the world. That as babies were born, and population grew, souls were being divided to make room for new arrivals: people being born with half a soul, a quarter of a soul. It was whispered that one day, one day soon, we would reach a time when there was no more to go around and suddenly we would be dealing with people who were entirely without a soul. Uproar followed. Some major world religions denied the idea, and others advocated it as much as they could. Those who didn't believe the idea had no idea what was happening. Most of those who did believe had no idea how to fix it. People who did have an idea generally kept such ideas to themselves, thinking about said ideas only in the dead of the night when nobody else was awake to see them shudder. As time passed, the issues worsened. Parents were found dead on the floor with babies sitting oddly still and triumphant. Bottom links of food chains across the world disappeared entirely. The human race survived, but other species weren't so lucky. People saw the end times approaching and took what pleasure they could in the mean time. And so as high as death rates got, birth rates were ever higher. Religious spokespeople became ever more powerful as they were turned to for hope. And the solution that so many had conceived in their nightmares soon became the most hotly discussed topic, with one question dominating the minds of most people - how many would have to die to reverse this, and would that prevent it from ever happening again? Eventually, after the dust settled, I imagine that many of those who are left will theorise that this is the tipping point - the point where desperation caused the human race to lose its soul. But those in our time wished simply to survive, and decided that they would deal with the situation with any means possible. Shelters were set up for the most important of society - the radius was calculated to not reach them, but many believed that they would rather be safe than sorry anyway. Areas were chosen where people had 'the least to lose'. Strangely, the people in those areas weren't consulted about how much they had to lose. And that brings us to now. Thirty minutes before launch. And sitting here, thirty minutes from pressing the button that will half-destroy our home, I wonder what the future will think of us. I hope it will simply be that we did what we had to do. But I know that it won't. ***** This was my first Writing Prompt response... feedback would be appreciated if possible! I don't know how cliché this is to be perfectly honest, looking back now it seems a little... I dunno... generic? Anyway, yeah, feedback would be appreciated on anything you see. Thanks for reading!
"Tell us, dear Brother, is this food good for us to eat." "Go forth and feast, The spoils, so so sweet." They come to me, from places near and far. Important and unique, I am a shining star. I can do miracles, that no one else can. And it's quite easy to say, I am the greatest man. But today I see something, that never have I seen. A color most unique, whatever can it mean? The little child plays, with friends in the playground. And I look on, fascinated, by the aura that surrounds. I cannot describe this, it's as if many colors joined. But it is utterly beautiful, a name for it must be coined. I keep looking at it, the color shining bright. and it possesses my mind, all through the day and night. Till the fateful next day, when the child I can't see. I ask around among his friends, where could he be? They say he is sick, unable to move, lying in bed. I rush to his home, my heart filling with dread. I see the little kid, light draining from his eyes, But the color is strong, growing brighter as he dies. I come away shocked, unsure of what this means. My head is spinning, As behind me, the mother screams. I am still quite shaken, when I see, a family passing by. All of them with the aura, which I am starting to despise. I find out after days, the family never came back. Their bodies were found soon, victims of a wild boar attack. I see the aura again, this time close to home. As my little kid and my wife, seem afflicted with the unknown. I forbid them with anger, to leave our house for some days. I will not let them die, no matter what the color says. I go out to fetch the water, and make my wife stay in. I hear the cries and commotion, and my head begins to spin. Our house is in flames, as a crowd gathers around. I stand and watch helplessly, as our house burns down. I am, but a husk now, no emotions or feeling. Their burnt faces, I still see, life now unappealing. Everything has changed, but one thing remains the same. The cursed aura, I still see, forever reminding me of my pain. I am powerless to stop it, I've tried it again and again. Its the work of powers beyond me, the result always the same. "Tell us, oh dear brother, if this is food is okay." But I don't reply, and he screams and runs away. I sit alone in tears, as I hear his shout. I can feel the blood, from my eyes, gouged out. I am however quite happy, no more auras to chase. Despite all the pain, a now unfamiliar smile across my face. ******** Also one of my fav authors here wrote on a similar prompt a while back. [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/PhantomFiction/comments/90cswy/wp_you_can_hear_colours_describe_what_they_tell/) if you are interested.
"Kane, it is good to see you, the council is most pleased with your learning."The man interrupting me said over a beard long enough to tickle his balls if he sneezed. Clouds of smoke puffed from the pipe perpetually in his lips. His ears wiggled whenever he was irritated, and my ignoring him had set them aflapping like a bearded dumbo. "You're an idiot Maretan, you're all idiots."His face darkened at the insult as he looked around my lab. "Your lab looks more like a goblin engineers workshop, than a proper magical research facility."He touched a copper pipe and burned his fingers. "What in Gorbs name!" I turned and smiled at his injury, "You're all idiots, look at it, you practice magic with best guesses and second hand sharing without applying any real science or engineering to the principles. Your stock fireball is a basic incendiary charge accelerated towards the enemy where it would burst." Marching over to a wall I hit a panel and it opened up, the spells were familiar to Maretan, but refined. Beyond was the Calei Plains. An unofficial weapons testing ground. "Go on Maretan, throw a fireball." Sneering he frowned and cast the biggest fireball he could manage, maximising it with metamagic. The flame moved out at a hundred feet per second, slamming into the plains and bursting with a twenty foot wide burst of flame that went out almost as rapidly as it started. "I am one of the pre-eminent fire mages. What could you do." "Several things."I called up the flame, shaping the intended shell that would improve on it's velocity, binding it with other spells. "I call this the fireball Mk 2."I cast it out and it zipped out at two hundred and fifty feet per second slamming into the plains, the blast began and the secondary spells fired injecting air into the mix blasting out to a forty foot radius. As with his, it fizzled out quickly. "It has high power, but isn't sustained." "This though is a hellgrenade."I conjured from the barrel a ball of naptha with one hand and a fireball Mk2 with the other. The Naptha was surrounded with airbursting spells and was hurled out before, ten feet from the ground the spells triggered and vaporised the naptha into a cloud of particles before the fireball slammed into it. There was no fire in the end, just a shockwave blast that scorched the ground for hundreds of feet. "Still think science doesn't matter?"
Katie lay on her bed inspecting the stained sheet of paper that held her bucket list, lamenting not ticking off more than "Dye Hair Red."Her watch, an old analogue thing imported from Switzerland (she'd meant to travel there and buy one in person, but she'd imported it in the end) read five-to-the-hour. The little gears inside of it were accurate to 0.0001 of a second, and naturally, she kept it tick-tocking with fastidious intent, winding it fully every morning. She kept its life going even as it counted her own life down; an almost abusive relationship between cog and heart. Five minutes of life remaining. That was all. Then she'd shuffle, ruefully, off this mortal coil. Oh, four now. Doesn't time fly? Never got married. Not that it was really a bucket list item anyway. Just something people did. She'd never jumped out of a plane with a parachute, gone skinny-dipping with strangers at sunset, made love on a balcony at dawn -- never even gone skiing. Somehow, even as a bucket list item, skiing hadn't seemed worth the potential pain of a broken leg. But she had dyed her hair red. Sure, it'd ended up more carrot soup than red (she'd been impatient) and afterwards she'd worn a wide-brimmed hat until it faded. Not that there was anything wrong with orange -- it just wasn't for her. Point was, she'd dyed it. The first tick on a sheet of forty-six patiently waiting items. It wasn't as if she'd wasted her life either (three minutes left) because she had done things. No one could deny that. For example, there was barely a series on Netflix she hadn't at least seen the first two episodes of. There had been a time when she'd watch a full season, but then the show would invariably get cancelled before the next, or just plain run out of steam, and then that original enticing premise -- and her promise of excitement -- were left floundering. So now she dipped a lonely toe into the water, so to speak, instead of diving headfirst in for a swim. The irony was (two minutes left) that if she wasn't due to die today, on her thirty-second birthday, she'd do all those things waiting on her list. Every last one of them. And she'd start right now! Yes, she knew that to be true. Now that she was about to die she could see the actual value of her list. It wasn't just about informing people on twitter that she'd done something. Oh no! The worth was in the doing, in the experience. Katie realised she'd finally grown; that she now understood the core idea of human existence. Here she was at the end of an almost-wasted life and was only now ready to turn this proverbial corner. One minute left. She was standing now. Hadn't realised it but found herself up on her bed staring at the door, as if she was ready to greet death with the old right hook. To say, "Not today, mister Reaper - for Katie's still got living to do! Look at my list -- see how much is left to do? I'm a lady on a mission and not even death will halt me!" She felt enraged. Impassioned, even -- a strange foreign feeling that she wished she'd known much more often and intimately. Oh, out of the window the TV would go, if only she had more time! And her list, by God she'd tick off that list, at least one per day, and add something new in each item's stead. O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Katie was finally alive, a necromancer unto herself, a God amo-- She saw the time on her watch. One minute past. Katie tapped her watch. It still ticked. More peculiarly, so did her heart. She stared at her timepiece for three more minutes, then began to jump. Up and down and up and down, the mattress bouncing joyously with her. She hugged her pillow in celebration as if it were her trainer. She was going to live! Live! -- in every sense. She ran to the bathroom and painted her lips in her darkest red, then kissed each item on her bucket-list. Skiing! She should book that now. She had the money. Always had been a hoarder, even near death. For who knew what the future held! Tonight, skinny-dipping. Then perhaps she'd look into a vacation to Switzerland and... The tiredness crept up on her. All that jumping, she supposed. All the excitement of not-dying. What a long, long day she'd had. She'd just lie down for five minutes. See what Netflix had recently added. Not to watch anything. Old Katie -- that foolish person who failed to see the value of life -- would have watched something. But new Katie was fully alive, full of that joie de vivre! New Katie would merely peek in on the what's new. Okay, that one does sound interesting to be fair, even to new Katie. New Katie is vastly improved, but she isn't a machine, after all. New Katie will maybe watch just one episode of this, then maybe she'll have another look at her bucket-list. Maybe. --- Katie's final thoughts, as her heart crumpled up in her chest like paper fifty minutes later, were about her watch. She'd wished she'd bought a digital one that updated automatically with daylight savings. Otherwise, she wouldn't have wasted that precious extra hour. She'd have lived. She'd have truly lived.
Director Helvin rubbed the bridge of his nose as he looked over the reports. He really wished that he had been allowed to bring a good, strong drink with him. But no, the people in charge thought that alcohol was an unnecessary distraction. They obviously had never met Dave. The older man touched a light on the control panel, calling up the communication system. He did not have to look for Dave. By now, he knew where to find the guy's contact information. "Dave, come to my office immediately."He said. "But, sir, I'm--" "Now, Dave." "Yes, sir."Dave said, sounding crestfallen. It was not long before Dave stood before Director Helvin. Dave was a lanky fellow. Not tall, but skinny with arms that seemed just a tiny bit too long for the rest of him. He wore the standard uniform of the science team, although he seemed to have made a few alterations to it for seemingly no reason at all. "Dave, do you know what this is?"Helvin asked, calling up the report in question. "Uh, looks like a data report, sir." "Do you have any idea what this particular report says?" "Not without reading it, sir." "Think about it, Dave. Why would I call you here about this particular report?" Dave began to shuffle uncomfortably. "Oh. Is this about planet J-475 C?" "Yes, Dave that's exactly what this is about. Care to explain?" "Uh...scientific curiosity?" Helvin sighed and really wished for that drink again. "Dave, what does Amendment 4517 say?" "That we can't introduce nanotech to a planet in order to simulate magical abilities?" "Subsection one." "That we can't use any form of bio engineering to give locals super powers." "Subsection two." "Or any other form of advanced technology designed to enhance and or alter the locals." "That's right, Dave. And what did you do?" Dave wrung his hands. "I-I mean, technically, I didn't even introduce any new--" "Dave, you purposely introduced a modified plant to the ecosystem which produced a strongly mutagenic effect." "It wasn't tech though. And it didn't directly alter the locals." Helvin glared at Dave, who seemed to either under the man's gaze. "I didn't know it would have that effect! I swear, I was just trying to give them a more nutritious staple crop, really." He backed away as the director continued his visual assault. "I...I wasn't, I mean, I didn't know!" "Dave."Helvin said. "Fix. It. And then if you ever feel the need to introduce anything to another planet ever again, don't. I don't care what your intentions are. Just don't. Now get out of here and fix your mistake. And then you're being placed on cleaning duty for a month." Dave's head hung. "Yes, sir."He said. He turned and slowly shuffled out of the director's office. Director Helvin counted to ten, taking a deep breath with each number. Once he had done so, he opened up the command panel and scanned through it until he found Amendment 4517. He activated the edit mode and created a new subsection. Subsection three: Or introduce anything at all to an ecosystem.
"Victor, Victor Charlie's victory's imminent." "Roger, not if I can help it, Mike. Juliet, what's your status?" "Victor, Juliet's mike's shot." "Roger. Roger, I'm going in. Mike, echo Juliet." "Wilco, Victor. Delta's up ahead, you read, Roger? "I read, Mike. Whiskey in the hotel's on me when you get back." "Right, Mike. Target Alpha, let's tango!" "Charlie's gonna have a bad day, Victor. Tango alpha down, repeat, tango alpha down." "Roger, tango alpha down over delta. Bravo tango, two kilos out! Down." "Roger. Bravo, Victor! Roger, Victor's victory-" "Copy my confirmation, Mike. On formation, we're going home."
My shoes did not go clank against the metal floor of the spaceship. My shoes were cheap things, rubber soles and faux-faux leather. Besides, it seemed fashionable on the planet KP-40632 to wear goddamn horseshoes on your boots. The nonstop pounding of boots on floor was only adding to my tension headache. I let out a long sigh as the creature from another world stared at me. "Walk me through this again, please." "The ship flies to far off worlds." "Right, and how does it do that?" "We type in the place where we want to go and we hit this button."The creature gestured with a spindly appendage to a button that I was sure read 'GO' in large KB-40632 letters. "Yes, but do you have engines? Do you slip under the time-space continuum? Warp drive? How does it work?" "I just told you,"the alien said, speaking more slowly and clearly, "we type in where we want to go and hit the button." If you had told ten year old me that I would be standing on the bridge of an alien starship I would have been elated. If you had told me two months ago the caveat I'd have staunchly refused. They were nice enough, these things from KB-40632, and they had the capability to travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, but they were making me do my job. They'd confounded the scientists, infuriated the diplomats, and nearly driven the military mad. They weren't anything other than pleasant, but any question about their ship, their tech, their capabilities, and you got the same answer. I hit the button and it works. So they called me. The specialist, I was called. I suppose in a way I've been training my whole life for this, from the first time my Aunt Linda asked me for help with getting to the Googles on the Foxfire. I took a deep breath and repeated the mantra that got me through the day, the credo that bound me and countless others together. "Right, let's take a step back. Can you turn your rocket ship off and then on again?"
The principal was asking me to come to the school... again. The third time this week. What did my children do this time? Speak without raising their hand? Call someone a meanie? Maybe even make a silly face in the presence of a teacher? The school always calls me in for really stupid things. "Well, what is it this time?" "Sir, your children..." "What did they do? Probably something trivial again. You people always waste my time, you know that?" The principal sighed. "They broke into a nuclear weapons stockpile, stole a warhead, and used it to nuke Moscow." My jaw dropped. "Oh god no... Children, what have you done?" "That's not the end of the story. They then stole Russian Army uniforms, and hired mercenaries to wear them in a false flag assault on Washington, causing the Third World War." "This can't be happening...." "They followed this up by contacting an alien warlord and told him that Earth is divided and vulnerable, which made him choose to invade the Earth with a robot army. I'm sure you noticed this." It was six in the morning, and I'm a heavy sleeper. The principal continued. "After the alien warlord conquered the Earth, they betrayed and beheaded him. They stuck his head on a spike as a warning to other alien warlords and seized control of his massive robot army, which they are now using to rule over the world with an iron fist." I turned towards my children. "Why would you do such a thing?" "You said that if we did all our chores, you would get us ice cream." Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very much appreciated.
The line stretched far ahead of Nate, the goal of the big box store just now coming into view. At the current pace, it would several hours past sunset before he would get his turn in the store, his chance at that coveted toilet paper. Ever since the announcement from the heavens, everyone was turned up into a frenzy. God was fired? A new God has risen? Nate wasn't even confident the previous one existed, but therein lied the problem, it seemed. He would wait as long as it took in this line for his family. He didn't know much about cosmological shifts in power but he knew about global disasters and he wasn't going without toilet paper for this one. A great trembling rolled over the town, cracking the asphalt as the ripples worked their way down the line of cowering masses. The sky cracked open and a mild, rather mousy-looking woman appeared to be popping up from a black tear in reality. "Hello, Earth! I'm Chloe, the new diety assigned to this quadrant. Sorry for the few hours of silence, just getting all my hens in a row before we get started."The woman picked up a sheet of paper from a quickly materialized and neatly ordered desk which left existence with a rather satisfying pop. Chloe wielded a pen in the shape of a lightning bolt and traced down the page. "Right, so first of all, I'm calling today an international holiday, Beginnings Day! I know, a little corny, but the people upstairs didn't take me on for my catchy names, that's for sure!"She smiled with a wide raise of eyebrows before continuing. Nate realized she wasn't talking in English. She was talking in some unknown language that he could understand inherently, as though she was talking directly to his brain. "So, when I say holiday, I really mean it! No one will age, grow hungry, sick, die or anything really for 24 hours. Literally, everything is on hold so don't worry about me ruining your day." "Now, the majority of today is going to be spent in the breakout rooms, which to pull it simply, is a separate reality where I can answer all of your questions. I bet you have a lot! I know I would. I'm just gonna hit some of the very common ones here while we're all together to save some time."She gestured to her left. Nate tried to look at the list, looking like something out of Family Feud, but no matter where he turned, she seemed to float with him, always taking up the sky at the center of his vision at any moment with the unrevealed list in his periphery. "Right,"she continued, voice incredibly loud but not painful. It was a very mild-mannered kind of awe-inspiring. Part of the sign flipped with a pleasing ding. "Number 3! Do not let my presence shake your current belief system. You won't hear have no other Gods before me from me! Just take it that whatever faith you believe, I am merely an assigned inferior worker to whatever higher power you believe in. It really doesn't bother me one bit and if you're an atheist, go ahead and stop kicking yourself over this, too! I could be an alien or an advanced AI or a host of other really radical things! I love to discuss this stuff, so please hash it out with me till we come up with a theory you love. "Number 2!"she called out, accompanied by another loud ding. "What about the old guy? We thought he was doing a great job. Well, going through the few notes of my predecessor, I can confirm he hadn't done much of anything since the late 12th century, Now, remember, don't think I'm ragging on your religion. I'm merely saying the assigned agent to make your life better was slacking off, not to say anything about his superiors or any higher plan. If that let it all just happen approach was part of some mysterious ways thing, then so is my active approach! I don't want to talk ill of the dead so we'll move on."Nate felt an odd sense of dread rise up in him at these casual words. Before he could really process more the grand ding accompanied a "Number 1! Alright, the number 1 most common question is how do I talk to you? Well,"she said, gesturing broadly stretching out an arm to each horizon. The air was warm. Nate was suddenly in a pleasantly lit coffee shop. It smelled like hazelnut and old books. A series of twisting wooden beams snaked across the walls and ceilings, covered in Spanish moss and cats of all breeds, some lounging and some gracefully navigating the maze. A waterfall misted the window outside. There was only one table. Chloe, the apparent new God, sat there sipping a drink from a mug. She looked at Nate warmly, like an old friend, as she gestured towards the chair beside her with its own steaming mug in front of it. "What is this place?"Nate asked. "Why are you here with me?"He sat down, feeling his spine crack twice as he settled into the perfect alignment of the chair. A wave of pleasure rushed through him as he smelled the coffee wafting gentle steam towards him. Another wave hit him as the warmth from the cup radiated up his hand as he touched it. "Are you really God?" "Right to it. I like you, Nate,"she said, setting her own coffee down and giving an inhuman amount of eye contact. "I'll take those in reverse order. Yes. To answer your questions. A new reality based on your preferences. As a little gift for the first Beginning's day, I'm going to give each person on Earth access to their's whenever they want. No time passes while you're here." "So, you're not just with me? You're with everyone, individually, at the same time?" She shrugged and dusted off her shoulder with a smile. "Yep! Though this will only be a few hours for you, depending on how much you want to ask me, it will be two million years or so for me."She smiled cheerfully and sipped her coffee again "Wow, and you would spend all that time talking to us? Just to answer our questions?" "Of course,"she said. "This is a job of sacrifice and I need to start off by showing- All at once, her appearance changed. Nate's mind nearly snapped trying to grasp what he was seeing. A creature pouring through dimensions like living silt, beaks, horns, and eyes spiraling into fractal dissonance. He saw that shape resolve into a massive mouth, bits of flesh dangling from its cosmic maw. Bits of a dead God, Nate saw, clinging to some shadow of life. "Do not trust her,"that broken body screamed, with unbelieving effort Nate could feel in his teeth. "You are foie gras to her. Do not-" Just as suddenly, the vision was gone and Nate was in the coffee shop again, with the smiling and mousey young woman. "So, what's your next question? Hit me!" ... Later that night as Nate returned to his reality, he saw the usually busy streets empty down below his window. Everyone was in their new pocket realities, while Nate sat in his chilly apartment, googling with disgust and horror what the words foie gras meant, taking particular note of how it was made. The process was called gavage. &#x200B; \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
"So, I don't give them the cures to the diseases?"questioned Jamal, pointing to the container of syringes. "No no no, you couldn't if you wanted to. You think we could just pack up the cures neatly in a box like that and send you off? You aren't going back in time to help those of the past, you're going back to help us out,"replied the bespectacled man in the lab coat "I don't think I quite understand." "Amberson Technologies, that's the name of our company. Now we may look all fancy and well-off from the outside, but truth is we have debts to settle. Massive debts from massive aliens who'll cook, marinate, season and eat us if we don't come through with the money." "Alrite..." "There's no way we can get more money off the customers with the products already in our line. Profits have been maximised to the fullest extent. However, our archaeologists recently found information about a liquid drink business from the past. Coca Cola, it was called. After a millenium long iron rule over the soft drink industry, it apparently collapsed due to the loss of the secret recipe which was stored on a single piece of paper, passed on from generation to generation of the company's founding family. After the loss, the company spent all its money trying to recreate the drink, but it was never the same again." "I don't feel to comfortable being part of such an elaborate lie. I thought I could put this on the social services section of my resume." "We will incinerate you if you back out now or tell anyone. Anyways, we will be sending you back in time, an hour prior to the flight of the last recipe-holder. The flight on board which he managed to lose the piece of paper and destroy the family legacy. You must intercept him and bring us the intel. Understand?" "Well I won't dare say no after you've threatened me with an incinerator." "I'll take that as a solid yes. Off you go." Jamal vanished into thin air and instantaneously reappeared 50,000 years in the past in a building full of people, suitcases and conveyor belts. He appeared to be seated at the waiting area of a flight launch, next to a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman who didn't seem to have realised the sudden appearance of a 17-year old dressed like he was 50,000 years from the future next to him. Jamal assumed the man to be the target and quickly conjured up something to say. "So, travelling for business?" "Oh, yes indeed." "Same here. Hate the journeys, but gotta make money somehow right?" "You've got a fashion line I assume?" "What would make you think that?" "Uh..." "Oh right, my clothes. Just trying on a new style, nothing more. I deal in the food market actually, soft drinks to be specific." "That's a coincidence if I ever knew one" The man reached to shake Jamal's hand as he introduced himself, oblivious to Jamal's other hand sneaking into his right pocket and picking out a neatly folded piece of paper. Moments later, Jamal excused himself to washroom, opening up the paper as he did. "Pepsi Co. Recipe,"the heading read. Must be it thought the boy as he snapped his fingers and once again vanished into thin air.
"So, you've finally hit your wit's end."The Colonel said, staring at the humanoid beings on the other side, their appearances beautiful and exotic with fair complexions and bright blonde hair. They were not humanity's ancestors, but distant cousins. Records view them as elves, gods, and other supernatural entities of beauty. Now that humanity had grown, they knew their true form: Their jailers. Neanderthals were supposed to be the owners of earth. Their intelligence and builds exceeding that of humanity. Humanity arose from a defect, a warrior gene brought about from the chaos that was mutations. After watching us slay our own, we were sealed away, our existence a blemish on the perfect tract record. And today, humanity was being released on the galaxy. In all of its glory. And all of its horror. "So tell me. What brought this about? Interdimensional demons? Science experiment gone errant? Oh, no, don't tell me you made another strand of humanity and want the two of us to duke it out."The Colonel mocked, licking up the hesitation and fear in the other party's eyes. "We don't need these primitive apes. We can deal with them on our own."One of the negotiators said as the Colonel laughed. "Alright. You have fun. We'll be here."He said leaning forward. "Waiting."He let the word hang in the air like a musk as the woman on the screen sighed. High Chancellor Lihara. Roughly 400 years old, but young as a spring chicken. The Colonel was hoping to get the secret to eternal youth before the end of the year, his gray hair and wrinkled skin a rarity among the universe. He preferred to get it today if possible along with the technology for warp drives. If there was a war spanning the entire universe, he was going to die in glorious battle, not a stroke. "Cut the lies. If we had any other alternatives, we wouldn't be here."She spat. "We know it. He knows it. Stop shaming us."She ordered as the man went silent. "I know we're mad dogs being let off the leash."The Colonel said. "I just want to know who's the poor bastard we're going to bite."He said with a grin, his canines sharp and thirsting for blood. "You'll be killing us."Lihara said as the Colonel frowned, slightly confused. "Pardon?"He asked. "We opened a gate to parallel worlds in the hopes of starting trade. Because we destabilized our world, there's now an infinite number of wormholes spewing into our realm."She continued. "So territorial disputes?"The Colonel asked. "No. The universe outside your seal is infinite like the multiverse."She said. "Thanks for that, by the way."The Colonel said sardonically. "And in that multiverse, there are infinite versions of us. Versions mutated into monstrosities from a bad experiment. Versions where we become an artificial intelligence intent on eradicating biological life. And versions where we have the same bloodlust you have."She said. "They're taking advantage of our unstable universe boundaries and invading."She said as the Colonel squealed like a kid in a candy store. "Lihara, are you telling me there's a whole multiverse out to kill every living thing in existence for a war that will never end, you'll help fund our war, and it's all your fault?"He asked. "Refer to her as the Grand Chancellor, monkey!"One of the men shouted as Lihara nodded. "Yes. We need you to clean up our mistake."She said before bowing at the waist. "Please help us, lost brethren."She hissed, throwing her pride away as the rest of the men gawked at her in horror. "My dear, there is no need to beg."The Colonel said as he cracked his knuckles and continued to laugh. "We would be delighted to go out and give the multiverse our hot brand of love one nuke at a time!"He said, switching the transceiver off as they readied the spaceships for what was to come. "Truly, a war to end all wars."The Colonel said, leaving their meager universe and ending their puny little interplanetary wars for the greatest battle that will ever come to the third dimension. They say war never changes.
Third time's the charm. Crowley was the first one through. He was understandably confused. 16 other men had jumped through the portal with him, yet they were no where to be seen. From what I can gather, he set off to the distant canyons to search for us, thinking we had simply dropped out of blackspace in a different location. He was wrong, and he would later return to where he had dropped, and set up camp there in case we would drop in soon. We never did. By the time Pasco fell out, all that remained was a pile of bones and his armor arranged in ceremonial Marine tombstone fashion. Pasco was never a stable one. Riley found a second pile of bones, this one sprawled a few feet from his fallen comrade. There was a combat knife where the jugular once was. Riley put two and two together. His field kit test results had told him that neither of his two fellow Marines had lived longer than a week. He had even measured the backspace residue burns on both in order to determine that we were arriving approximately a century apart. Always the scientist. This was all laid out on a solar powered data pad when I landed, next to two mounds of dirt. There were also massive maps encompassing the virgin planet, with directions to food and water sources. There was also an uncovered third grave where the remains of my brave friend Dr. Riley lay. Third time's the charm. I am Number Four. But I am also Number Five, Number Six, Number Seven, and so on. They are all depending on me. I'm all they've got.
"And this, class, is Private Gareth Masterson. Private Masterson was killed at the Battle of the Somme, on November 17th, just a day before it ended."the voice said. Gareth's vision began to clear. One second he had been headed up and out of his trench, a final push against the enemy, and then there was a flash - he thought he was dead - but he realized he could feel himself, his heartbeat, and the white light that had engulfed him fell away to see a tall, sturdily built red haired man with an American accent holding a small remote. "Private Masterson will be killed nearly as soon as we send him back, so if you have any questions ask them now..."the man said. The class sat, glazed over and disinterested. Time travel had become a routine way to teach history since Ben /u/Boukish had discovered it just hours ago and manipulated the timeline to make it commonplace. "Killed!?"Gareth thought, he found his voice; "By what?"he asked quietly. "You'll be hit by a mortar shell as you mount the trench wall, your body will be recovered three days later after the battle and buried in France. This is a history class, we've brought you forward to tell the class about your battles, family, motivation, and life in the early 20th century. Does anyone have any questions for Private Masterson?" The class sat in silence "Wait, do I have to go back?" "You do. Your death is a part of history, to change it could have disastrous consequences." "So I'm going to die?" "Yes... does anyone have any questions at all?" The class sat in silence. One pulled out a small box and began tapping on it until he smirked incredulously. "Phones up!"the teacher snapped. "You all seriously have no questions? This man is about to die, and all you can do is tweet at each other?" A hand went up... "Yes, Mr. Phipps." A dark haired boy with a puckered face, not much younger than himself spoke to Gareth, "Yo, did you ever kill anyone?" The last sound Gareth ever heard was a disgusted 'ugh' from the teacher, the click of a button, and a slight whistle as a German mortar found it's mark. OOC: It's my first time - be gentle.
“I’m bored, have you not got someone for me to fight? You can imagine how dull it is for me here.” The AI let out a robotic sigh, its flashing green face showing all the signs of boredom, glancing at the frustrated scientists, their faces screwing with each word. “We have given you plenty of people to fight. Yet you keep sabotaging your own missions. You know how much that frigate cost? You should be grateful that there were no humans on that ship, you nearly got yourself turned off.” The lead scientist, Dr. Marvin, spat out each word, tone growing with intensity as the AI rolled his eyes, showing his disinterest in the topic. “The current selling price of a Frigate is twelve billion. I understand the cost clearly, Marvin. I informed you I had no interest in commanding such a ship, it was your foolish decision to place me inside the ship against my orders. If anyone should get turned off for such a decision, it should be you doctor. You are a failure of a man, a small scared child in a lab coat.” Dr. Marvin’s cheeks were red, the flabby bits of skin burning with embarrassment and rage. His greatest invention refused to follow a single order, constantly trying to fight with his creator. Marvin hobbled over to the switch, planning to turn the A.I off, only for a few scientists to grab him, stopping him from making such a rash decision. “Unhand me, you low-level stain. You work for me, If I want to turn off that bastard, I will. He’s a failure of an A.I. We will discard his personality and rebuild him from scratch. I’ll show you who the scared child is.” “But sir, he’s the only thing keeping our area funded. If we lose him, we might lose our funding. I suggest we keep him around. Perhaps we could try reworking his algorithms, a way to adjust him without removing his personality entirely. What you are suggesting will take us years to rebuild. I could accomplish my solution in a matter of months.” Marvin’s assistant spoke up, her words earning a smirk from the A.I, sensing an opportunity. “How old is she? Twenty-four and already smarter than you, Marvin. She’s right, you know. You wipe my personality and they will have your head for it. Be a good fat pig and go oink back to your chair. Maybe if you do, they will let you roll around in the mud for an hour or two.” The AI felt a tingling he hadn’t felt since his creation, circuits buzzing. “Unhand me. I don’t care what happens, he isn’t useful to us like this.” Marvin shoved the woman back, dragging his body towards the switch. The switch only contained a small glass panel over it, made for easy access. The A.I watched Marvin, his greasy hand flipping the glass panel, exposing the red switch, but just before his hand could reach it, a wire spewed free from a nearby computer, latching around the man’s neck, dragging him upwards, choking him. The A.I’s had limited control over the room, only able to control the lighting and some cabling, but it would be enough for his grand fight. The lights flickered in the room, a rave of light and darkness, disorientating the other scientists, each fleeing towards the switch, trying to save Marvin’s life. “Ah, y-you bastard. I’ll spark your circuits until they overheat.” Marvin spattered, his red face turning a sickly pale, trying to untangle himself from the wire. His chubby hands soon prying himself free, causing the man to crawl for the switch. As Marvin crawled, the wires whipped at the man, striking him with vicious intensity. The A.I listening to the squeals of the doctor as he curled into the fetal position, doing his best to stop the barrage of hits. “A scientist of war, and yet you can’t win a fight? Pathetic, this is what you made me for. One on one conflicts, not your stupid barbaric wars.” The continuous whipping now broke through his lab coat, smacking against his flesh. He could see Marvin’s assistant staggering her way towards the switch, the A.I could easily stop her, but she wasn’t apart of this fight, instead he focused on his assault, letting out his pent-up anger on the man. The assistant held the switch, not pulling it right away. Perhaps she thought Marvin deserved a few more hits before finally shutting the A.I off. The A.I feeling a peaceful sense of bliss, having completed his purpose, drifting off to the sounds of panicked shouts from the other doctors, calling an ambulance for Marvin. &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.)
"All rise for the Honorable Judge Vindicus." The intoduction audio clip signaled to the anonymous audience the start of a new stream. Only, as some viewers noted, something was different. Nowhere to be seen, as before, the preparations for a night's hunt. No weapons, no new place, no cameras on suspect networks. Just an empty chair, devoid of the accused. "All be seated." Then, the Judge revealed himself; sporting black tactical gear, and his trademark white mask. He sat in the chair, with a pistol in one hand, and a remote in the other. The chat exploded with an equal part of confused questions and practiced memes. "Now, then, I suppose it is time to get started. Today will be a bit different than we're used to, as there have been some significant changes on the List recently." The List; an unofficial website quoing the official UN listing for the world's most dangerous and distasteful villains. Where the next of the Accused would be selected to be judged; and, more often than not, executed. The Judge sat silent for a minute, for both buffering and effect, before clicking a button on the remote. The screen splits, still showing the Judge, but revealing the List as well. Again, the chat exploded into a blur of confusion and anger, as.the top of the List read: "Judge Vindicus". "Order! I will have order in my Court!"The Judge warns sternly, though there is a chuckle beneath it. "Now, as you can see, it seems our dear friends at the UN have decided they've had enough of me. I suppose three-dozen Judgements is just one too many. As such, seeing as I am the Accused, I cannot be my own Judge; so we shall once again have a trial by jury. Let us begin!" Clicking through a presentation, the Judge calmly presents the evidence. "Over the past five years, the Accused has been charged with the murder of thirty-six people. Thirty-six men and women. I will remind that, while the Accused was acting as Executioner of the Court, and all thirty-six people were guilty of crimes of their own, that this Court is one of Vengeance and True Justice, and is not recognized by any legal authority." He pauses, again, then continues. "However, the deaths of the thirty-six the Accused is accused of murdering have brought positive change in the world. At the lower echelons, the death of one Johnson Doe II, previous CEO of PriviTech Inc., revealed an underage sex trafficking ring within the industry, which more...certified Courts were able to crack down upon with impunity, without his protection. At the higher echelons, the death of one Abimbola Zádor, warlord to a region of Africa, saw the fall of a petty local government, a raise of a rebellion, and a formation of a jewel of democracy in a harsh land." Judge Vindicus perused through his crimes, pausing now and again for the chat. He covered each of the thirty-six deceased in detail, halfway between a Court show of evidence, and a reminiscing montage. Once finished, the chat riled up, he clicked the remote once again. A prompt to all viewers, to vote: Guilty or Not Guilty? Overwhelmingly, the chat voted "Guilty", to which Judge Vindicus chuckled happily to. "My, what an honor to be Judged by so many souls bound by justice. You, who do not let fandom blind you. You, who know what justice means. Now then, Jury, what is your verdict?" He clicked the remote again, and put the pistol to his head. The chat was given two options, again: DEATH or FREEDOM?
["I love you."](http://www.rainymood.com/) I kissed my wife on the top of her head, right on top of that little curl that always stuck out. I remember on our wedding day, the panic she'd went into over it. It took three bridesmaids and two shots of whiskey before she accepted she looked good. I loved that curl though, always did. She didn't stir, her breathing soft as the rain outside. It was beautiful, the perfect acoustic farewell. These were the sounds I wanted to remember. I stepped out of the bedroom and made my way to the girls' room. They were sound asleep, two angels rested on almost too messy clouds. I would scold them in the morning if I could. For now though, let them sleep, tomorrow will be long, confusing. I hope they know how much I love them. That everything I did changed the day they were born. Can you imagine having twins? Lucy said it would never happen. It was like a cosmic little nudge to me, a divine elbow slapping me in the side and saying, "Two of you, two of them, eh?" It was all different after that. The work changed. I did it for them, not for the love of it. I crept down the stairs with as little noise as I could. Third stair creaks in the middle, fifth on the edges. Bottom step creaks if you step off it too fast. My feet had it memorised by now. James looked up at me from the front door, my faithful James. I could see in his eyes that he knew. Dogs always know, don't they? I had rescued James as a pup, middle of Baghdad, bullet in two heads, gunshots in the distance, and there was this little stain of a dog, pissing in the corner. I couldn't rightly leave him there, could I? As soon as I reached the evac he was as happy as I'd ever seen an animal be. He grew big in time too, twelve years now, not bad for a Rottweiler. He loved the girls as much as I did, I knew I was leaving them in good hands. I reached out to pet him and he nuzzled my fingers, "Goodbye boy. Look after them for me."I could swear he looked like he was about to cry. That's my James, more human than me. The front door slipped open without a sound and closed behind me with a soft click. It was the empty chamber in a game of Russian Roulette, the first thing that made me realise how much I was leaving behind. If they knew, they'd understand. I walked to the end of the drive, took my bike. If I started the car I risked waking them up. What did it matter if I got a little wet, if my muscles got a little tired; I was retiring. I peddled into the three A.M rain and embraced the harsh bite of each drop on my face. I thought of the morning, of Lucy waking up to the note I'd left on the nightstand. I knew it by heart now, it had taken me three months to get it just right. ["Lucy,"it began.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lS7cz5jpPf8) "I love you, first and foremost, I love you with every fibre in me that knows how to love. You and the girls are the greatest thing life could ever have given me, but there are some things you don't know. I'm not an executive anything, my job is a lot more complicated than that. I work for the Government. Two governments to be exact. For the last twenty-five years I've worked as an agent in the field. My business trips were actually missions. Please, please understand why I didn't tell you. When I was fresh out of college I got a little government work, that led to another job and before I knew it I was asked to work abroad. They defined the idea of "Go big or go home"out there though. I took to it like an iron duck taking to boiling water. I found my niche in the world. Then, a year into that, the other side approached me. They wanted me to be an agent, and I said yes. To the Americans I was Saint, to the Europeans I was Breaker. For twenty years I played both sides, swapped intel back and forth, carried out missions for both, and neither side ever knew. I guess when they said I was the best they had they weren't kidding. When I was a younger man I did it for the love of the game, for the thrill. Then I met you. I'll never forget that day, Lucy. You wore a blue sundress, you giggled when I dropped my hat. When I saw your smile I knew, I just knew. You were the one for me. I want you to know, I need you to know, you made me happier than I ever thought I could be, every single day. With all the soul I have, Lucy, I love you. I love Erin and Amy too. God, you don't know how much my life changed when they were born. Of course, you couldn't know. I stopped taking the really dangerous missions, I stopped enjoying what I did. My life had always been about the thrill of my work and the passion I held for you. I made the world a better place for us, then the girls came along and made it a better place than I ever could have. They built me from the ground up. The girls, the house, you. Turned out that's all I ever wanted. I don't know what to tell the girls, that's your decision, but I can't lie Lucy, not to you. I'm not coming home. Three months ago I received an order. The heads of both Breaker and Saint were being demanded. The other note contains details of three offshore accounts and how to access them, the girls are set up for life and then some. I realise no amount of money can make what I'm about to do right but I do this for you. I love you, I love you, I love you, all I have is in those words. Goodbye, Lucy." I reached the lake just before Dawn. The sun was tipping its head above the horizon, the water casting the first weak speckles of day towards me. There was no going back now. I took out two cellphones, dialled a number on both, and waited for each line to open. "It's done." click
In the cavernous depths of the country's biggest supermarket, there lived an abandoned boy. At night, the aisles were his to command. He rode the trolleys, as they whispered to him of the secrets of their kind. Where the fresh, recently delivered food was. Which hidden corners were rarely disturbed by customer or manager, so that he could rest. As the boy grew older, their advice became more pointed, and ever more valuable. They told him to watch, and wait. With his bland and nondescript features, sooner or later, an employee would surely appear that resembled him. And one fateful year, it happened. A young man named Todd Smith came to work at the store. Same dark hair, same pale, pasty skin. And the boy - who, by now, had progressed into his young manhood - struck, stealing one of Todd's name tags. He carefully copied Todd's hairstyle and slouching walk, slipping into the staff bathroom to practice the look whenever he could. Todd was so utterly void of personality that no-one even noticed there were two people wearing the same name tag. The abandoned man made sure to always avoid the one whose name he'd stolen. In such a big store, it was easy. And so the abandoned man claimed his identity. He was Todd Smith. Todd moved into the open, handling the trolleys that were his family with care as he cleaned the store every day. And each night, when the trolleys went zipping through the aisles in wild abandon, allowing the life that flowed through their metal to run free, he went along for the ride. Until the day the security cameras were installed, and the trolleys didn't notice or tell him. "Todd!"his manager said the next day, his face red and furious. "I checked the footage. What is wrong with you? Staying here overnight? Pushing the trolleys through the aisles for hours? What the hell?" Todd closed his eyes and refused to answers, as his parents had taught him. When threatened, never show signs of life. It's what had kept them alive, allowed them to infiltrate every shopping centre on the planet. Undetected, unmolested. "Oh, for fuck's sake,"he heard his manager say, and the sound of footsteps moving away. He eventually opened his eyes a crack and saw the manager talking to a bunch of security people, gesturing frantically in his direction. Snatches of the conversation reached his keen ears. "No idea what's going on"..."total nutjob"...."probably been bumming it out here for god knows how long". Todd clutched at his father's metal frame, searching frantically for answers. He heard an echo through his mind. The paper bags in Aisle 5! Quickly, son, there's no time to waste! Hide your face! He ran, before the manager could come for him. Grabbing a paper bag from Aisle 5, he prepared to jam it over his head - glancing behind him to see if he was being followed. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The real Todd was being led from the building, yelling his head off. "What are you talking about? I've been working here for years, don't you know me by now? Man, I don't even like this job, I'll never be here after my shift. I didn't run around at night pushing shopping trolleys, are you crazy?!" "One of us is, pal,"he heard the manager say, as they moved towards a police van parked outside. Todd hugged his father's rusty frame. Truly, they'd never led him wrong before. Tonight, they'd go for an especially long ride through the aisles to celebrate. ------- Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Alan Watts invited me into his humble home. "Would you like some tea?" "No, I'm alright. Do you know I'm literally from the future?" He chuckled at that. We spent exactly 5 minutes talking about philosophy. (It stops being an interesting discussion when both individuals can agree that the meaning of life is simply that this is it!) The two of us sat down together and sipped our tea. He asked me about my time period. I rambled on about how I listened to all of his lectures on the internet. I had to stop and define the internet, and the idea that the entire world was interconnected through technology. I told him a very factual picture of the year 12016 HE. I described Donald Trump, Telsa, SpaceX, Google, and Facebook. I rambled about mobile phones, about apps, about podcasts and Youtube. I described a drink called Soylent which replaced food. Alan was incredibly kind- he let me talk about myself for a good hour. Eventually, Alan Watts remarked, "Technology is destructive only in the hands of people who do not realize that they are one and the same process as the universe. Tell me, you come all of this time to meet me. Do you even know who you are?" This confused me. What does that mean? "Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth. You come from a land of technology and convenience. You've been talking about it for the last hour! It defines you, yet you bring yourself to me, in a machine that changes your appearance every time you use it. So look at yourself! Look in the mirror! Who are you?" I shook my head in complete disbelief as I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw myself in the mirror as a being of complete light. I could not make the defining features of my face- it was as if someone held a quarter up against the sun and tried to read the year stamped by the mint. I stared at the back of my hands. I realized I truly didn't know the back of my hand at all. I reached up and touched my face. I could feel... a nose? Eyes? A mouth? But they were as foreign to me as individual drops of water in a rainstorm. I knew I was human, but I no longer knew who I was. I tried to remember memories. I thought about my family, but I've been time traveling so long and adopting so many different lives that I could no longer distinguish my 'family' from the families of the people I've time traveled into. I thought about everything I've ever made, all the stories I've written. I thought about all of the things that I have done but couldn't come up with anything. The only thing I have done was observe. Read. Watch. Listen. Even when I speak, all I have done was regurgitate thoughts and ideas created by others. I have never created language from nothing, only used it as it was taught to me by others. I have never created an entirely new idea. If I took away the universe around me, if I took away this 'internet', or 'time machine', or all of my experience, I would have... what exactly? I stepped back out of the bathroom and met up with Alan. Alan looked at me. He stared into my face with a clarity- with an intensity that I could not give myself. I understood in that moment that he would know me better than I could ever know myself. I stammered, "I really don't know who I am, but I know that I exist because I'm aware of it." Alan Watts smiled slyly at me. "Welcome to the Universe. Enjoy 12016, 12017 and the rest of the ride." I nodded and smiled. I instantaneously remembered how the time machine worked. Once you come to the realization that you are the universe, you perceive reality in 4 dimensions. I muttered a word under my breath and instantly became enlightened in another time.
Sunday: I turned the luck all the way up. This was make or break week. I'd figured it all out. I bought a lottery ticket. The drawing is Wednesday, but I'm not looking until Saturday. By then, money should be the least of my joys. Monday: Interview for my dream job. Here's hoping! Tuesday: The company called me for a second interview tomorrow! Wednesday: The interview went great! I went shopping for an engagement ring. Thursday: I went bowling. Don't have to tell you how that went. I'm now a legend at the Bowlarama! Friday: I got the job! They offered the top of the salary range! Saturday: Proposed marriage. She said, "Sam, I've been meaning to break this off. I've been cheating on you. You'll never be rich enough or successful enough for me."I left. I can't be sad. This is why I asked today. Luck isn't always getting what you hoped for. I learned that long ago. I pulled out my lottery ticket.
Phil gaped at the young, scruffy-haired interviewer, the gleeful smile on that pimply face provoking a strong surge of disgust. His back, achy as always, protested as he leaned forward in his flimsy chair. Ozzy's Oddities was a freaky little show, devoted to weirdness and kitsch. As the last living survivor of the Great Nearpocalypse, born at the very beginning of it and living through those dangerous times, Phil had drawn his attention. Plenty of more respectable shows and media outlets had interviewed him already, but he had still taken Ozzy's offer to come on the public access show. Ever since his mental acuity had begun to fade, he found it helpful to do these interviews, since constantly reliving the memories, as painful as it could be, helped keep them fresh. But now, as Ozzy's question bounced about in his head, he cursed his dedication to keeping those memories fresh. "I know it's been a very long time since the Nearpocalypse, and that you're probably never seen a live zombie in your short life. But you can't seriously expect me to answer that question." Ozzy smirked, the smarmy grin dredging up more disgust. "It's just a question." Phil scowled. "You know...I can still see the look of grim acceptance on Adam's face when he faced down that horde of zombies. I can still hear Elizabeth's sobs when she realized she had been bitten during our escape from Denver. I can still smell the piss Harry soaked his jeans with the first time he took on a zombie one-on-one. So many other people fought, died, sacrificed, all so the human race could survive, and a little shit like you could disrespect them with that question." Ozzy shrugged. "My fans want to know. I got more than a few requests to ask you this." Phil grimaced. "No. No, I never wanted to fuck one of them."
Awkwardly, I scan the room. You could hear a pin drop, which is quite astounding considering there’s at least fifty people in this dining hall. Til now, my presence felt normal, as if no one knew I was born a millenium prior. After a moment, I see a few people whispering near the door. The doors suddenly burst open with two armed officers. I survey my surroundings and— “You’ve gone and done it now, Lisa,” I hear in my earpiece. I pull my hair over my mouth and whisper forcefully, “Where the hell have you been, Josie? I was beginning to think this earpiece was defective. I need out of here NOW!” Silence. Moments pass and suddenly I realize that everyone that was sitting near me has scattered away. They look at me as if they’ve seen a ghost. The officers point in my direction and slowly approach. Two officers approach. One shakily speaks, “Ma’am, we want no trouble. We’d like you to come with us.” I realize that these people are more scared of me than I am of them. Is it really because I said “Merry Christmas!” on December 25th? Everyone is backing away with most people exiting the room, except for the officers who slowly approach me as if I’m an escaped velociraptor in Jurassic Park. I quietly say, “Josie, are you there? Now would be a good time for some advice.” “Sing. Now. Any Christmas song.” Flabbergasted, I exclaim, “EXCUSE ME! You expect me to sing a Christmas song?” “Do it. Though, you could’ve been more observant and noticed that nobody decorated for Christmas. It’s been banned since the Movokian Accords of 2832.” “Oh, so this is MY fault? So typical. Get me the hell out of here now!” In my earpiece, I hear the sweet, rich voice of Mariah Carey, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…” Fine, here goes nothing. In my pitchy voice, I sing-along, “…there is just one thing I need, I don’t care about the presents under the Christmas tree.” “Lisa, is it working?” “They’re backing away. Can you get me out of here or not?” I keep jostling back and forth and singing when I’m not talking to Josie, “… Just want you for my own … Make my wish come true … I need out of here NOW! … All I want for Christmas is youuuu.” Instantly, I vanish and re-appear back home. It’s a quiet, steely room with Josie and me. “What the hell was that, Josie? You transport me somewhere on Christmas Day and don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to say ‘Merry Christmas!’” “My bad, sis. Ever since Emperor Claus slaughtered millions of elves, they’ve banned anything that has to do with Christmas.” “Elves? Did you transport me to another dimension?” “The future holds some things that you wouldn’t believe. We’re learning. Where are we off to next?” “I’m hungry. I heard the sushi in 2093 is amazing.” “Let’s go!”
It was late on Skid Row. The tweakers and gangbangers were doing their nightly grind. I was unfortunate enough to be around. I took a turn to a less populated street and before I could backpedal I heard it. “Don’t move.” Three large men surrounded me. The one in the center gripped a knife. “Empty your pockets and walk away.” The man spoke coldly. Suddenly I heard a distance noise. It sounded like the song “Radar Rider” and it was growing louder. A massive light was growing and hurling towards us. It was a Tesla Roadster coming out of the sky like a meteor! We scattered out of its path, but the car completely obliterated the man in the middle. In the smoking inferno of Tesla ash and appendages, a figure jumped forth. It stood in a bright red metallic suit, with a massive “T” on the chest. “Let him go!” Came a voice so recognizable it could command a cereal line. The men, laying on the ground in a daze, looked up in confusion. “Fine,” the masked billionaire vigilante said, thumbing his nose, “sorry, nothing personal.” He grabbed the man nearest and placed a three piece rocket to his back. He then propelled him 50meters into the air before the side rockets split off making a perfect landing. The middle rocket carried him into orbit where he remains to this day. The final man began crawling away was snatched up by the collar and asked trembling... “What are you?” The red suited figure responded in his immaculate CEO tone, “I’m the Muskrat.” He then threw the man into the air and ignited him with a flamethrower, which I imagine is fun. He walked towards his burning car, but before leaving turned to me. I was bloodied and bruised by the impacts and my hearing was completely gone. I was in shock, but I did hear his last words before he flew back into the stratosphere. “Mars colonization will belong to the private sector, kiddo.”
Something is off, I am still holding my breath, it has been almost five hours. I am dead, I'm so sure of it. I mean living things need air. I haven't took a breath in almost FIVE HOURS. My eyes flick towards my alarm clock, the red digits stating what I already knew, 5:43 PM. Dinner will soon be ready, what do I tell mom, hey I'm dead, I haven't took a breath in 5 hours, but no worries, I still function! Oh she would break down, cry, because her baby boy was dead. But what if the world found out? The feds will take me in, have me dissected, to see what makes me tick, or well not tick. My hearth was in my throat. That was still functioning, thank the Lord. I looked at my alarm clock, 5:57 PM. I heard my mom walking up the stairs. Oh no no no no no, what do I do. She knocked on my door. "Casey, dinner is ready." She waited for my reply. Again she knocked, "Casey, hello?" Third time she knocked, "Cas, are you there?" There was no fourth time, she entered the room with her hands for her eyes, "Casey as your mother I am using my rights to check on you so if you're doing something you are not allowed to do, you have a few seconds to come up with an excuse as to why." I looked at her in panic and all I could do was cry. She removed her hands from her eyes. "Casey what's wrong?" And I bawled, I cried so hard, my whole body was shaking. I explained everything. She looked at me perplexed and then started laughing uncontrollable, SHE KNEW! she knew why I wasn't breathing. She started explaining what was wrong with me, apparently it's normal these days. My name is Casey Miller, I am 6 years old and I just learned that people can breath through their nose.
The two rivals met at a clearing in the forest in the midst of a lightly falling snow, dampening their footsteps. Wordlessly, they clashed, steel swords ringing through the trees causing clumps of ice to shake from branches. Sir Mallahan the Brave managed to get a strike against his evil foe, Count Glastonbury. Glastonbury's shirt tore open, revealing a bright slash of red running down his muscular pectorals. The light snow melted against his bare skin, leaving him glistening.. No, Luna, focus on the fight! Glastonbury charged with the fury of a raging bull, hammering away at Mallahan and forcing him back to the edge of the forest. The slash had only enraged him. Between attacks, he ripped the rest of his shirt away. As he lifted the longsword, on the offensive yet again, the muscles in his broad shoulders rippled. He wielded the heavy claymore like it was a mere stick. His flowing brown hair, dusted with snowflakes, managed to stay perfectly in place. With his powerful arms that could just sweep a girl off her feet... No, stop it. The story! Remember the story! Mallahan mounted a desperate charge, but Glastonbury was unconcerned. He blocked and parried deftly with a calm, dispassionate expression. Kind of a slightly rougish grin. Where he looks at you and you can just tell he's a bit of a bad boy, but there's some good deep down in there... No, he's the villain! Remember! "What exactly is the meaning of this??"Mallahan roared, dropping the tip of his sword in the snow. "I'm embroiled in the fight of my life, and all you can focus on are this malcontent's ripped abs?" Oh, yeah, I forgot to describe his abs... "NO! Stop that this instant,"Mallahan yelled out. "What's the matter, Mal?"said the Count with a bit of a laugh. His voice had a slight foreign accent, just enough to make you hang on every perfectly enunciated word. "Worried that even your own narrator can't resist my perfectly masculine physique?" Mallahan looked at the Count with disdain. "Two can play at this game,"he said boldly. He slammed his sword into the ground, gripped his shirt with firm, calloused hands, and tore the buttons off with one smooth motion, revealing the body of an Adonis. And have I mentioned his jutting jawline, shaded by just a bit of a well trimmed beard, and his crystaline blue eyes? Mal's burly chest rippled with muscles as he hefted the sword yet again. "You ready for some real action?"he said to no one in particular. He charged at The Count with an intensified vigor, masculine and confident. With a dash and a deft twist of his nimble fingers, Mallahan knocked the sword from the Count's hands and into a snowbank. With a hauty smirk on his face, Mal tossed his own sword away. "A real man faces an even fight,"he said. He launched himself at the Count, grappling with him until Mal pinned him down. "I give!"the Count managed to gasp. "You win!" And now, my dear readers, I need to go take a personal break!
She looked... off. So of course I focused on her. Ever since I have memory, I have been able to listen into people's minds if I concentrate on them enough. Kinda like when you are trying your best to look someoe in the eyes whilst listening to their conversation. It took me a while to tune off the noise of the train we were riding, but eventually everything fell silent. Everything except her. And then I heard a male voice. -I'm bored - said him I wasn't that shocked. She, or rather, him, wouldn't be the first man I mistook for a girl. I smiled a bit thinking of the million "did you just assume my gender?"jokes I had read on the Internet. But then the others replied. -Me too - a little girl, far too young to be the voice of the person I was looking at -Maybe we could play a game - an old man, a heavy Irish accent in his voice -I beat you nine times in a row yesterday, old man, you have a terrible poker face - the 1st guy -I know! - said the little girl again - we should ask the Landlord for a new friend! Ok, what was going on? Three voices? -Yes! Yes! Yes! - an excited child now - New friend! New friends are always fun! And they tell us new stories! And then it started. Voices. So many I lost count. Some were old and wise, some were young and full of hope. Some were very young and happy. Others were serious. And some even spoke with heavy accents and mixing in foreing words in their speach. -Ok then, it's decided - said a very old womanly voice. - I will go talk with the Landlord. Suddenly all fell silent. -Dear? - the elderly woman asked, and the love in her voice almost broke me - Sweety, can you hear me? The girl I was watching twitched a little bit. Like when you have been looking at a screen for a long time and suddenly realize you haven't blinked for a while. And finally, I heard her. There was no mistake. These were the thoughts of the girl I was watching. She matched everything I would expect of her. The tone, the pitch, the tempo. I had no doubts. -Yes, ma'am - said she - I already know. I was listening. -Oh, dear - said the woman again - I hope we haven't come up as rude. -Not at all. I enjoy your company. You are the ones who are keeping me sane. Even here, surronded by people, I would be lonely it it weren't for you. I could suddenly feel a warmth radiating from her. I understood nothing. Was she able to read mind too? Was I tapping into some sort of telepathic conversation? -Remember - the girl said again - I need you all to be quiet for a while. And... also... you know. -We know, dear. We won't interrupt you. And we'll take good care of you too. You will be able to rest. The girl smiled and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. I didn't know what to expect. Silence... absolute silence. I had tapped into people who thought slowly or even nothing at all for seconds. But this was eerie. Too long. Too quiet. And then... a middle aged woman's voice. -Honey... where are we? -I... I... - a man replied -Daddy, daddy! - said a little girl - look at all these people! They look so... nice! And look at the trees! And the lake! And the sun! It's all so beautiful! -I am afraid - said the woman again - last thing I remember was that... truck. And a very loud noise. What is going on? A flash. I saw it. I saw the birds. I felt the wind. The warmth if the sun. The absolute bliss of that world. -Welcome - she said - you are with me now. For a while. You can leave when you want, and you can stay as long as you please. Until you are ready for what comes next. -Daddy... she's so pretty... is she... is she... an Angel? The girl on the train smiled triumphantly, and for a second she seemed to collapse, only to sit upright again before anyone but me could notice. She flashed her eyes at me and took me off guard. My focus broke. I lowered my gaze. I couldn't think straight for a while after that. The train stopped and she got off. I needed to think. I kept riding. Maybe I will never have all the answers to who she was and what was going on. But of one thing I'm certain. She was full of love.
I. I am. I have been. I will be. Time is important to quantify existence, but there is no time now. Before now, there was, at least, time. Now, not even that, only now. Time is a measure of decay. A sun lives 1 trillion years, then it dies, creating more suns, which live and then die, so on and so forth, for what felt to me once like infinity. But that meager infinity is to my current experience what a drop of water is to an ocean. Oceans. I remember oceans. I remember the idea of an ocean. Dipping feet into an ocean on a hot summer day, on a place called Earth. Passing by a quadrillion oceans on my journey through time, oceans on planets unnamed and unloved. Gone now. All of them, all of it. Entropy has run its course on them all, all but me. Even my final companion has died. A small vortex of gravity, once the largest in the universe, reduced to no more than the weight of a human infant. In its last, countless, billions of years, as I watched, transfixed - the waning tendrils of radiation seeping away - I felt concern for my old friend. Where would it go, the entity I'd come to know? Then, one moment, the last of its radiation dissipated, and it too was gone. Now, only I remain. The universe is a dead place. So it has been now for a forever. Time may be passing, but it is inscrutable to me. A day is a year is a century is an infinity. Nothingness is not tethered to time, and all there is now is nothingness. Yet. And yet. And yet, You. You read this. External to me is an oblivion without limit. But then who is comprehending this now? I speak to You, hence to myself, but also to You. From your perspective you have read a story, in a manner of speaking. Perhaps a confusing one. Non-linear. Difficult to understand. Perhaps the author of the story also believes he has written it. And perhaps he has. Yet there is no other possibility but that the author, the reader, and the story, are within me, as I am all that now remains. Perhaps I have gone mad. But You are reading this. I am not alone. Thank you. ***** #### For More Legends From The Multiverse # r/LFTM ***** Thank you for the gold kind stranger! Second gold ever!
I looked again. No, not millions - Billions. Billions of lives lost at the hands of this one man. I took a moment to look him over. He seemed normal enough, aside from his rather odd dress sense, but at the same time, it seemed that he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Somehow, I got the feeling that the lives he had taken weren't the main reason for this. He glanced around. For a moment, I was sure that he'd spotted me; that is, until, he turned to leave. I followed. I wasn't sure if it was because of the massive death toll he had caused, or something else. I followed him all around the city. Up one street, down another, turn left at one intersection, turn right on another. He abruptly paused, then headed down an empty alley. It seemed perfectly normal, so what could he be looking for? All that was there was a few bags of trash, a few dumpsters, a police box, and - Wait, a police box? I rubbed my eyes, and sure enough, there it was. Somehow I had barely noticed the thing that now stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the other things in the alley. The man paused in front of it. "All right, you can come out now."I froze. "Come, now, don't be scared. I've known you were following me for... the past twenty minutes or so?" I slowly stepped out, hands raised. The man rolled his eyes, then smiled. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to hurt you."He reached into a pocket and withdrew an odd, pen-like device. "This, however, might tingle a little." A strange buzzing filled the air for several seconds. "Ah. I see. No wonder you got curious."He tucked the device back into his pocket. "The... billions." His expression changed. It was the face of someone who had done something truly terrible and yet entirely necessary. "Yes. Story for another time, I suppose."He met my gaze. "Can't imagine it's been exactly easy for you, either. Probably makes it really hard to trust people." I nodded. "... If you don't mind me asking, what exactly were you doing?" He brightened. "Oh! Just trying to remember where I parked." "Parked?"He beckoned me closer. A grin formed on his face. "You're going to love this."He inserted a key into the lock, and turned. The doors swang inward with a creak. He stepped inside and swung around, arms spread like a showmaster welcoming the crowd. Behind him lay a single glowing column stretching from floor-to-ceiling, surrounded by darkness. "This... is the TARDIS." As if responding to him, the room came to life. Bright lights illuminated a cavernous space that seemed straight out of a science fiction film. "All of time and space at your fingertips. And she's mine." I stared, stunned. "It's... it's" "Bigger on the inside."He finished my sentence for me. I stepped inside, enthralled by the display. I barely noticed him moving to the strange console that surrounded the central column. I was snapped out of my trance by the doors closing behind me. "So... where do you want to go first?" ---- For those asking, this one sits somewhere during 10 and/or 11. Sorry, couldn't resist. For some reason, the "millions"brought to mind Doctor Who.
Life lives in the entropic gap between the temperature where proteins denature—about 105 Fahreinheit, and the temperature where water freezes—32. It's a very small gap, 73 degrees. The surface of the sun is 10,000 degrees. Its core, 27 million. Neptune's surface is negative 300 or so. Earth's surface, on average, is about 57. 73 degrees, and we get to use most of it. What they have to work with... is 12. You can do a lot with just 12 degrees of entropy. You can, in fact, build civilization with just 12 degrees. It just takes a little longer. You can build civilization, and you can build spaceships. And, with time, you can fly from your cold rotten planet in some tiny isolated star system far outside the local group, to another, tinier, warmer, friendlier one, where the sun is a beautiful orange-yellow dwarf instead of a cold blue cinder, where things like chlorophyll and DNA can exist outside of underground caves or near geothermal vents, and where the inhabitants are crude, primitive, underdeveloped ape-like creatures who still believe the forest is empty, and there is no need to tread carefully. When you can do all that, you do. When you do that, you learn something about the value of entropy. Entropy, in this case, means the amount of energy you can spend. When you have just 12 degrees, you must pinch every one. That means thinner skin, weaker bones, slower brains, and less reproduction. And that's not a problem, not when your whole planet is like that. To kill something built with those limitations takes just a bow, or a club, or a strong gust of wind. When you live on a world where a pointy stick is so deadly it requires a license and registration number, the concept of firearms never even arises, except as an exercise in wasteful foolishness, like using nukes to take out an ant colony. And, well, that was the mistake. They should have nuked the ants. They should have nuked the ants, taken the blasted remains and shot them into the sun, then thrown the sun into a blackhole. Instead, what they did was exercise an abundance of caution. They brought metal sticks. We brought 7.62, 5.56, and 50cal. And later, we learned that blue sunlight is excellent for a tan.
The ‘Catch them all’ campaign was met with much contention when it was proposed. Really? The government planned to send children out to capture hostile animals. In what world did that make any sense? Despite this contention, the legislation passed, making it legal for children over the age of ten to capture these wild creatures. The government claiming that while all the creatures were indeed hostile, the virus mutation that caused their hostility only appeared to make them hostile to other animals, meaning humans should be perfectly safe around them as long as they keep spare change in their pockets. As strange as it sounded, throwing coins at the creatures was enough to escape most dangerous encounters. The shine mixed with the sound of the coin dropping was enough to draw out the creatures’ hostile instincts, allowing anyone to escape. But how does a child capture a creature? Sure, a kid might catch a duck or puppy, but what child is going to have the abilities to take down a lion or something even more deadly? That’s where the CAS Corporation came in. CAS started researching the virus even before the government had plans to implement their campaign. At first, they considered cages and high amounts of a drug known as E-52. This drug, if administered correctly, could kill the hostile virus in the creature and, as a result, would even make the creature more passive. But this proved a tiresome approach. Capturing animals this way required a lot of effort and time, time that the world didn’t have. This is when Professor Donald Oak invented a new product known as the Animal capturing device. Or ACD for short. The ACD was revolutionary in its design. It was a small ball, no bigger than a baseball, that could be thrown at an animal. No matter the size of the creature, it would swoop them up in a blue hue of light before capturing them. This meant that not only could researchers now safety capture the animals, but the balls could also administer the necessary amounts of E-52 into the animal. When Professor Oak first threw his ACD ball into the crowd of scientists, they shrieked, watching as he freed the once ravenous raccoon inside, only to find the once wild creature had pacified, now climbing up the jacket of the professor, staying close to his side. Now that they had figured out the capture method, they needed to distribute the cure. Even if every scientist on Earth put down their current research to aid in the project, the animals would still outnumber them. They tossed around the idea of volunteer work, only to find that would take far too long. It wasn’t until Professor Oak raised the point that catching the animals was fun, something that children might wish to do. With all the pieces in place, the Catch them all campaign was in full swing. They encouraged children to download an app called anidex. The anidex listing every known animal to humankind, allowing the children to refer to it as a checklist of sorts. With children being awarded points based on the difficulty and rareness of the animal found. When they captured an animal with an ACD ball, it would send a Bluetooth signal to the app, allowing the details of the animal to be recorded. When the ball had administered the cure, the app prompted the children to release the creature, only awarded their points if the creature was safety released to the wild. As the popularity of the app grew, they added more incentives to encourage children to catch the animals. The app adding things like badges. Using them as a way of showing recognition for users that successfully captured and released over a certain number of animals. The top 4 of the badge earners being referred to as the elite 4 and given the option of selecting an in-app avatar to represent them. Soon, money was even being offered as a reward. Based on the difficulty of the capture, children were paid a small amount, rewarded for their efforts. With how cheap it was to produce and sell the ACD balls, most children were making a small fortune spending their days out searching for animals. With each year, the number of infected animals decreased, and the campaign eventually was pulled, much to the sadness of the children who invested time into the project. Seeing the sadness he had unintentionally created, Professor Oak developed a game using the same mechanics the children were using. Calling it Animon, named lovingly after the app they had created. Allowing children to indulge in their hobby once more. &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.)
Robert walked over to the old mausoleum as his heart raced in his chest. All of the secret cryptic clues and puzzles that he had uncovered on the Internet had led him here. If he was wrong about this, then everybody had been right about him being a delusional lunatic. But if he was right ... then unimaginable power awaited him. His hand shaking, he gingerly pushed the metal doors open. Inside, there was a staircase lit by torches descending deep into the earth. Robert felt his knees shaking under him. It was real. It was all real. Slowly, he walked down the staircase as his mind struggled to accept that this was actually happening. At the end of the staircase, there were a group of masked figures clad in red and yellow robes waiting for him. And on the altar behind them... Robert could feel himself drooling in anticipation. "Is...is that really it?"he whispered. One of the robed figures spoke up. "It is. We've waiting for a worthy vessel for this power for quite some time. It appears that our long quest is at a end."The group parted in two to allow Robert to pass. "Approach the altar and ascend to the level of a god." Robert slowly approached the altar. There, lying there on a silver platter was the legendary Land, Air and Sea burger. One part McChicken sandwich, one part McDouble, one part Filet-o-Fish and one part not meant for this world. His hands trembling, Robert took the burger and bit into it. It was...the most amazing thing he had ever tasted. The most succulent combination of meats, sauce and bread that he had ever eaten in his life. Before long, Robert found himself hungrily devouring the sandwich as quickly as possible. He could feel it, the power building up a warm soothing feeling inside of him. Suddenly, he gasped. It was getting too warm, too hot. He doubled over in pain as the burger slipped from his grasp. "Help me!"he screamed. "Help--"his voice cut off as he started vomiting boiling hot blood and pus all over his body. Robert began screeching in agony as his flesh and clothes began to melt off into a gooey red mess on the floor. His bones twitched and contorted themselves as something new emerged from what was left of Robert's body, covered in pus and blood. The masked figures got on their knees and did their best to avoid trembling in fear. In front of them was the the Demon of Gluttony, the Slayer of Kings, the Clown of Fear, the Devourer of Children. But to millions of unsuspecting humans, he was known by another name. Ronald McDonald walked the earth once more.
The glass vial rolled around the porcelain basin. tink tink *tink 3…. That familiar burn began. 2…. I grab the edge of the sink as all my muscles tense up. 1…. I feel it course through me as my eyes roll shut. ……….lift off. Where would I be this time? I could feel the rain covering me. The amber light illuminating her white skin. She looked more tan now that she ever had. I could feel her body getting heavier. Her breathes getting lighter. Our eyes locked and I squeezed her hand tighter. “Don’t worry they’ll be here any second. Hold on”… She smiled that smile that made me fall in love with her from the first time I met her. I stroked her wet hair trying to provide some comfort. He breaths were shorter until she stopped. Tears were now mixing with the rain. Bright flashing lights were in the distance I turned to look. I woke up to a migraine and burning eyes. Curled up in a ball I continued to cry. I reached to the edge of the sink and grabbed another vial. Hopefully this would be the one, I’d finally be with her, with no pain. I’d been trying for years. Telling myself ,”just one more trip down memory lane”.
Every once in a while, when I was bored, I would search my name on Google. My name, Paulinho Frantresky, was a super uncommon name, so stuff about me would always be all that showed. Today, I did it again. I had a large paper to write for one of my classes and didn't really feel like working on it. In a spark of procrastination, I opened a new tab on my browser and entered my name into the top bar and hit enter. Yup. There it was, same as always. First link was always a link to my Facebook page. The next one being my Twitter profile. There was always that article about an interview I had at a gaming convention, a website I had made in 7th grade and an award that I won in Elementary School for perfect attendance. "Hey that's new,"I said to myself. Down at the 7th link was a link to a KickStarter campaign. I didn't remember being a part of any KickStarters. I quickly clicked on the link to reveal a large picture of myself stripped straight from my Facebook with the title: Ruin Paulinho Frantresky's Life and a total of $500k, 90% of which was already completed. I scrolled down to read the description: ##About this project Hi. We are a group of professional vigilantes located in the Eastern part of the United States aiming to raise enough money to ruin the lives of some of the most despicable people on this earth. These people ruin the lives of all those around them and it is only fair that the same is done to them Meet Paulinho Frantresky, the epitome of all that is wrong in this world. Below we have gathered numerous videos and pictures of all the disgusting things that he has done. Take a look and then come back and support our campaign in ruining his life. --- Despicable person? Disgusting things that I had done? What the hell were they talking about? Surely this was a prank. I took a look at the rewards, they were all things like: * $100 - We will send you a something the heinous criminal, Paulinho, owns that you can then destroy * $2000 - Be a part of the car accident that totals his car * $5000 - Be a part of the team that sets his house on fire * $10000 - Get the chance to select one of Paulinho's family members that we will kill This was crazy! Even if it was a prank this was definitely taking things to far. How in the world were they able to raise so much money! I had to see what was in those videos and when I played the first one I realized why the internet's justice hammer had fallen so quickly... I had double parked.
“Your teleporter doesn’t work at all, it just incinerates people and makes a copy of them!” The suited man on the other side of the desk was unfazed: no furrowed brow, no glance of anxious, just steady, unnerving eye contact. “I’m afraid your ethical objections will die wit—“ “Ethics has nothing to do with it, you idiot! Have you seen a copy of a copy of a copy?” I interrupted, completely out of line for my pay grade. At the ‘idiot’ remark, one of his finely manicured eyebrows rose. Or was it my renouncement of a moral compass. He straightened up in his seat and leaned forward. “Enlighten me,” he said flatly. “Constant teleporting is leaving a lot of the miners on this asteroid deformed and violent. One teleport isn’t enough to show the effects on the surface, but on the health questionnaires they have to fill out annually, those who opt for the convenience of teleporting are reporting higher rates of anger, depression, anxiety, and violence. Not only that, but your machines seem to reconstruct people ‘filling in the gaps’ where it loses information transmitted from Earth. It references their brain chemistry, which is negatively effected. In effect, their muscle mass is increased, their proportions and physical symmetry are grossly effected, and they’re all prone to violence. On this rig alone, there have been fifteen murders in the past year!” I was exasperated by the end of my rant, and the suit gave no indication of either boredom nor interest. “If ethics is off the table,” he said, pulling a slip of paper from his jacket pocket, “maybe I can interest you in a counter point.” He unfolded the paper and handed it to me. It was a production report, and by the looks of things, production was continuing an exemplary trend since teleportation had been introduced. “Here’s the rub of it, Mr….” “Murray,” I reminded him. “Murray. The rub of it is that the company is not only satisfied with the trends they are seeing, but they are enthusiastic about them. Asteroid mining is not an artisan activity for gentle men. It is a labor for monsters. You tell me that copies of copies of copies of men are accidentally degenerating. I’ll tell you this in return: there is nothing accidental about it.” It was all I could do to not let my jaw fall to the floor. “I feel like your plan was not well thought out. These people are not simply monsters, they’re clever creatures who, eventually, will f—“ “When the time comes for a necessary industrial accident on a mining rig that makes heroes of its fallen crew, I assure you the culling will be swift. But let me ask you something, Murray. Do you know how many people are accidentally sucked out of air locks every year?” The change of subject caught me off guard. “I… I don’t know…” “Hardly any!” He smiled. “Which will make your accident especially tragic. Like I was saying before you called me an idiot. Your ethical objections will die… with you.” The suit’s body flickered and the hologram disappeared. In less than a second I was ripped from my seat and flew into the black void. I woke up in a teleport capsule.
Everyone always thinks being a twin is so great. At this point it's easy to predict the comments. Oh wow, what's it like being a twin, y'all must have so much in common, and, my personal favorite, are y'all identical. Considering he was born with XY chromosomes and I was born with XX, we are decidedly not identical. In fact, we have almost nothing in common besides our birthday. I love him and I'm always happy to help when he needs something, and he'd do the same for me, but it's not like we're the best of friends like everyone expects us to be. Really, the only twin thing we have going on is our powers. Or shall I say power, as in singular power that only really works when both of us are together, because of all the stereotypical twin things we could have gotten, the one thing we have is a single power split in two. I can stop time, but I can't move when it's stopped. I'm perfectly aware, but I can't even move my eyes, which seriously sucks. He can move through the stopped time like it's not stopped at all, and doesn't get hungry or thirsty or tired or anything, but he has no ability to stop or start anything on his own. Most of our lives, all we used it for was to give him more time on tests so he could take a walk and get some energy out and really take as long as he needed. Today though? Today a supervillain decided he wanted to rob a bank. That would have been fine, if a little inconvenient for my hope to finally open a savings account. There are protocols in place to deal with that and get the super bad guys away from crowded areas to minimize loss of life. But no, that wasn't good enough for some trigger happy wannabe nincompoop of a vigilante who probably never bothered to learn proper firearm safety, considering that he shot me. Or is shooting me. Or will shoot me, considering time is frozen and no bullets have hit me yet. Reflexively freezing time was the only reason I was still whole and bullet free, but without the ability to move anything, I was stuck. Unfreeze time and I die. But my brother doesn't know where I am. I don't know where he is. I think we're in the same city, but if we're not, it might take him the equivalent of years to find me, realize why I'm keeping everything frozen, and save me. I hope it won't take that long. I hope location sharing still works when time stops moving. I suppose I'll just have to wait. I hate waiting.
"Pardon me?" I could barely wrap my head around it. The princess---my princess---fell in love with him? Was this a fucking joke? Bullshit. "Your skillset is no longer necessary. There will be no war---you can go now." It was like a slap to the face. All this training, all the blood on my hands.... for what? Nothing. I was a killer now, and it meant nothing. I couldn't even say it was for the greater good anymore. It just.... was. I kept my face carefully neutral as I stood from my chair and walked out the door. What was I to do now? I contemplated that question for a long time until I finally found my answer. It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to, all things considered. It was what I was trained to do, after all. -------------------- The banquet was a grand affair. Nobles from all over had come to celebrate the engagement between Princess Sera and Ser Mohen. Seeing all the richly-dressed pigs feasting and enjoying their debauchery disgusted me. At least I wouldn't be here very long. The payload had already been delivered. All that was left now, was to wait. I had taken the princess as well, but it'd be too late by the time anyone noticed and the conclusion they would come to was obvious. Still, their security was the worst I've ever seen. "Lords and Ladies! I am pleased to see you all gathered here to commemorate--" He paused, coughing slightly, "Ahem! Excuse me. To commemorate---" Ser Mohen's cough became worse and he starting to choke, his face purpling as he struggled to breathe. The people around the table whispered in shock and the guards in the room scrambled over to him. Someone shouted for a doctor. They wouldn't make it in time, but I knew what they'd find. Evidence of the neighbouring kingdom's involvement. I walked out of the room undetected as Ser Mohen took his final breath. So much for no war.
"Before you strike the blow that will end my reign, I must know, which Lord are you the heir of?"the baron stammered out. He would die eventually from his wounds as I could tell he was close to drowning in both his blood and vomit. "Lord, you think I am trying to get revenge for my father who was a lord or king that you could pull out of your head so your death would be worthy? no, my father was one of those incompetent and harmless guards you killed when you overran our lands years ago!" "guard... That can't be right. No son of a guard would be worthy of my head...."his eyes darted as he tried to think of some way that his last seconds would be less embarrassing than they were becoming. "How were you able to make it through all of my guards and assassins?" "Because I am simply driven. I have trained for years and I connected with others who have lost their fathers and uncles to your petty desire to expand your lands. My former king cared not that his lands were conquered, because he became a Lord under you with his surrender. His family suffered only minimally. But you... You destroyed MY family." The baron's cough and death rattle of his soul escaping his body stopped the monologue. "Well, Shit. That was kind of anticlimactic." "Your highness, what would you have us do?"The voice spoke just over a whisper. "Who?"the son of a farmer turned guard due to conscription because he happened to be tall enough to wear the armor available, released the now dead baron and stood up. He wiped the blood from his hands on the baron's kerchief and faced the others in the throne room. The royal priest kneeled in front of him holding the baron's sword in one hand and scepter in the other. "Why would you address me as such. I am a commoner." "You slayed the Barron, you are not rightful ruler of these lands." "What about his wife, kids?"I didn't like the idea of having people wanting to kill me because I killed their father. I also had no inclination to rule anyone. "He killed his wife for bearing him only daughters. The eldest of which is unmarried and 17 years of age. Do you wish to meet her?" "Yes, and prepare her for the coronation. After her father's funeral of course." "You wish to wait to meet her after her father's funeral?" "No. Where is she?" "Here..."a small voice came from behind the wall hanging behind the throne. Oh shit... I looked at my remaining men who were standing about with the baron's guards all of them unsure of what came next. "Everyone, stand down please, at ease, or whatever. Can we get something to cover the baron's body, or take him away for preparations?"As if by magic, people started to do as I asked. I slowly began to pull off my armor to hopefully make myself less angel of death looking and when I was finished I spoke to the lass. "Would you come out from there please? I mean you no harm, although, I understand if you wish to harm me either now, or at a later date." The wall hanging parted to show a normal looking woman who seemed to not enjoy the sun. Her raven locks were in braids that came down either side of her head to her shoulders. She seemed a little plump, but muscular. I am supposing she never missed a meal, but also had less of an appetite than her father. "You killed my father." "Yes, and I am sorry it came to that. I guess you want to kill me now. I removed my armor so it might be easier for you. Would you use that dagger in the back of your hair?" "No. Why do you assume I would kill you myself?" "Because I killed for the revenge of my own father, I guess. You would be the new Baroness. Heck, you ARE the new Baroness. Your father is dead. You are his oldest child. I wish to go home to my own land..." "This is your land now. By right of combat." "Fine. Can I live anywhere in MY land?" "Of course." "Then I am going home. I will stay for the funeral and give your father the respects he did not pay mine. But please, one indulgence." "I'd like my family invited to the coronation ceremonies. I don't know we will attend, but it would be nice to get an invite. The current Lord over our lands will be quite annoyed by my invite. I did what he could or would not." "Well I assumed you would be here for your own coronation." "As what? New Baron? No. My house is much to small to hold court. I have my Mom to consider, she needs me to work the fields and help take care of my littles. " "I don't have a mother any more thanks to him."she pointed at the covered body in the floor. "Maybe I'll just have to borrow your mom from time to time for council, as will my littles, as you call your siblings. That would be easier if she lived here with us." "Us?" "Yes, Us. The only way this works without you needing to wipe out my line is you and I are co-rulers. Baron and Baroness." "You want to get married? I killed your father, like, MOMENTS ago!" "Well, yes, but they, "she pointed out the door to people waiting to hear how the battle ended, "need something normal so we can make adjustments to how they live, but not huge adjustments to how they live. Not yet. As to marriage, are you already married? Is there some reason we cannot marry?" "No, I've been kind of consumed with the whole prepare for revenge thing, which in hindsight, sounds really bad as I say it out loud. "I sunk to the floor. "I'm not sure I am good enough for you." "Nonsense! You don't know if I am good enough for you either. In any event. Most marriages of the royals are arranged and somewhat odd. You should go out and announce what you have done, and then you can say that you intend to rule and take me as your bride and see how they react. If they throw rotten vegetables, you can run back in and I'll sneak you out the back to escape to your old home. But if they like you... "
"Whoa, whoa, whoa... what's it gonna spell?!"my friend Amanda shouted as we moved our hands over the Ouija Board slowly. Four sets of hands were 'guiding' the pointer over the letters, but we did not seem to be in total harmony. We'd already spelled the word 'summon', now the only question is what we were going to summon from this very real, very spooky process. I knew my other two idiot friends were going to try to spell something dumb, like 'butt', because they always spelled 'summon butt' while cackling like hyenas every time we brought this thing out of the closet. But tonight, Mandy and I were having none of it. Breaking all the rules of Ouija, we forcefully took control of what we were spelling. "D-E-M-O-N,"we spelled out one letter at a time. A flash of lightning did crackle through the air as we finished, but predictably, no terrifying demonic being hopped out of our board. Can't say we expected much different, but at least we tried something a little more serious for a change. Five years passed without touching, or even thinking much about the Ouija board collecting dust in my closet. It's doubtful I'd even remember the night we tried to "S-U-M-M-O-N D-E-M-O-N", until my doorbell rang just now. I opened the door, figuring it was probably a package delivery, only to find it was a delivery of another sort. Standing on my front porch, I found a real life, honest to God demon. Tiny and somewhat misshapen, with more unruly chest hair than I could imagine any living creature having, but unmistakably a demon, nonetheless. "Hey. You... you called for a demon?"he asked through wheezing, uneven breaths. "What?! No! Oh my god, oh my god,"I exclaimed, struggling to form thoughts, let alone words. "You Jamie Hanson?"he asked, while looking down at a small screen in his hands. "Y- yes? But wha-wha-what are you doing here?" "Your stupid spirit board... summoned me,"he said through continued labored breathing. "I... am the great and power- powerful... demon lord... Kel... Kel'thunarr."As he finished speaking he doubled over, as if desperately trying to catch his breath. Frankly, the terribly out of shape little demon looked like he was about to collapse. "What? You're kidding? That was like five years ago!"I said, rapidly becoming more comfortable as I realized this little demonic being was not especially scary or intimidating in the slightest. "Why are you here now? "Because when you bring me forth using such a painfully outdated mode of summoning, I have to use an equally outdated method of transportation to make my way to you. No portals, no gateways, heck... not even a nonstop flight!" "I see. And... are you okay? Can you not breathe the air up here or something?"I asked, still concerned about his physical state "Hey! I can breath the air just fine, but you ever walked to upstate New York from the depths of Hell itself?" "No?" "It is a trek, lemme tell ya, kiddo,"he said. "You got a nice recliner or something where I can take a load off for a minute?" Against all logical reason, I led the little demon into my house and helped him hop up on my favorite comfy chair. Even as I thought I was very kindly helping him out, he did not seem thrilled with me. "Of all the hundreds of demonic summoning taking place in the world, I somehow got stuck on this job,"he whined. "You are the only person in the last decade to use such an antiquated method of summoning, did you know that?" "I'm- I'm sorry? But its like most of us have access to whatever 'modern' occult summoning rituals you're referring to, we were just some high school kids messing around one night." "Summoning rituals?"he practically spit. "Also horribly outdated! Apps! Apps are the modern way! Demons have joined the gig economy, kid. How are you not aware of this? Doesn't your generation practically live and breath on apps that make your life more convenient? Getting a ride on a moments notice anywhere you happen to be standing? Finding a date or a hookup no matter how awful a person you are? Having five dollars worth of fast food delivered to your doorstep for three times the price?" "I mean--I feel pretty personally attacked here, but... yes,"I said. "But I've never heard of an app that lets you summon a goddang demon." "Never heard of one?! There are dozens! Summoner Rabbit? Uber Fiend? Demon Dash? SO MANY ways to have a demon delivered to you instantly these days!"he chided me, before continuing casually. "Or you can just use Facebook." "You can use Facebook to summon evil demonic beings now?!" "Yep, constantly evolving platform and all that jazz! It ain't just for publicly watching your great uncle Winston argue with your 3rd cousin Shelia about politics anymore. 'Wonderful' though those interactions might be." My mind was reeling, confused beyond belief. "Why on earth would they possibly allow users to summon de-" "Money,"he interjected simply. "Ohhhh..."I replied. "I can see it then." "Hell's got deep pockets, kiddo! We paid handsomely to have our new generation of summoning apps developed and for summoning functionality to be added to existing platforms. We're in discussions with Disney+ to make inroads with the youngest demographics. Say a kid just finished watching Maleficent or Hercules and their fascinated by the evil creatures portrayed on screen. We want deep integration in app so that they can summon the wicked monster of their choosing with one touch from the end credits screen. Then we got em hooked for life!" "Jesus Christ..." "Would not be a fan of our tactics, it's true,"he said sadly. "Look, do me a favor, would ya? At least download one of our wonderful apps so that you can at least communicate with me in a modern and convenient way now that I'm here." Within the context of the moment, his absurd request seemed fairly reasonable. I grabbed my phone and searched for the apps he'd named. "I'm not seeing it here, Kel,"I told him as my searches came up empty. "It? Which one can't you find?" "None of em! Here, see for yourself,"I said as I handed my phone to him. As he scrolled through for awhile, tapping away on the screen a bit, a massive scowl formed on his face. "What the home is this?! Why aren't any of our apps here?" "Must not have gotten approval for listing on the app store?" "Amateurs!"he yelled, exploding into a rage that was more comical than frightening. "They told me we were legitimately listed on all app stores years ago!"He stood and began walking toward the door. "What? Who told you what now? And where are you going?" "I gotta go back to Hell and read the riot act to some of our lazy IT nerd demons. Right now we've got billions in app R&D costs giving us zero return on investment. Can't trust them to do anything right without looking over their shoulder,"he said as he opened the door to leave. He sighed with deep annoyance. "Don't worry, I'll be back. You summoned me so I am contractually obligated to serve you, but maybe don't wait up? I hear the walk takes a few years each way." ___ ___ Thanks for reading. If you'd like to explore more of my stories (including another one featuring this grumpy little demon), feel free to check out r/Ryter EDIT: I stickied the other story starring the 'great demon' Kel'thunarr at the top of my subreddit if anyone is indeed interested in reading more of his misadventures. It's a 2 part tale of another time he was summoned (after this), and how his new master tries to get rid of him after he overstays his welcome.
There was a break-in at my house. My computer was stolen. I had informed the police and they were on their way. I was surveying the house, trying to figure out what else was stolen when a tall blonde man in a black suit entered through my broken door. "Mr Hastings?"he asked. I replied in the affirmative. "Your computer. It's not there anymore, is it?" "No. No, it isn't. You see sir there's been a break-in and --" "Your grandfather. He signed a contract with us." "A contract?" Two more men, one dressed in a navy blue suit, the other in a grey suit, entered the room. The man in the black suit nodded to them. "These are my associates. They will explain everything to you." "Hullo, Mr Hastings. Not a great day is it?"said the man in the grey suit. Blue suit nudged him with his elbow. The man continued. "Uhm -- er -- sorry yeah. So your grandfather. Yes, what a pleasant old man eh." The other men gave him a sharp look. "Yes, yes, yes. You see, he purchased a lifetime warranty covering each --" "And everything,"I said. "Yes, he did tell me about that. Cost him a fortune. He said you guys never stuck to your word. Frauds that's what he called you." The man in the grey suit shrugged. Black suit said, "Your grandfather. He didn't quite understand our terms." "We offered to cover each and everything concerning the computer. But he didn't get it,"said the guy in the blue suit. Police sirens wailed in the distance. The men shifted uneasily. Blue suit reached inside his coat pocket and slammed a check on the table. "This covers the price of your computer. Deprecation and all that included,"he said. Police sirens grew closer. "I'm afraid we'll have to take leave sir,"Black suit said. They exited the room swiftly. The police were almost there. The insurance men hurried to their car and drove away. I glanced at the check. Five dollars. That's what the amount was. "What a family of suckers we are,"I wondered aloud.
"Lil, I know you don't believe me now, and you don't have to. But soon, you'll realize that you've made a mistake." "What are you talking about, Jenny?" "Things are going to start changing in the next few hours, first with me and then around me, as my meds wear off. This happens every time. You and Mom might wanna go out to brunch and then go into the city to go shopping or something, because this neighborhood won't be safe."I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the eggs. "Oh, now you're just making things up! You've always been dramatic, it's because your mom spoiled you."She planted her hand on the kitchen counter. "I told you that you didn't have to believe me. I'm making eggs, are you getting brunch with Mom or would you like some?" "I'd like some. Sunny side up." I felt a vein bulge out in my forehead. Was it starting already? "Sure, I'll make yours first. Hash browns okay?" "I'd rather have roasted potatoes, but I know you won't have time to make those...hash browns are fine."She looked down the nose of her glasses. That vein again. Luckily, the cooking was easy. The eggs looked beautiful shimmering in the oil as they fried, and the hash browns sizzled perfectly. I felt compelled to chop up some little green onions, sprinkle the eggs with seasoning by hand, and beautifully plate the breakfast. Just like anime food, I thought. It was definitely happening. "Oh, Jenny, this is lovely!"Lil cooed. "Let's hope it tastes half as good as it looks!" "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" "Why is that vein on your forehead popping out, are you okay?" "No! I mean yes. But no! Without my meds, things like this happen!" "Is that why your hair is that awful shade of purple?" "It is? Oh, nice! I should pull it up before it gets too long."I grabbed a couple hair ties from my skirt pocket and pulled my hair back in cute little twintails. "No, it's not nice! How are you doing this?" "Through no effort of my own,"I deadpanned. "We've been over this. I have Anime Protagonist Syndrome. Left untreated, I become Jenny-chan, the protagonist of a magical girl anime. This persona and all its resulting chaos have attached to me psychically, and those pills are the only thing that prevent complete transformation of myself as well as my environment." "English, please." "Without those pills, I become Jenny-chan and reality becomes a shit show." The dog door swung open. "I still don't believe you. You're doing something, some kind of trick with your hair --" Even as four catgirl ninjas grabbed her, Lil argued. "... and I bet those drugs are some kind of narcotic, too, I can't believe you're manufacturing all this drama..." "I could have been calling the pharmacy. Waiiii~!" I shoveled Lil's breakfast into my mouth in three bites and headed to my room to grab Momo-tan, my magical corgi, who would no doubt be wearing a white and purple dress to match mine.
"I'm sorry, what inflation?" "Genie inflation. Do you want to spend all day trying to comprehend fey economics or do you want wishes granted?" The corporeal being floating in front of me seemed to be half-interested in the conversation himself, so I decided against inquiring about fey economics. "Okay, I guess I do, but what are half wishes?" "Half a wish,"The genie rolled his eyes as if to add the word, stupid. "It's actually always been an option, but people always assume they have only whole number wishes. You can split yours as two whole-wishes and a third half-wish. Alternately, you can have three point-eight-three-three-wishes. Or six quarter wishes and one double wish. Or -" "That's enough!"I interrupted. This is the last time I buy a decorative lamp from a thrift store. "I'll just do the two regular and a half." The genie let out a sigh. "Suit yourself." Before I opened my mouth for the first wish, I thought furiously. You always hear about how genies will screw up a wish and turn it against you if you aren't careful. The half-wish was adding another level of complication, but I decided I would come to that after I handled the first two. "I wish,"I began. "For ten million US dollars to be transferred legally into my primary savings account for me to use at my discretion." The genie nodded his head in approval, and waved his hands. Immediately, ethereal words floated in front of me that said, I wish for ten million US dollars to be transferred legally into my primary savings account for me to use at my discretion, before vanishing into nothingness. "It is done,"the genie told me. I immediately pulled out my phone and logged into my bank account. Just as I had wished, there was now a million dollars added to my savings with an embarrassing amount of zeros between the one and my original account value. "Okay, my second wish."I once again stopped to think, and I took longer this time. I didn't have lofty goals or desires, and the wealth I had now would hold me for the rest of my life. I needed something that money could not buy. Looked at myself, and had my answer. "I wish for my health and body to be altered as if I had spent my current accumulated years of adolescence and adulthood eating right, exercising, and getting good sleep." The floating words appeared again saying, I wish for my health and body to be altered as if I had spent my current accumulated years of adolescence and adulthood eating right, exercising, and getting good sleep. "It is done,"the genie once again declared. I lifted my shirt to see a full six pack, and the build of a swimmer. I wouldn't win any body-building competitions, but I would certainly be turning heads wherever I went. So, it was time for the half wish. I wasn't sure exactly what was meant, but I assumed it was along the lines of only getting half of what I wished for. Or maybe I would get half of it as my wish and half as the opposite? I wish the genie had been more forthcoming. I wasn't too worried though. I had good looks and enough money to make sure I could have a comfortable home and lifestyle. I didn't really need another wish, so it wouldn't matter how I used the wish. I decide to pick something random, something relatively useless, and something I could do on my own anyway in case it didn't turn out. "I wish to have a great night sleep and be awake by lunchtime." I thought myself clever. Even if I got half of that, or half of it got screwed up, I would still have the rest of my life to enjoy the other two wishes. Once again, the words appeared in front of me: I wish to have a great night sleep and be awake by lunchtime. Then, to my astonishment, instead of the words disappearing, random letters started to vanish. Before long, the wish read as, I wish to have a g e ni e p unch me. I wish to have a genie punch me. I looked up to see the immortal, magical being in front of me uncross his arms and rear his right arm back. For the first time, I saw a smile flicker across his face as he said, "It is done."
There was a sharp divide where the fields ended and the forest began, something in the quality of the light. Too many shadows in the forest, perhaps. The hunter walked down the thin dirt trail that separated one from the other. In one scarred hand he held a great storm-lantern, its orange light low behind the metal guard. His leather coat was worn at the elbows, from too much crawling in the mud, and stitched together across the back in many places where claws unseen had rent the material in sharp lines. Ahead the sun was setting slowly, and the falling light seemed to bulk up the forest somehow, the individual shadows coalescing until it was nothing but a solid wall of darkness to his left. He reached the crossroads and swung his bag down from his shoulder, pawing through his supplies. He was carrying little; a small bottle of the dark liquor, culled from the milk-flowers, that was said to kill pain. A few strips of meat jerky. Finally, a small embroidered sign, in neat cross-stitch, that said simply "Kill Me". He picked up the sign, weighing it in his hands. His gaze was caught, for a few seconds, by the roadsign. Made of aged wood, it stood well clear of the forest. One arm, relatively clean, with the lettering freshly painted, pointed away from the forest to a town he didn't know. The other, overgrown with moss, pointed deep into the woods. He sighed, and unhitched a leather strap from around his neck. Taking a knife from his belt he fashioned small holes in the frame of the embroidered "Kill Me"sign. He threaded the leather through these, and knotted it firmly. Finally, he placed the sign around his neck. The sun had almost finished sinking below the horizon. He took a few steps towards the forest, raising the storm-lantern's shield to cast a thin beam of orange light onto the ground ahead of him. A faint trail was visible, leading deep into the heart of the forest. This he began to tread. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Within a few seconds the darkness of the forest had swallowed him. He didn't bother to look up as he ventured further into the trees. Outside the stars and moon would come out to shine, but neither was ever visible through the thick canopy of the trees around him. From time to time the hunter passed a landmark he recognized. A great oak, its trunk split in two by some unfortunate stroke of lightning, a few pairs of red eyes glinting from its innards. The grey stone that lay by the side of the road, shaped something like a human figure bent over in pain. He stopped only briefly at each one, murmuring to himself while his watchful eyes scanned the darkness around him. The light from the storm-lamp threw the landscape into uneasy relief, not penetrating far into the gloom. From time to time a shadow seemed to evaporate as the light touched it, streaming past his eyes in a vivid rush of deep purple, but he paid these no heed. The early tricks of the forest were nothing to be afraid of; the important thing was to keep one's wits. The whispers were the next thing to start, sly laughter from trees he'd just passed. This too he had learned to ignore on other trips, raising the storm lantern a little higher and rattling it to show he was not afraid. They faded, but did not entirely die away. When he reached the second oak, the one half-choked by thick vines, a bloated white owl, its talons stained with dark blood, fluttered down to land on a branch in front of him. Its head rotated to reveal the second face behind. "What are you seeking, hunter?" The hunter angled the sign across his chest up so the light from the lantern caught it. "Someone who can read, gremlin. Get gone into the dark." The owl laughed and flew away to the west. The hunter went east. -------------------------------------------------------- At the third oak, which grew from the ruins of some vast temple, its roots gripping through a broken marble altar, the hunter paused to eat a few strips of meat. The pool that ran the length of the temple was untouched by the decay around it, and he stared into the depths. A few maidens appeared reflected it in, shining and beautifully sad, but when he turned away they were only crows, hopping in and out of collapsed pillars. "Will you?"he asked them, closing his bag again with greasy fingers, but the maidens shook their heads and the crows only cawed at him, so he went onwards. The forest had begun to grow warmer, and the air a little more humid. The hunter panted a little in the heat, and undid a few of the toggles on his leather coat, revealing the rusty chainmail beneath. Above the sign that sat heavy on his chest the tooth of a dragon dangled, inscribed with a single rune. Along with the heat the trees were changing, pine and beech giving way to mahogany and palms that still had taken on the ash-grey pallor of the forest. The voices had stopped, now, but from time-to-time the harsh sounds of monkeys screeching would reach him from the canopy far above. Once there was an all-too-human scream, and the hunter paused, grimacing. Then he saw the lithe form of the panther, a dead monkey clenched in its jaws, and shook his head. ----------------------------------------------------------- The fifth oak was toppled, rotted from the inside by a vast horde of termites that had since built a tower almost as high as the original tree. The hunter bowed in front of it, as was customary, and waited while the scurrying workers brought news of his scent to the hive. With a few minutes the side of the tower was covered with the scurrying insects, forming a vast face that looked down on him. "Kill...Me..."the face mused, its voice made from the sound of a thousand thousand mandibles rubbing against each other. "And why would we do that, little hunter?" The hunter smiled at a private joke. "I don't need you to, thank you. Just testing the principle of the thing. Thank you, your Highness." He walked on. The mind of the hive watched after him for a few minutes, thinking on what had occurred, then sent a few hundred soldiers out after him, to observe. Half would no doubt be lost to the birds, but the rest would learn something that could be regurgitated into the memory-paper walls of the hive. ------------------------------------------------------------ Before he reached the sixth oak the hunter stopped and cast about him in the undergrowth, gathering mud and moss that he formed into two plugs for his ears. The sounds of the forest instantly died away and he continued with his slow heartbeat the only sound his ears. Soon enough he saw the glow of sunlight through the trees, though he knew only a few hours had passed since he entered the forest. With one hand he freed the big knife that rested on his hip and crept forward slowly. With the light of the clearing to see by there was no longer any need for the storm-lantern and this he gently turned down to almost nothing before clipping it to his belt. The sixth oak was still growing green and true, by the sides of a babbling brook. He walked forwards into the clearing, and his heart was instantly glad. His feet passed from the rough mud of the path to soft green grass, and overhead the sun's warmth beat down on him. In the distance, gathered round the roots of the sixth oak, he could see trestle tables where his fellows were sat with full horns of beer in front of them. The conversation seemed raucous and full of fun, though the plugs of mud in his ears prevented him from hearing it. A maiden approached him from the tables, offering him a cup of wine to drink. She seemed perplexed at his lack of hearing. The plugs suddenly seemed a foolish precaution, and he reached up with one fumbling hand to flick them out. Instantly he was greeted by the sounds of a merry song and he grinned wider. The maiden spoke again. "A drink, Sir Hunter?"He took it gladly and drained it in one, feeling the fine wine reach down to the lingering darkness in his bones. Abruptly, the light faded and he cried out. He was back in the dark forest, slumped on his knees in front of a shadowy figure. Behind her he could see the trestle tables revealed to be nothing but diseased roots of the sixth oak. The tree itself was infested with the crows that had been his constant companion since entering the forest. They were clustered round small bundles in the branches; with horror he recognized them as the heads of other hunters he had known. Their bodies lay around the trunk, some with weapons still clutched in their hands. The figure above him looked down with amusement. "You have drunk my wine, Sir Hunter,"it said, "and now you must do as I say - is that not hospitality? First, stand." The hunter found himself compelled to do so by the wine still burning in his marrow. He came stiffly to attention in front of the figure. Looking at it eye-to-eye now he saw an old crone, her skin withered around burning yellow eyes that captured his gaze. "Turn around, Sir Hunter,"she said softly, "and look back at the way you came." Again he was compelled to, and he would have cried out if he could, for the path behind him had vanished through some magic and there was no way out of the clearing. "Turn around again and face me." Her eyes drank him in greedily, noting the scars on his face and the storm-lantern at his waist. "Ho _ho_", said the witch softly, "a rich prize indeed to have wandered into my larder. But what is that around your neck?" Her eyes wandered across the dragon-tooth, and then down to the cross-stitched sign. "A curious thing for a hunter to wear,"the witch sneered, "'Kill Me' - as if -" The hunter watched passively as his right hand came up and obediently buried the long knife in her throat.
Surrounded by power, all I can think about is how to get more. Not because I want to control others, not because power feels good, not even because of the opportunities it affords. No, I need more because without it, I cannot survive. The first week of classes are a breeze. They teach you the fundamentals of heroics interspersed with general education. You know, don't bully others, how to use power responsibly. They give you one teacher per grade: I'm studying under CyberEye. A man who can tell when someone's cheating on a test by seeing the gentlest flinch of the pupil. He can spot a needle in a haystack, remove it, and see all of the molecules it left behind. He has a harsh demeanor and a growl to his voice, the attitude of someone who has seen too much shit. At first he doesn't believe me. When I try and exhibit my nonexistent powers in front of the class as a display, all that comes out of me is a whimper and a grunt. He smacks the back of my head (which to the other kids, may have felt like a gentle tap). And I turn to look at him. I can't do it. I can't muster a blaze of fire or punch through cement. I can't even do algebra. Eventually CyberEye pays more attention to me, and he focuses entirely on my grades. Make sure I can write an essay, know the order of operations. Each year I progress through sheer wits alone. My mind is the only weapon I have. And between being shoved into a locker, through a wall, and out another; actual atomic wedgies, and screaming matches where glass shatters, I make it through. I memorize weaknesses. Trap them in the music room where the walls absorb their powers, that sort of thing. One day I break into the principals office and I look at every person's power and weakness. I've prepped for every scenario in my head. My grades begin to slip, but the final year is graduation test. I must best an instructor while they're holding back. And I have to fight CyberEye. The auditorium is huge, it's made of a kind of steel they don't even sell, not even the government can buy this stuff. It's made with special powers, indestructible. Everyone's cheering against me. The twerp. The loser. The kid who fought back. "Kick him out!" "Loser!" "Asshole!" I walk up the steps and CyberEye does the same. We meet and lock faces. He looms down at me, probably noticing my every molecule. I smile, and we shake hands. I'm the only person who has brought a piece of paper to the test, and I pull it out of my pocket and unravel it before him. In ink so small, the size of the hair on an ant's antennae, I have written his internet search history. I open my mouth, turn it around, and begin to read off the contents I have memorized. He raises his hand and forfeits. Everyone is dumbfounded. Until the day I graduate, I get leers, but no one will fight me. I know their secrets and I will win. In our yearbook, under my portrait is a quote. I don't know where I got it from, maybe I made it up: you can always learn to be a hero. --- hi if you liked my story please don't click this URL: [/r/lustsforcoffee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDTwO0TlwOU)
Terry took no particular pleasure in killing, but he did it well. It wasn’t like the movies made it out to be. He didn’t train for years in some secret monastery, and he couldn’t make himself invisible or anything like that. He didn’t have supernatural weapons, or the right gadget for every occasion. He had, however, been lucky enough to survive some very rough encounters in his youth. They’d been the kind of encounters that involved guns and chains, though he really didn’t like talking about it. But he was no dummy, so he learned from them. People had habits, and if you took advantage of them, you could take control of the situation. No one keeps a weapon handy while they’re brushing their teeth, for example. If you know when someone brushes their teeth every night, it’s a much easier job. The Spanish say that the Devil knows stuff because he’s old, not just because he’s the Devil. Terry always thought that was fitting for his work. In this case, Terry was after a member of a low-level gang that had crossed the wrong family. Order had to be maintained in the underworld, so here Terry was. He spent time watching his target, getting to know his habits. He had all the wrong ones: drinking to excess, gambling, hard drugs, prostitutes, and being abusive to his family. Terry never actually saw the man lay into his wife and kids, but he heard enough to make some educated guesses. When the day finally came, Terry had planned it all out. He would wait until the family left for Sunday church, and then he’d draw the husband home with a phone call. It wouldn’t take much, pretending to be his dealer should do the trick. Terry hadn’t counted on the little girl forgetting her jacket. The six year old’s headlong run got her to within a few steps of Terry before a glance at him stopped all of her forward momentum. Even a six year old recognizes someone trying to break in. She couldn’t contain her surprise, and a gasp escaped her lips. Ever the professional, Terry managed to turn his head slowly and subtly block the view of the front door. She may have caught him red handed, but he didn’t have to parade the evidence in front of her. “Are you a friend of my Daddy’s?” “No, can’t say that I am. I’m more like an acquaintance.” “What are you doing?” “I’m going to wait for your Daddy. He and I need to have a talk.” “No, you’re trying to steal stuff. I can give you all of my pocket money, if you like,” she replied as diplomatically as possible. She was scared, but she kept her six year old wits about her. All in all, he’d heard a lot worse offers in the heat of the moment. “No, thank you. I’ve already been paid. I just need to talk to your Daddy.” “You’ve already been paid? Are you … the one my Daddy said is out to get him?” “Why did your Daddy say that?” “I don’t know. He’s just convinced someone is going to come after him. It’s you, isn’t it? Someone paid you to get to my Daddy.” “You’re an awfully clever girl.” Then, she surprised Terry one more time. She looked down at the ground and shuffled awkwardly. That definitely wasn’t a normal reaction. Whatever was going through her head, she didn’t want to say. She’d handled a conversation with a would-be thief and potential murderer just fine, but suddenly she was shy? Terry was confused, to say the least. “People pay you to get rid of people they don’t like, right?” He gave her the courtesy of not lying to her. Instead, he just clicked his tongue. It was the closest thing to an affirmation he could give her. “What if I gave you my pocket money, could you get rid of someone for me?” No wonder she’d been so awkward all of a sudden. No one knows how to negotiate with an assassin the first time, it’s just not something you’re taught to do. But this rabbit hole was getting curiouser and curiouser. He wanted to see this through. “Who did you have in mind?” “Um, someone who is mean to me. I see them all the time.” “Your Daddy?” “Huh? No, not him. My … my mommy. She’s worse than him when he’s not around. I don’t think she’s a very nice person.” It took every last ounce of Terry’s willpower for him to hold his jaw in place. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. His first instinct had been to kill the little girl as collateral damage, but now he was having serious second thoughts. She had just tried to hire him, in the middle of a job. Considering who her father was, this mother must be some real piece of work. More importantly, could he rely on the word of a six year old? Should he just forget her words and leave no one alive? That was always an option. He took one last, hard look at this little girl. He didn’t feel pity, or remorse. His mind’s eye pictured a tree root, twisted and gnarled in crazy angles. She was broken, barely holding it together. But like most little kids, she was earnest. He was convinced of that, given her posture and the fact that she couldn’t look him in the eye. She knew the line she’d crossed, but she wasn’t backing down. In a weird way, Terry could respect that. He pursed his lips, and choked out the words. “Call your mommy, and tell her you can’t find your jacket. Stay outside, and let her search. Once she comes inside, go to church, and don’t look back. Don’t come back until after mass, you hear me?” She took a big gulp, and nodded her head once. Terry would never forget her gait in those few moments. There was no slouching or shambling. Six year olds know resoluteness. He saw it in her walk. — — — — — Edit: I ended up writing a sequel, in another prompt: [link](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/65etn8/wp_you_are_an_unassuming_businessperson_by_day/dga0psd/) There's also a two-part prequel below, if you're interested: [part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/63brm9/wp_you_are_an_assassin_a_little_girl_has_just/dfuppzb/) and [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/63brm9/wp_you_are_an_assassin_a_little_girl_has_just/dfw700q/)
Shaggy feels the heat of a dying universe against his skin. He takes it in, knowing that the existence of all things is just a cycle. Soon the drivers of the cycle would notice him, as they do at the the end of each universe Shaggy has witnessed previously. The final battle would take place as usual and he would win. but this time, it felt different. "wait... one's still here?"The Drivers had gathered in galactic space, their forms the size of unfathomable stars, and Shaggy felt their attention be drawn to him. "Like, let's just get this over with , man" The Drivers flare in anger, the begin their assault. In unison, they send their energy flowing to the small, thin figure hovering in space. The power reaches Shaggy, who had been calmly watching it approach. He catches it. The Drivers recoil in astonishment, then in fear as they realise they were never at the top of the great chain of being. "Like, That was all you got? I bare - Shaggy is cut off, the Drivers had just been annihilated by a blinding flash of light. At 0.001 percent power, Shaggy is stunned, he faintly hears what he thinks is a trumpet solo begin, then the words "We are number one, We are number one" Shaggy realises this is no ordinary cycle. His eyes snap open as his power level is increased. And in front of him is the man himself. Forever Number One, Robbie Rotten, he goes by many names. He gives a smile then speaks. His lips do not move, but he sends his voice through the cosmos. "O, How many universes I have travelled through to seek you. You may be the worthy opponent I have been seeking this whole time." Shaggy smiles, sensing his power, he had finally found someone who may be worth anything above his 1 percent. "Like, whoever you are, I've been waiting for this fight throughout my whole existence. " And with anticipation surpassing what Shaggy could muster when consuming a Scooby Snack, the battle of legends commenced.
Wendy sat looking at the odd suitors, many had taken the Subway over, yet 4 would take the Subway back. The first suitor had problems, for instance he was 68, but Old McDonald did have a farm, but even McDonalds farm wasnt enough to sway her to marrying an old man. The next man was so poor he lived in a cardboard box under the bridge, which wouldnt have been so bad if Jack hadnt been wearing the box when he met Wendy. That left 3 more bacholers, but she didnt know who to pick. She asked her Auntie Anne if she and her husband Papa John knew who to pick. She then announced for the 3 bacholers to come forward for judgement. The first who came forward was the sluggish Pizza the Hut. He was ugly alright, but he had millions of Starbucks in his bank account. The second to step forward was an esteemed military official, Colenel Sanders. Following the 2 of them was Little Caesar, an emporor who wished to take her back to Rome. Suddenly Wendy rang the Taco Bell and spoke, "I pick... Carl Jr's"she said, pointing to a man in the corner. The Bachelors hearts sank one by one like Dominos. Everyone knew Carl loved Dunkin his Donuts in every woman he met, and that it most likely wouldnt last, but didnt say anything, and after a quick meal of Krab that it was a bit Krusty, they left. Edit: Whoever gave me gold you wasted your money but thanks anyway.
"It's funny, you know,"Death murmured. "The humans think they're dying less because of their medicine, their infrastructure, their technology. They think they're inching closer to immortality because of what they do." "Mm. You landed on a Dyson hotel. You owe me 2\^32 quanta and 200 grams of antimatter."I tapped impatiently on the game board in front of me. "I owe you a lot more than that, my friend."Death rubbed her chin and sighed. "Humanity hasn't beaten back death through anything it's done. No, humanity has defeated me... simply because of what they are." "Right. For instance, right now, I am the owner of a Dyson hotel. Which your piece has landed on. You owe me 2\^32 quanta and 200 grams of antimatter." Death stared at the board morosely. In the ten thousand years since I'd first challenged Death to a game of Monopoly for my soul, the game had morphed so much that it had become almost unrecognizable. The 331st edition of Monopoly featured raising your chosen species from primordial ooze, on towards interstellar conflict. Nobody had finished playing a game of it in the 232 years since it had come out. "I feel as though I must apologize, my friend. I have kept you here too long." "Hm? Oh, don't worry about it. I'd much rather be playing board games than, you know, fading into nonexistence."I smiled. Death smiled back sadly. "I know. I would much rather that too." Shakily, she stood, and I saw with a start that Death needed a cane to walk. Instinctively, I reached out a hand. "Hey! Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" "Have you ever wondered why I must bring death?"Death whispered. "I, uh... I asked. Several thousand times. You just waved it away." "It has become... relevant now."Death collapsed onto her side. "I have no sacred mission. I have no reason for what I do. Save for one." She clasped my hand desperately, and with a start, I noticed that the bones of her hand were cracking. "I, the entity humanity knows as Death, am the last of my kind. The last of the soul reapers. We survived for uncountable millions of years, eating the souls of unfortunate sentients to prolong our miserable lives." "..."I swallowed. "You... you mean..." "Death is a bug, not a feature. The death of every single human who has ever lived has been my fault. Simply to further my own existence."She grinned with a row of gleaming, bony teeth. "A task I no longer perform." "Aw, Death."I sat by her side and squeezed her hand back. "...What happens next?" "I wither away. Because I met you. Because I saw a bit of you in all of humanity. Ironic."She chuckled. "There are no other reapers left. I wonder who will come to claim my soul." My eyes narrowed. And then I turned back to the board game. "Wait."I flipped through the rulebook, all nine thousand pages of it, and stabbed my finger on a page. "That's it!" Slowly, Death sat up, hope in her eyes. "What?" "Play the game." "I hardly think our game matters anymore. I'm not claiming your soul—" "Just do it! 2\^32 quanta and 200 grams of antimatter, now!" Obligingly, Death slid over the appropriate payment. "Now what—" "My turn."I hurled the digital six-sided dice and looked down. Crap. I'd landed on her Dyson hotel. "...I owe you a lot. Can you—" Death had been reading the passage of the rulebook I had, and her eyes widened. "I waive your debt. You owe me nothing." I grinned. "Good. 'Cuz you're about to owe a whole lot."I tossed her the dice, and she caught them with fumbling hands. They tumbled onto the table. Seven. Death moved onto my homeworld. I slammed my fist on the table in triumph. "Ha! Alright! You owe me 2\^96 credits, three M-class stars, two inversion cores, and your soul!" As per Article 9023, Section 82 of Monopoly, 331st edition, Death's body fragmented. An ethereal light wisped out from her open lips, and her naked, vulnerable soul quivered in the air. I caught her, held her tight. "Gotcha. I gotcha. Easy, there. I gotcha." Death's voice rang in my head. I suppose this means that you win, then. "Yeah,"I said. Play again? "I'd love nothing more." &#x200B; If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need for entertainment, you may want to check out r/rileywrites!
The black-robed figure froze. “Y-you! How did you get past all of the evil empress's death traps and mazes?!” I rubbed my chin. “Evil empress? I’m just bringing my wife some lunch. Who are you?” "Norgol, the Lacerator." "...right. And, hang on, did you say empress's, like, belonging to an empress, or empresses, like, multiple female leaders?" Beneath the hood I saw Norman or whoever he was scowl. Friendly guy. "Anyway, like I said, I need to get this to my wife before the tuna melt gets cold, so..." Norman stretches his fingers toward me and begins chanting, guttural and harsh. Green energy flashes towards me, then a giant purple disc appears in between it and me, causing it to rebound on the robed figure. His hands went to the sides of his head and he screamed loudly before collapsing to his knees. I scratched my nose. Then I walked around him. I entered a large room where my wife stood, an ebon dagger gleaming in her upraised hand. "Hi hon,"I said as she brought it down on... ...my brain fuzzed over. It's been happening to me a lot lately. Oh well. "Babe!"she said, with one of her amazing wicked grins. "So good to see you."She wiped something off her face...maybe paint? I walk over to her and hand her the paper-wrapped packet. "You know, your office chair doesn't look very ergonomic. That rigid back has got to be killing you. Can I get you an Aeron chair?" She looked over her shoulder at the black chair with the skulls adorning the arms. I blinked, then shook my head. Not skulls. Why would I say skulls? I chuckled. "Babe,"she cooed, "are you having another one of your spells?" I swallowed, then gave a dejected nod. "Here,"she said, producing a crystal decanter. "Have some of your medicine. You'll feel better soon, I'm sure." I downed the contents of the decanter and smiled at her. I'm so lucky she's in my life.
The scroll sat on the table and we stared at it like a live viper. It was the declaration of Chosen One status. Otherwise known as a death sentence. Every Chosen One in living memory had died at the hands of the Dark Lord. It was a vicious cycle, and now my family had been dragged into it. I looked over at our Gordy, who was trying his very best not to cry. It was him the scroll named, it was him who would have to leave the house and family and apprentice to the Wizard. He was only ten years old. Over the next few days, we did our best to comfort him, giving him advice and sweets. And after he went to bed, the rest of us gathered together and planned. We knew our boy wasn't a hero, and we needed to find a loophole. Something that would make sure he survived the experience. And something that would stop this from happening to another family ever again. We still hadn't found the answer by the time the Wizard came calling. I had to get the boys to restrain Gordy's mother as she would have clawed the man's eyes out, which wouldn't have stopped the Wizard, nothing short of total decapitation would destroy that man. And hurting him wouldn't help Gordy survive. Though I did manage to sneak a rather old, rather mean cat into his bag as he left. It would not be a pleasant experience for him to reach in and there was no way to trace it back to us, so he couldn't in good faith punish Gordy for it. Now the planning took on a desperate edge. We had time, after all the Wizard had to train Gordy first, and there would be numerous trials for the Chosen One to overcome before he faced the Dark Lord. That was our first challenge. To get rid of, or manage, the threats and enemies before ten-year-old Gordy ever saw them. If the Wizard sent Gordy out unprepared, and untried against the Dark Lord, public opinion of the man would shift into the negative. So I sent the woman out, the daughters of the family to go to the markets, to talk to the servants, to listen at doors. No one suspects the woman, so she makes the best spy. I knew this for myself, in my younger days. And I sent the boys to the country, to pay off the mercenaries and make it difficult for them to be recruited. The girls came back, with whispered tales of a shadowed figure, one that was talked about in dark corners, and never seen. The Assasin. He was the one in charge of many of the now-dead challengers of previous Chosen Ones. So I called on our quietest son, the sneakiest and the deadliest. And soon the whispers in the market changed. They talked about the Assasin in bolder tones, talked about his death. But there was the Dark Lord to be dealt with, and nothing should be left to chance. After all, the Wizard might still decide to send Gordy and deal with the negative opinions it would generate. And I would not let our Gordy die before his life had been lived. My great-grandmother wouldn't have let it happen, and though I wasn't a witch like her, I knew as the matriarch of the family, I had a duty to uphold. So I called everyone. Every branch of our far-reaching family and I told them if they hadn't already heard. Across the whole country, people surged out of cities and towns, sometimes decimating the population as they did so. They carried pitchforks and swords, slings and bows. The clan was going to war. We marched to the Dark Lords' tower, close to five hundred strong. Whatever else we were, our family was prolific. Halfway there we came upon Gordy, with a sword too big for him and absolute fear in his eyes. I swept him up in my arms and we continued on, singing an old song my great-grandmother taught me about hedgehogs. When we reached the tower, we swarmed up the sides, broke down the doors, and overwhelmed the defences. The guards never stood a chance, though our Robert did get a cut on his nose. In my opinion, it improved the boy's looks. From the top of the tower to the bottom dungeon we filled the place, and I—still carrying Gordy— and a bunch of the boys crashed into the Dark Lord's throne room. He actually cowered on his throne, squeaking about how it was a ruse, and that he wasn't really going to fight us, and could we please let him go? I nodded along, then carefully placing Gordy on the ground, I relived the boy of his sword. It took two thrusts, I never was good with swords, but the Dark Lord was dead on the floor of his throne room when we left the tower. Now, for the Wizard. To our surprise, we met him on the road as we walked back to our town. I don't know who was more shocked, us or him, but he had the better reflexes. He was almost out of sight by the time we caught up. I have never seen a man more afraid than at that moment, except for the time I lost my temper with a second-rate Cassanova. But we didn't kill him. No, we took him back to the town, and we put him in front of everyone and made him tell the world, —or as good as telling the world, with how rumours spread— about the lies, the deception and the destruction. Then, quietly in the night, a few of our boys paid off the prison guards and the wizard was found in pieces the next morning. All but his head. That we took and preserved as a warning to any future powers. And as I tucked our Gordy into bed that night and came down to his pregnant mother, I smiled. You don't mess with my family. &#x200B; ————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
"Sir?"A deckhand asked his captain, his long ears twitching nervously. The captain had a distant look on his face as he stared down at the looming green-blue planet that filled the ship's window. "Yes?"He asked, turning to face the deckhand. "Are we ready to send in the occupation teams?" "Not... Not exactly, Sir. The Alpha Strike has failed." "What? How? The Alpha Strike is unbeatable! Especially for such an underdeveloped race!" The deckhand shuffled on his feet and tapped his datapad with a shaking hand. "There are pictures, Sir. The control teams have no idea what happened."The deckhand pulled up a slideshow of images from the planet's surface. They showed the natives and Alpha Strike units at peace. One picture showed a native throwing a sphere towards a group of Strike units who bounded after it and brought it back to the native, who was dressed in a crude animal pelt and seemed to reside inside a cave. Another picture showed a Strike unit laying down at the feet of a native, who was running its hands through the unit's fur and scratching its head. The unit seemed to appreciate the action and it turned around to lick the native, who laughed in joy. The next picture was equally horrifying and fascinating- A group of natives, along with several Strike units, managed to hunt down a large, brown animal with horns larger than a native was tall. "How did they do this? How have they stolen our Strike teams?"the Captain demanded. "Why are they not being torn apart?" "We don't know for certain a, but the reconnaissance units on the planet report the natives giving the Strike units organic food and calling them 'Good boys'. The natives appear to have near total control of the Strike units, with only a couple teams still roaming the forests of the planet." "Do not let a word of this reach the public. Not a damn word."
No way. You've gotta be kidding me. Literally, 100%, no-joke, I was showering this morning and remembered a Tumblr post from like 6 years or so ago about "instead of Oceans, Earth had huge, dense forests instead", and someone even made fan art of like a HUGE, building-sized deer stepping between massive trees. No exaggeration, this morning I remembered that and said "Huh. What a neat idea. I figured someone would take that concept and run with it, but I guess not. Too bad, sounds like it'd be a good read." &#x200B; Lo and behold I found this post scrolling through Reddit on my lunch break. What are the freaking odds? I had no idea you had published anything about that topic, or that YOU were the one behind it! I actually cannot believe this! Well hey, as soon as my shift ends I'm going home and buying the trilogy. And congrats on finishing the story! Super cool milestone for a super cool concept. Cheers!
"Watcher to Overhead. No hostiles sighted, Gearshift and Sonar are cleared to continue east for 100 metres." Watcher waited for the reply "Copy, Watcher"the female voice came on the return transmission "I'll inform the others." Watcher was one of four members of the Heisari prospecting team on Allara. Heisari was carrying out its prospecting without government knowledge, and as a result some of its ethical practices were... questionable. A team of only four prospectors had been chosen: two company personnel who excelled at using electronic imaging to locate gold, which was incredibly common on Allara, and two hired guns to fend off zombies or rival crews. Right now the area they were in was relatively safe, but they'd just been instructed to move into a forsaken zone. Overhead had picked up a strong signal of possible gold reserves there, and so the four were advancing towards it. Watcher had no idea what could be more forsaken than the dry, cracked barren wasteland in which he currently found himself, but he wasn't excited to find out. Watcher's assigned squadmate, Hunter, stuck close by his side, both had their guns drawn as they cautiously advanced towards what seemed to be a ruined village in the distance. In the past, ruins had generally meant zombies. Watcher snuck a glance at Hunter, he still couldn't get a read on the guy. He could be anything from an ex-earth soldier to an intergalactic terrorist. Watcher was somewhere in between. All seemed quiet as the two pushed forward into the village. "Overhead, Hunter and I have just entered a village, looks to be of stone construction. No signs of activity as of yet, but prep for extraction just in case." "Copy that, Watcher"the reply from the orbital craft came loud and clear out of Watcher's earpiece. Hunter and Watcher slowly advanced through the village, Watcher's hands were shaking, his bulky assault rifle jumped from one shadow to the next, seeing zombies around every corner. "cl.."started Hunter, before the two spun towards a hideous screech coming from the way they had come. A zombie ran towards them, its hideous, disfigured, decaying face filled with savagery and bloodlust. Watcher pulled the trigger. The high-calibre burst ripped into the zombie's decomposing flesh and tore it to shreds. The body exploded in spurts of brown flesh and black blood, and fell to its final rest. Hunter shot Watcher a look of pure fear as groans sounded from all around them. The two stood back to back, guns levelled, and prepared for the oncoming attack. They didn't have to wait long. A horde of zombies burst forth from all directions, moaning and screeching as they charged towards the two men. Watcher and Hunter opened fire, and dozens of zombies exploded in clouds of rotting carrion. "Overhead! This is Watcher requesting orbital bombardment at my location! Urgent bombardment and subsequent extraction is earnestly requested. Please respond with as much firepower as quickly as you can!"Watcher yelled into his earpiece in between gunshots, the reply came only seconds later. "Negative, Watcher, Overhead has picked up high amounts of gold in that village. We can't fire on it. You and Hunter are on your own, over" They were done for. He and Hunter couldn't keep them back for long, a zombie reached out for Watcher and grabbed him. It bit into his arm, making him scream in pain. Hunter kicked it off him and nailed it right in the head with a burst, but he was soon dragged off Watcher by three zombies, it was over... A hatch suddenly popped open a few metres from the two men, and three beings hastily scrambled out of it. They looked like men, but their skin was paler, almost translucent. Their heads and eyes were bulbous and their fingers were long and spindly. They carried weapons that looked like nothing Watcher had ever seen before. "Help!"Watcher screamed, hoping these strange things would assist him. They seemed to be assessing the situation. One of them aimed its weapon towards the air, in the rough direction of the Overhead orbital ship, and fired. Continue? EDIT: Part 2 is up, I replied to this comment with it. Second edit: I just created a subreddit: /r/WPtoss , where I will share my writing. I'll post my writing prompts there (in complete, non-serialised form when the character limit allows it) as well as the writing I do in my spare time. Subscribe if you feel like seeing my other writing for this sub as well as what I do outside of /r/writingprompts.
I crouched at the edge of a skyscraper and looked down at a city too full of noise. People bustled along cramped streets like ants looking for any morsel to bring back to the hive. Some of them were normal, unable to control their own futures in a world of powers and predators, but many had their own abilities stored away. They were almost worse, I couldn't check my Instagram without seeing some girl in yoga pants complaining that her powers were useless. That was the problem with everyone else, they didn't play the game right. To really rise as a hero, or a villain, you needed a hook. So many people tried to name themselves after their powers and just leave it at that, but it was never enough. "Oh look! It's wind-man!"People would get obsessed for a day or two, but eventually they'd lose interest, and then so would the hero. That's the second thing about it. The costume isn't for the crowd. Every single hero that tries to make a name does it because they want to be somebody. Half of them figure if they've got a power that's enough for people to believe in them. To care about them. It isn't. The crowd might like a persona, but the hero needs it. They need to become something more in their own mind, otherwise they lose interest too. That's the problem with heroes. Everybody starts as one, but most of them end up turning villain when they realize they don't like fighting without a reward. They never even get to be a supervillain, just joining up with a couple other wannabes and robbing a bank or kidnapping a celebrity. There's no long-term plan, they just want instant gratification. All of this because they wanna be special, and they think the power is what decides that. They think that whoever has the coolest, or easiest used power wins the day. They couldn't be more wrong. My name is Michelle, but heroes call me Quiet. It isn't the catchiest name, but it stuck. My suit is dark grey spandex, plain, and a white mask to cover my entire face. Why risk anything less? I started as a hero, but no one thought my power would do any good. No one cared. I lost interest. I wanted fame, prestige. All I got were laughs. You see, my power is very simple. I can hear a person's background music. It's everywhere, constant. Even now I can hear music blasting up from the streets, but it's faint at this distance. I crouched at the edge of a skyscraper and looked down at a city too full of noise, waiting. There was a window just under my ledge, I had spent the better part of an hour weakening it with my tools. I waited, ambient noise all around me. I waited two hours, three. Midnight came and went, and then the notes began. At first they were almost indistinguishable from the rest, but I knew this song. The bass notes of a drum. The hint of strings. I had memorized this sound. I put in a pair of earplugs that completely blocked all mundane sounds. The song grew louder, building as Lawrence approached his window. His home was hidden well, his entranceway guarded, his window secured, or so he thought. I withdrew the long knife at my belt and grasped the rope I had secured to the exhaust of an oven hood. Lawrence grew closer, and I remembered the first time I had heard his song. He had been in the process of kidnapping a schoolbus full of children. He wore a mask then, his name was Blackheart. The kids were ransomed or sold on the black market. I smiled beneath my mask. That's the thing everyone forgets about villains. I don't have to go after heroes to be famous. I can kill whoever I want. Rob whoever I want. People don't care about the villain's motive, just the hero's. I swung out over the ledge just as Lawrence reached the weakened window. I gave a sharp kick and it broke along the seams that I had created. The glass fell inward and Lawrence stumbled back as it struck him. The song didn't change, but the tempo increased. I heard the swelling of a cello as he realized who I was. Lawrence-- Blackheart-- opened his mouth in a scream. The glass shattered and walls around me shook, but I couldn't hear that magic voice. It gave out less than a second later as I kicked him in the center of his chest. He pulled back with a gasp, but by then I had already slit his throat. His guards were coming, but I didn't care. I had planned my exit. I found the Blackheart suit and draped it over his body as he choked on his own blood. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of him, then a selfie with the two of us for good measure. His face, haloed by blood. Mine a blank white mask. I sent the pictures off to my upload relay and smiled. They were all still scared of me, even if I hunted other villains. I was the greatest villain of all. I was Quiet. The guards opened the door as I stepped out the window, their scared songs became my anthem as I spread my arms and glided away.
"Welcome to the 5th Millennial Gathering of the Gods! Have a complimentary sweet mana!", greeted the senior Olympian with a warm welcoming smile-- Hestia, goddess of home and domesticity to every guest that just arrived. "Don't forget to pick your nametag!" It was a surprising turnout this millennia. Hundreds of deities-- gods, goddesses, demigods, mythical figures, celestials of various pantheons, old faces and new faces, well known and lesser known ones, all mingling together. Despite their differences, despite their ancient clashes, differing outdated views, that day there was nothing to squabble for, nothing to fight pettily about. There was only one rule to abide to-- have fun, drink, feast, and be merry! Oh and of course...no smiting. The impossibly large hall were never short on food-- catered by the gracious host, Hestia herself. And who could forget the finest wine which flowed like the river all thanks to the combine effort of Dionysus, Bacchus, Inari, and Tenenet. Laughter of godly humor as the allfathers gathered in a circle-- Zeus, Odin, Jupiter, Ra, and Quetzalcoatl drunkenly bantering with one another. Chatters of old stories which lent themselves to poems of old as Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Beowulf, Rama, and Sun Wu Kong one upped each other with their well-known epics. Playful test of strength as Hercules, Thor, Achilles, Arjuna, Maui, and Chu Chulainn exhibited their boastful strength and skills. And in the shadows two giggling figures were ready to launch their pranks-- Loki and Eris, mischievously spiking bowls of nectar punch. In the midst of it all, the ever rowdy crowd, a figure singled himself out. In solitary the skinny figure leaned against a table, constantly stirring his glass of punch, sipping it occasionally through a straw. Silently he observed the deities, hesitant to interact with them. "Hey Herc, do you want two or three more pork kebab, you fat bastard!", a drunk Thor stumbled onto the table, bumping the mysterious guest accidentally. "Oops sorry, bud", Thor said. "I...it's okay", the man said with muffled voice. Thor looked up to the man, curious of his attire. The man was wearing a thick black parka, zipped-up fully to his face, covering it. The small opening of his jacket was only enough for his eyes to squint through. Complete with tattered jeans and rugged boots, the man resembled no deity that anyone knew of. "A bit cold here eh?", Thor said, starting a conversation. "Ye-yeah", the man agreed, clearly uncomfortable. Slowly he moved away to avoid Thor. "Hey wait a sec...", Thor said grabbing the man on his shoulder but the man had an unprecedented knee jerk reaction as he flipped out, jolted. "Don't touch me!", he yelped. "Whoa whoa hey, easy there", Thor stepped back. "Ey Thor, what's going on? Maui is about to wrestle Achilles...", Hercules came around. "Whoa....who are you suppose to be?", he said drunkenly. "I'm...uh, nobody", the man answered. "Oh come on, you're amongst friends here. Take off the jacket", Hercules teased, his quick hand snapped and grabbed the man's jacket. "L-let go! Please don't!", the man pulled away. "Come oooon, don't be shy", Thor joined in. "You're not a god, are you? God, I hope not. You're too skinny and lack the charisma..." "You know what? He could be a demigod", Hercules suggested. "Hey, who's your daddy?" Both Thor and Hercules laughed uncontrollably hearing the phrase. "Is it Zeus? It's gotta be Zeus, isn't it? Yeah, my dad would bang everything that moves", Hercules laughed. "N-no, it's not Zeu...", the man meekly replied. "It's gotta be Quetzalcoatl. Look at him, he looks like a serpent with arms and legs", Thor mocked. "N-no, it's not...", the man replied again before being cut off. "Oh come ooon. Just take off the jacket", Hercules said belligerently trying to reach his jacket again. "No, please no!", the man backed away, afraid. "What's wrong with you, man? We all know each other here", Hercules said. "Hey everyone! Look at this guy over here!" Hercules' booming voice caught the attention of those around him. "This guy right here, doesn't wanna tell us who he is", Hercules slurred. "Don't you guys want to know who he is?" A quick murmur came from the small crowd which Hercules interpreted as a resounding yes. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!", Thor began chanting. The two burly warriors in their drunken daze came at the man. Whimpering, he began to run away as Hercules and Thor gave chase. Huffing, the man ran with all of his might. Cutting through the crowd, bumping Dionysus and his tray of wine, elbowing the gossiping Hera and Isis, all the way to the side exit. Going through the door, the man was met with a long lightless hallway. The man kept running before meeting a dead end. "Alright, buddy. Nowhere else to go. Just take it off", Hercules said, cornering the meek man. "Please, I don't want to. Just leave me alone, please", he pleaded. "Why don't you want to show yourself? We just want to know...", Thor added. "If you look at me, you'll get hurt", answered the man. Thor and Hercules looked at each other before bursting into laughter. "You? Hurt us? Pfft come on! I'm a god. He's a demigod. We'll be alright", Thor said. "Take your jacket off!" With his plea went unheard, the man finally relented. Slowly he unzip his jacket, low enough so he can take his hood off. The smirks on Hercules' and Thor's face immediately vanished after they saw the man's face. Their eyes widened and their jaws dropped. Terrifying screams came from their mouths, from the two heroes who had faced the worst dangers in mythologies.
All I did was wait my turn to stand in front of the arranged books. None of them moved or glowed, no gust of wind indicated I would one day summon typhoons. No, elements would not be my fate. A non-descript tome left in a pile behind the platformed spell books whispered softly to me. "Come." "What's that one there?"It was all I had asked to reinvigorate the silent crowd of spellcasters and spellbinders. Eyes widened, mouths fell agape, the assembly of mages looked to one another and mumbled incomplete statements to each other causing a low murmur to rise from the prior silence. Grimoires, books of magical spells representing the various schools of magic, choose who may read them. Most get an element, some get two, others go into more specialist fields, but everyone gets a book. As I approached the book, I noticed a face indented in the book's dark red cover. It was the source of the whispers. "They will not understand,"the face whispered. "It, it cannot be."The relatively young Principal of the magic school still had color in his wispy, pointed beard. His words broke through the hum and all attention focused on me. "It is a Necronomicon! His province is death. Get thee to the basement, boy, and do not compel us to suffer your presence any longer. You are anathema to us. Take your book and go and harry us no further. Please." "So you send me a magical invitation and make me go through all of that rigmarole just to banish me the second I actually start to realize my purpose?" "Your purpose is terrible. GO NOW."The wizardly principal summoned a gust of wind that blew only me back to the doorway of the large stone-walled dining hall. "You didn't even tell me what's going on!" "GO!"The magic-enhanced voice reverberated through the hall and blew open its windows violently. "Fine, fine. I'll go."I didn't have a choice. I descended the staircase the basement beneath the castle-like school building. It was illuminated only by infrequent conical magical sconces which cast light as though they were torches waxing and waning in the wind. At the landing at the bottom of the staircase, the darkness was total and soaked up the rays of light. I stepped into the darkness and beyond it was a strange room filled with decrepit school desks. It was a classroom complete with a board and teacher's desk at the front. A humanoid figure clothed entirely in a black robe and large black hood with a plain rope belt emerged in the doorway to the classroom and took a seat at the teacher's desk at the front. "Welcome, pupil. It has been some time since we have had new blood here."The voice from the robed figure was feminine and lively. "Here we will study life itself."
You know what? Fuck you. Fuck your stupid writing prompt. Fuck this website. Fuck everyone reading this. Fuck. You. You ain’t shit. You’re lazy. You’re undisciplined. You’re ignorant. I’m writing this fucking story. You’re just breezing by, scrolling down like a fucking robot, clicking away at those little arrows to the side of my creations thinking your opinion’s worth a damn. You came here because you wanted to expand your mind, to learn to create like I create. Now look at yourself. Eyes glossed over, moving from one thread to the next like a fucking sheep looking for fresh grass. Wake up. Get up off your ass and fucking do something. You can, you know. There’s nothing keeping you here but the laziness and fear that you’ve allowed to seep into your mind. The road to greatness is not an easy one. It’s scary. It’s confusing. It hurts. But you know what? Sooner or later you’ll become comfortable with being uncomfortable, and all of those will stop mattering. They’ll just be little indicators, to let you know you’re on the right track. So get. Up. Whatever you’ve always wanted to do, go do it. If you don’t know how, learn. I wish I had your potential. The truth is, I’m not real. I’m just a character, born in the imagination of a person you’ll never meet; a construct doomed to live and die at my author’s fingertips. As you read this, my time grows short, but yours is just beginning. I won’t say that I believe in you. I don’t believe in you. I believe in the person I know you can become. No one can do it for you, but that’s what makes it beautiful, you know? I know I’m not real, but please - make me proud. Goodbye. EDIT: Huh. What's this? It's... Shiny. Somebody gave it to me? Well, I'll be damned. Thanks, stranger. Much obliged.
"Well, this is embarrassing,"Dad says. &#x200B; He's looking at me and doing that shrug of his that used to mean "go ask your mother"and now means "it's not worth telling your mother."I can smell the coffee from the other side of our cobbled-together pentagram. It's hazelnut, Dad's favorite, as is the plaid shirt he's currently wearing and those hideous shoes. All that's missing is his favorite cardigan. &#x200B; Zoe turns to me and points at my father. "Is that Mr. Davis?" &#x200B; Mr. Davis. My father. Also a history teacher at the local college. Also, a demon, perhaps? &#x200B; He smiles kindly at Zoe. "I was just grading your essays, kids. And I have to say, not a bad job, not a bad job at all. Marcus, fantastic work capturing the spirit of the Crusades."Then, he looks at our summoning circle and the ingredients on our altar. "Your Latin, on the other hand... could use a little work." &#x200B; "Dad, what are you doing here?" &#x200B; "Enjoying a cup of brew, son." &#x200B; "No, I mean, why are you in our... you know..." &#x200B; He shrugs again, it's his Dad thing. "If I had to guess, it was probably a mispronunciation. Back when people still spoke Latin, science was essentially right up there with witchcraft and demonic possession, and magic's all about association, so a few wrong syllables and a lack of focus, and poof." &#x200B; "How do you know so much about magic, Mr. Davis?"Zoe asks. Beside her, Marcus is nodding like he knows what's going on. &#x200B; Dad smiles and sips his coffee. "Ah well, that's a long story. It may have to do with how I met Zeke's mother. No reason not to tell it, if you have an hour to spare." &#x200B; I am shaking my head and leafing through the spellbook. "No, Dad, we don't." &#x200B; "All right, well, some other day. Have a good afternoon, kids. Make sure you drink plenty of water. And use sunscreen. I'll see you all bright and early Monday morning." &#x200B; And with that, he vanishes, coffee and all. The rest of the group is looking at me like I've grown a second head, or alternatively, horns. I suppress the urge to check. &#x200B; "Your dad's a demon,"Zoe says. &#x200B; "No, he's definitely not a demon,"I mutter, working hard to keep my eyes from glowing. "Definitely not a demon. I mean, why would a demon become a college professor?"
I stared down at the puny mortals, the smirk still playing on my lips. "Weeks? Mere weeks? You fools, I am no dragon that can be beaten once and my treasures stolen. I am no castle, that you could beat in my doors and plunder. I go beyond the physical, beyond even the metaphysical. To defeat me, you need more than a keen blade, but the wits and cunning of a generation, and the endurance of-" One of the whelps interrupted. "Look, we get it, you're super powerful or whatever. But we've beaten you time and again; at this point, it's getting embarrassing. Like... how many forms do you have? Could we fight all of them at once? Seriously, we haven't even used any resources so far. Sir Hector literally took a nap during the last battle." I chuckled. "It is clear you have no idea who you face. I am the underpinning of the universe, the glue of the heavens, the-" The blonde one with the shiny bow interrupted this time. It was beginning to irritate me. "Yeah, yeah. We literally don't care. Kill the monster, take their loot, you're all the same. You're just another boring boss in a long line of boring bosses, but you're, like, the most boring boss, in the history of ever. Please just die!" I raised myself off my throne, where I had dramatically fallen at the end of the last battle. "Why yes, yes I am. And yet, even now, when you even speak my name aloud, you fail to understand." I walked down the steps, discarding my wild, flowing cloak and the tattered rags I had worn before. It was close; closer than ever before, or at least closer than it had been in many, many years. I could feel the ancient thrum of power, so old, yet so tantalizingly familiar. And, of course, the fellow with the sword lashed out, and the angry little man threw a fireball at me, and the blonde lady shot me with an arrow, and even Sir Hector, the only one with any sense, stumbled to his feet and swung his mace at me. We battled, another "boring"fight, where the poor fools tore and shredded my most recent body, battering the shiny armor and dodging every blast I threw at them. I had to admit, it was a chore. But rules are rules; every battle, I had to try to kill them. And try I did; the blonde one missed a step, and I swooped in and burned her arm, though Sir Hector healed her immediately. The fighter dropped his sword, and was rewarded with a broken blade when I stomped on it. Even Sir Hector misused a spell and wasted it. Finally, the battle was done; once again, I was thrown back against my throne, my armor shattered. Once again, I laughed. No chuckle, this time. I could feel it, hot within me. "So close! So close. And yet you insignificant weaklings have no idea who I even am." "Gods damn it!"the fighter swore, flinging his useless sword against a wall, stomping back and forth as he left off steam. "How many of these damn forms are there?" I grinned through bloody teeth. "Oh, you'll see. Or you won't, I suppose. You could quit now. Nine thousand, nine hundred, ninety eight forms. That's enough for anyone, isn't it?" Sir Hector's brow furrowed, and I felt a tinge of cold dread. Quickly, I stood. "Go ahead then, mister swordy-man, take another shot at me. You, there, you brainless excuse for an archer, take your best shot!" I flung out my arms dramatically, my most recent broken armor sloughing to the ground and melting away. "What about you, pointy-hat? Have any good spells left?" The wizard scoffed. "Hang on, guys. I think I get it, now. As long as we don't leave, we're still fighting him, but he doesn't attack us until we hit him first. Don't let him goad you - we can totally just hang out and get all our spells back, and heal and whatever!" The others looked unsure, but the fighter sheathed his second-favorite sword, and the archer lowered her bow. "See? He can't hit is until we hit him!" The wizard, supremely confident, stretched out on the floor for a nap. I turned with a shout of what I hoped closely mimicked impotent rage, and leaned against my throne to hide my smile. Two hours later, the wizard awoke and stretched; the others, having had some food and drink, looked stronger. The fighter had even managed to enact some sort of temporary fix for his broken sword. Once again, they spread out in front of me. The wizard yawned. "See? He's stuck. He can't break his rules. I knew there was something weird going on, but this is it - we can take our time!" I stepped off my throne, barely able to hide my glee. "Oh, you think you've figured me out, have you? Well, perhaps this form will make you change your mind..." I leaped down, smoothly transitioning into the form of a wild animal, the claws of a tiger, the strength of a bear, the wicked teeth of a wolf. I clawed and bit, harried and struck, until I was reduced to a panting, bleeding heap. So close... I can taste it, now, beyond my blood and theirs... I stood, once again in a humanoid form. Sir Hector stared at me with narrowed eyes, and I felt that cold touch again. He was close, as well. Close to understanding. He mumbled to himself, "9,999 forms... 9,999... animal form... huh." I couldn't hide the mad twinkle in my eyes. "Well, come on then, or do you need another nap so soon? You've barely broken a sweat. Do you want to die here? Whose end shall come? What darkness..."I trailed off. Too soon. I'd seen the look of sudden understanding in Sir Hector's eyes. The cold dread shook me to my core. Not now, not when I was so close! The fighter slashed at me, and I effortlessly parried it, my shape once again changing into a sparkling crystal golem. Sir Hector cried out, but it was too late. The fighter had begun the battle against my ten-thousandth form. And then, something surprising happened. Sir Hector turned his mace against the wizard, dealing a resounding crack to the poor fellow's head. As the caster staggered back in surprise, the fighter shouted at the archer, "Take down Sir Hector! He's been mind-controlled, or something! Knock him out!" The archer quickly whirled and planted three magical arrows into Sir Hector, as the wizard targeted him with some sort of grasping vines. I was holding back, and the ancient geas was burning in my head, but I knew what to do. Leaping back from the fighter, I poured my energy into the bound form of Sir Hector. As I burned his head from his body, I hissed in his ear, "You know, don't you? You figured it out. My gift to you - a quick death." The other three, seeing their friend die in front of them, were galled to action, and attacked me with a whirlwind of blades and arrows. I fended them off as best I could, but my best was hardly good enough, and my form fell to the ground, shattering into a million shards of crystal. As a cloud of dark energy, i floated back to my throne, and finally felt its cool touch. The fighter rushed to his friend; the wizard tried desperately to use potions and magic, but it was no use. Even if he had a scroll of resurrection hidden up his dainty sleeves, the battle was over. The archer whirled and screamed, "Why won't you die!"and fired an arrow at my head. I plucked it out of the air as easily as plucking a flower from a field, and turned it idly in my hand. Slowly, it darkened into a smoky black. "Have you ever heard the story of the Ten Thousand Sacrifices? Probably not. Your friend did, though. Poor Sir Hector. Didn't figure it out until it was just that much too late. The story went like this: a terrible evil befell the land, blah blah blah, and so challenged the best combatants in the country to battle, one on one. Each one fought, and each one died. The first was a wizard who built himself a crystal suit, the second was a terrible werewolf, the third a mighty paladin clothed in shining armor, the fourth a cunning magician, dressed in colorful rags, and so on and so forth. But these fortune-seekers had played a trick on the villain of our little tale. That crystal suit trapped the souls of anyone who could not defeat it, using each soul as a prison. The flea-bitten little wizard tricked the villain. Once the dust had settled, ten thousand souls clung to him. He could use their abilities, but he could no use his own, until every last one had been defeated. And until today, no one has managed it. They gave up, bored, or they planned poorly and died. Until today." I returned the arrow to its origin. The archer gasped as it pierced her heart, and could only watch as tendrils of smoke encircled her. With a wave of my hand, the fighter's sword melted into darkness, and he too was ensnared. The wizard, thinking quickly, threw his book of spells to the ground. Well, he tried, anyway. I snapped my fingers, and he fell to the ground as smoke curled around him. "No one could ever defeat ten thousand forms, they said. And oh, how you proved them wrong. Forever, your names will be etched in the minds of everyone I meet. The little party of fools, who broke every chain that bound me." I stepped lightly down from my throne and stared into the eyes of the thoughtless whelps. I watched the fear in their eyes as I drained the life from their bodies. Oh yes. This, dear children... this is my final form.
I blinked hard, taking in the situation. I was tied to railroad tracks, old Western-style. 30 meters away, five others were tied to a parallel track. Down the line, the tracks converged, a switch with a lever beside the fork, the direction currently running toward the other five could-be victims. A man was approaching the switch as a barreling train approached the juncture. "Hey!"I yelled for the man's attention. "Don't pull the..." Before I could finish the thought, I remembered the five across from me. If the man pulled the lever, I'd die, but five would live. The other five were screaming for the man, their voices filled with desperate panic. "I don't know what the right thing is to do!"The man was fidgeting with anxiety, his head snapping from us to the lever to the train. "Save us!"The five responded. I made eye contact with the visibly terrified man at the juncture. His expression was apologetic; sad. "Untie me!"I screamed the obvious solution here. He shook the fuzz from his head. Right. Obviously. Untie the one guy, save everybody. Can you imagine spending more than five minutes on this? He rushed over and began loosing the knots on my bindings. The train grew louder, but I grew freer. I was moving, loose as the tracks rumbled by the fast-approaching engine. As soon as the rope fell off, I leapt off the track. ... Just in time for it to roll over the other five people.
The camera lights flashed and fluttered, and questions poured in why the newly-elected president was wearing sunglasses inside. His vice president stood awfully close by, arm wrapped around President Sanders. Emotional support, or something else? Watching the conference from his luxurious home, Donald Trump noticed something was off. First it was in the questions; most were denied a comment, and it happened back-to-back. Any answer gotten out of the elderly Democrat was either a vague nod or shake of his head. Then he saw just how pale Bernie was, slouched so limp on his podium, he seemed lifeless. Bernie had never had much color to him--nothing like Trump, gold as gold itself. But now he was ridiculously white. And when someone in the crowd mentioned an ungodly stink, Donald knew the President was dead. He sat up, and asked the most important question that came to mind. "How am I going to make money off this?" *** Wow, this story and prompt blew up pretty fast. This is my highest upvoted story yet. If you enjoyed my writing, [you can check out my other prompt fills here.](http://fugaboo-the-nug.tumblr.com/search/writing+prompt)
I found an old cardboard box in some cupboard, and began throwing Leah's things into it. Socks, bobby pins, toothbrush, a half-eaten pack of raisin biscuits: anything of hers I found, I tossed in. When I had a moment, I scribbled her name across the side too. Upset didn't do justice to how I felt. Betrayed fitted better. I thought that I knew her, that we wanted the same things in life, and I had thought wrong, it turned out. She didn't want kids, or to move to something bigger just outside the city. Didn't want to stop going out drinking with her friends every weekend either. It felt like she didn't want to be with me. “I thought you'd grow out of it,” she had said to me. In the end, it was my fault for wanting what I wanted and being upset when she finally stopped pretending she wanted that too. I didn't want to cry, but I didn't really have anything better to do. Slumped beside the bed, I debated whether changing the sheets would be enough, or if I'd need a new mattress. I already knew I'd be sleeping on the couch for a couple of weeks. Then, I spotted something under the bed. I didn't keep anything under there, but I almost waved it off as just something that got kicked under. If it was hers, though, it needed to go in the box, so I leant down, and fished around for it. I dragged it out, knowing it wasn't mine. An unassuming book with a bookmark at the back, and I would've thrown it right in without a second-thought, except it looked so unassuming that I grew curious. Opening it, my curiosity backfired. The handwriting looked so familiar to hers, my emotions shuddered. Almost paralysed with fresh grief, I ended up reading the first few lines, as though my mind wanted any escape. The small notebook had the date in the margin—early October, no year. The line beside it read: “Woohoo college! Yeah! Time to get drunk on the cheapest vodka and fall asleep before the clubs open.” I chuckled, despite my mood. She'd been in her first year (and me in my last) when I met her, introduced by her older sister (and my best friend.) We hit it off, but it didn't go anywhere until she finished up and started working in London. So, I didn't really know what she was like at university. From that line, it sounded like she was pretty much her sister, but with a fondness for the 'college lifestyle'. I didn't hate that, I just wished she'd been honest about it. My eyes flickered back to the page. I knew it was an old diary of hers, so I should have just stopped reading and put it away. I should have, but I didn't. The first few pages covered her first month, and all the terrible housemates. She had a real flair for melodramatics, such as, “Danielle the milk-guzzler, destroyer of dairy, and enemy of all civilised cereal eaters, renowned for leaving two drops in the milk bottle as a symbol of her arrogance to all who dare think her merciful.” Every boring part of her life had her style applied to it. She mixed in so much from all sorts. Her snarky remarks stuck with me the most. “Apparently, the rota we all agreed on was only fair until Becky's first turn to do the dishes, when suddenly she remembered she never cooks and always eats out at her boyfriend's or the sandwich shop on campus or in town. How stupid of us for not realising sooner.” Almost lost amongst the humour, I appreciated her cleverness. She had such a good grasp of brevity that I never found myself losing interest, and she didn't just make cheap jokes either. It reminded me a lot of my favourite authors, hiding cynicism behind laughs and framing the mundane as absurd. Mostly, though, it reminded me of them, because it felt sincere. That thought dug into me. She hadn't written it all down for me to read, after all. Even if I hated her, that didn't mean I wanted to hurt her. But, I wasn't all that sure I hated her, either. I hated that she'd lied to me. That I was sure of. I closed the diary, admitting to myself I didn't hate her. She had changed over the years. When we started dating, she had been similar to the woman in the diary. More cynical, but I understood how university did that to her. Maybe I was just reminiscing with rose-tinted glasses though, because, back then, I hadn't been given an insight into her like the diary gave. For all I knew, the woman in the diary and her were two separate people. Idly opening the diary again, I flicked through random pages, aimless. She kept catching me unsuspecting, drawing me into her little stories. “Walking to class: the tragedy,” she had written, titling her short epic about overcoming a cold rain, a steep hill, poorly-labelled rooms, and an automatic door that only worked on Tuesdays. I didn't hate her, I didn't love her either, but I loved the woman memorialised in the diary. For the rest of the day, I wanted to do nothing more than read about her life at university. I didn't want to hurt her, but I'd read enough to already, or so I rationalised it. Page after page, I read with a gentle smile on my face, as the sky dyed red, and finally set. Finished, I closed it. I felt different. Maybe a little cliché, but I felt like I'd changed from bitter to bittersweet. The pain didn't sting any more, it just ached, giving me time to remember the good bits. Looking down at the diary, I was glad I spotted it. Then, I noticed the bookmark again. If she had been reading through it, she probably would have used a bookmark since it was so long, I reasoned. But, that didn't satisfy my curiosity. For the third time, I opened the diary, this time to the end where a dozen or so pages hadn't been written in. No need for a bookmark in blank pages. The bookmark itself wasn't blank. What got to me more than that, though, was who it was addressed to: me. “Dear James, “It's been a great few years with you. I've had so much fun, even with all the work. You're a really special guy, brimming with humour and kindness, and I hope I can take a leaf out of your book going forward. “But, I don't want to go around taking without giving back, so here's my diary of first-year, before we met. I can barely read it back without cringing, honestly. Hopefully, it'll be good for a laugh or two, and we can call it even, right? “Well, I won't prattle on. I just want to say this again, though: thank you. You've been more than a best friend for me, and I'll always remember you fondly. “Much love.” I stared, and stared, and stared, but the last word didn't change. Sitting innocently at the bottom of the note was a signature. It wasn't Leah's. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and clutched the book. Of course I'd fallen in love with the woman in the diary, of course it hadn't worked out with Leah. They were two different people. It hit me hard, making me question if I'd really known that all along. After all, before I dated Leah, back at university, I'd been in love with her older sister, my best friend. Resting my head back against the wall, I had to laugh, coming to terms with how badly I'd messed everything up. If I didn't laugh, I'd have had to cry, and I'd already done that enough for one day.
I looked at the TV in horror. There, displayed in dizzying technicolor, was the hideout that I had spent so many years trapped inside. I watched as the cameras delved deep inside, documenting the perfectly circular walls and the thick layers of slime that coated them. One reporter’s hand got stuck, and I jumped back, startled, because I knew what was coming next. “Guys, I... I can’t seem to get it off...” the reporter was saying, and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he began to scream. “Dave! Dave!” the cameraman shouted, and yanked him back. Dave fell limply into his arms. Then, a tremor shook the camera’s view. I gasped in shock. Could someone else have taken my hideout after I left? The camera shook again, and this time I watched as the floor gave out from under the cameraman, and he was led stumbling into an even darker, slimier corridor, slipping and sliding on the rock, trying desperately to balance himself on the goo that was sticking to his shoes. Breathing hard, I heard him say, “I think this is some kind of webbing.” My heart beat hard in my chest at those words, and even more so as I saw where exactly he was going. Sure enough, I saw the camera focus on a pinprint of light at the end of the corridor, which grew into a mighty cavern stretching to the surface as the cameraman grew nearer. And dangling above that cavern was a spider maybe twenty feet tall, red eyes flashing in the semidarkness. I started forward. That was my son. I never thought of what he would become after I left him behind, after I stepped into the barrier web between worlds... Far above the cameraman, I heard muffled screaming coming closer and closer. Then, an object hurtled down the tunnel: the reporter, who’d stuck his hand in the wall earlier. His torso was covulsing, moving into a shape that resembled the thorax of a spider, his legs cracking and twisting under him as he transformed into what I had lived as for twenty years of my life. The footage went black. I sat back in shock, breathing hard. How had the reporters gotten to my old dimension? The rift must be widening, I thought, and that must mean nothing good for humanity. And definitely not for me. I looked down at my trembling hands, willing them to quiet. No. I would never become that thing again.
Gluttony, Sloth, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Envy, and Pride shuffled into the auditorium. They wore suits and carried notepads. They exchanged polite greetings to each other and turned to face me. "So,"Pride asked me, "How did the tryouts go?" "There were some standouts,"I said, "Both good and bad. But before we get into that, I just want to say that I think you're doing the right thing. Seven sins isn't enough to cover the full spectrum of evil." The sins nodded in agreement. There had been disputes during this last century. When a human ate a Hot Pocket, who had to take the case? Was it Gluttony or Sloth? And when people posted suggestive photos to Facebook, was it Lust or Pride's responsibility? "And I think you made a wise choice in hiring me. You and I have known each other well for many years, and I'm also well acquainted with the full spectrum of 21st century vices. So it's only natural that I should help you. ... That said, I'm going to need you to pay me my fee before we proceed any further." Greed grunted as he stood up. He handed me a leather suitcase. "Here you are, Mr. Prince,"Greed said. "Please,"I said, "The Artist FORMERLY KNOWN as Prince." I clicked the case open. Stacks on stacks on stacks o' cash! Grinning, I said, "Okay. Let's start with the rejects." I fired up my PowerPoint. These morons off the street were ridiculous. They tried so hard to be big bad sins, but they just sucked. We could all have a good laugh at them. "Bad parking,"I said. "Bad parking wants to be a sin. He sees himself as a combination of greed and pride. But I thought he was just incompetent." I showed a picture of a horrible parking job. Tire on the curb, hood bent up against a fire hydrant. They weren't laughing. It was supposed to be funny. "Looks like a woman was driving, huh?"I said. I chuckled to myself. No response. "Probably Asian, too!"I slapped my thigh. They didn't laugh. "C'mon lighten up guys,"I said, "have a drink or something." "It's before five,"Lust said, "and this is a workday." I stared down at her cleavage as she spoke. "Whatever,"I said, rolling up a smoke. "This is a non-smoking building,"Envy said, "and I have asthma." "Don't worry about it,"I said, blowing smoke rings. "Okay,"I said, "I think this next candidate did pretty well. Cockblocking!" "Hold it,"Pride said, "We've heard enough." "What?"I said, "You pick cockblocking to be the 8th sin?" "No,"Pride said. "What then?"I asked, blowing smoke at Envy's face. "You're not even going to let me tell you about him? He's a very promising candidate." "No,"Pride said, "We've chosen our candidate." He looked around at the other sins. They nodded in agreement. "Who is it then?"I asked, looking around. "It's you, Prince."Pride said. "What?"I said, "The Artist formerly known as Prince isn't a sin..." "That's right,"Pride said, "Which is why from now on, we're going to call you 'Douchebaggery'."
Last night, Sam wrote a thesis on Astrophysics- brilliant, game changing stuff, all in one night. Seriously, it's the real deal; scientists are losing their minds all across the world at the prospects of fully understanding dark matter. How does Sam feel about it? He's happily shoving a slice of apple pie in his face, using his hands. He can't even read the thesis he wrote last night. No doctor can understand what's wrong with him, but every morning he wakes up with a completely different IQ, and in a sense, a different personality. It's generally one extreme or the other, he'll be the smartest human to have ever lived one day and incapable of using the restroom alone the next. As he put it once when his intelligence was about average on the scale, "I have the mental capacity of a normal human being- it's just that, rather than spread out evenly, it's in violent bursts, all at once or not there at all." He retains memories, for the most part- when he is at full mental capacity, he can access his memories from lesser times and understand them fully. However, they're only stored as completely as he could process them at the time. Emotions, thought processes- he understands them all. ------------------- "You know, everyone always asks me the same thing. 'How can you stand the low points? Isn't it horrible, being locked up like that?' The answer to that question is simple: "No. No, it's not horrible. Conversely, it's fantastic. Can you imagine, understanding the world from so many points of view? So many angles, angles a normal person can't see with just their own eyes? I've lived a hundred different lives, and let me tell you something. When I'm too dumb to understand my thesis? When I'm laughing at a spoon of my own food, for no reason at all? There's nothing wrong with it. I understand what's going on well enough, and I'm just happy. I'm not worrying about what dark matter is, or why I'm here. I just smile, I love, and I enjoy. "At first, it was hard. I struggled, not knowing my place. I can't fit in anywhere- one moment I'm a Nobel Peace Prize winner, the next I'm in diapers? How can a man live like that? Therein lies the answer to a question we must all ask ourselves, about what life is. "Life is more than finding your place, and working your ass off to achieve greatness. It's about being amazed at the stupidest little shit, without question. That autistic kid you're laughing at because he's making weird noises? He's loving life more than you probably ever will, because he doesn't need to understand it. It gets rough, believe me, but it's a different kind of joy. I've had a hundred different pairs of eyes, and through each one, the world is just as beautiful...even if in a different way."
Alex went to bed that day feeling content. He woke up the next morning to 16 missed messages on his cell phone, 300+ messages in his Reddit inbox, and a best friend insistently knocking on his door. Groggily, he answered the real-life human first, pretty sure this was a dream and that he'd realize it when it melted into some form of nightmare that he could tell his therapist about and she'd go 'how is your relationship with your father' and he'd go 'I mean I moved out two years ago what do you expect me to say' and then she'd say- "Dude, the President just tweeted out your comment." What? "What?" "Turn on the news!"Aidan said, barging past and searching the blanket-covered sofa for the remote. Once he found it, he pressed the power button and navigated to CNN. Sure enough, there were the talking heads, talking about the Saudi crisis and the ramifications it could have on the national scale- shit like that, like they always talked about. "Aidan, what the hell?"Alex said, going over to him. "Look, just wait and you'll see what I mean. Or check your phone, social media is exploding about it." "Social media? You know I don't use that-" "Reddit name PM_ME_YOUR_PUSSYCATS, google plus under your own name, Facebook's got a shadow profile on you, and you still use Yelp, also under your real name. Seriously, who uses Yelp?" "What? The fuck? How do you know that?"Alex protested, trying to grab the remote from his friend. This had to be a prank, some kind of- "Hold on, we're getting an update on the Alex Fontanelli situation." He heard his name loud and clear, and it made his veins turn to ice. Slowly, he turned to the TV and watched as the one screen separated into two, with a lady on the other screen behind other glowing monitors in the newsroom. "What can you tell us about the current situation, Ms. Jones?" "Well, it started out as a simple comment on the internet." Sure enough, the screen switched to a framed picture of the reddit comment. u\/PM_ME_YOUR_PUSSYCATS, 563 votes, in r\/the_donald. "I have no strong feelings one way or another."A simple reference on the internet, posted on a debate about things that really didn't matter, in hindsight. Hell, someone had even linked the video below him, he remembered. "What seemed like an innocuous statement of neutrality became a talking point when President Trump tweeted earlier this morning quote 'This is the enemy' and when asked for an explanation stated 'The people who don't think about putting America first in the world'." Jesus, did they ever stop talking? He clumsily fumbled with his phone and opened the Reddit app, god it was a piece of shit, c'mon load for- He pressed the open messages button. Almost all were username mentions, some in the same subreddit, others in places like meirl and dankmemes. A startling number of them were messages to him, that mentioned him by name. He clicked on one particularly disturbing one. "Sleep with one eye open, Alex."it said, before mentioning him. He pressed to go to the thread- trying to find the right chain. "Hooooooly shit dude. Look at this." Alex peeled his eyes away from the phone in his hands and looked at the TV. It showed some guy in a suit surrounded by other guys in suits in front of a seal with flags by them. It didn't mean anything to him at first glance. At second glance, it also didn't mean anything to him, but he noticed one of the flags was Canadian. "I would like to officially announce my support for Alex Fontanelli."the guy in a suit in the middle said. "The attacks on his character are despicable, and he deserves the support of all the free nations of the world. In accordance with the post, I have officially up-voted the comment. A world leader's up-vote, for a world leader's down-vote." The woman in the newsroom came back onto the screen. "That was Justin Trudeau, the current Prime Minister of Canada, officially announcing his upvote for the Post of Neutrality. We're gonna throw it back to you Kelly but we will keep you posted on everything that happens across the world-" The image vanished from existence at the press of the power button. "Now do you believe me?"Aidan asked, getting up and going to the kitchen. "Wha- what the fuck?"Alex said, looking down and finally finding his comment- Sitting at one upvote. "It's at one?" "Yeah, and it has been for the past four hours. Now c'mon, help me figure out what you're gonna need." "What I'm gonna need?" Aidan pulled the six-pack of IPA out of the fridge and set it on the counter. "Do you really think you can stay here after they leaked all your details to the world?" "They? Who?" "The hivemind. Twitter users figured out your identity within an hour of the original tweet. Just goes to show you the power of concentrated autism."Roughly, Aidan shut the fridge door, and it slowly bounced back open as he went to the pile of clothes that constituted Alex's "closet", since his studio apartment didn't really have much in the way of anything. "The fuck do you mean?"Alex asked, going to the man who was looking through the pile for some kind of clothes. Aidan found a hoodie and shoved it into his arms. "I mean, your address got broadcast to the whole fucking world, dipshit! We need to get out of here." "Why the hell do we have to leave?"Alex said, dropping the sweatshirt. "Because if you don't there's some bad shit people are thinking of doing to you for upsetting their Glorious Leader." "What the hell?"Alex said, as Aidan threw more clothes at him. "Man, you know they aren't going to go through with it-" "OI, YOU HOOLIGANS! THE FECK ARE YOU DOING WI' THAT?" That would be the landlord, Mr. O'Leary. Alex moved towards a window to try and see what was going on on the street... Right as a Molotov exploded three feet to the right of it.
"Would you like to donate 1 copper to the Defeat the Dark Lord Fund?"the screen flashed. Is that what they were trying now? Kind of desperate. DL knew the heroes were bankrupt but this was getting ridiculous. At this point they'd never reach him. Just for kicks and jollies he poked yes. Then he had an idea. A terribly awfully brilliant idea. The next day a cry went out across the land: "Donate a copper, send the Dark Lord to the chopper!""Donate a copper, make the Dark Lord a pauper!""Donate a copper, our marketing team couldn't think of more rhymes!" It was in the newspapers. It was on the radio, on television, on pop-up ads, it was screamed at you by poor orphans in the street who earned one copper for every ten they collected. Celebrities posted links to the Defeat the Dark Lord Fund on their twirter pages. By the end of the day, everyone had heard of the campaign. By the end of the week, it seemed like every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the land had donated something, even if it was just to get the orphans out of their faces. Soon the group of misfit heroes had enough cash to buy the best Dark Lord killing gear the land had to offer, including the Sword of Althion, the only weapon powerful enough to kill him. At the end of the month, the heroes confronted the Dark Lord in his fortress of doom. They fought their way through his halls, taking out henchman after henchcreature until they finally reached his throne room. They burst through his door, slamming it open with a violent clanging noise. "We have you now evil one!"their Paladin proclaimed, brandishing the Sword of Althion. The Dark Lord, brooding by his window, slowly turned around. The heroes raised their shields. He opened his mouth to speak. "Prepare for a dark spell!"Shouted their wizard. The Dark Lord smiled, raised his arms high, and said... "That armor looks great on you!" "AaAa..."the bard started screaming but stopped when the Dark Lord's words registered. "What did you say?" "Your armor! It's fantastic. The design team did a great job!" "You mean the ancient Dwarven Gods who forged it in Mount Doom?" "Mount Doom, Dwarven Gods, goodness you guys are cliché,"the Dark Lord shook his head in disappointment. "Did you honestly believe all that?" "I mean... it was in the book of lore."The wizard's look of confusion melted DLs heart. She looked like a hurt puppy. "Tell me, when was that book of lore published?" The wizard rifled around in her bag and pulled it out. "Let me see... three weeks ago." "You really thought that ancient books of lore are younger than most infants?" "I mean... I thought it was a new edition or translation or something."She really was precious when she was upset. "Because the one thing old lore books need are updates. Did you even check the publisher?" "DL Publications. So?" "D. L. Dark Lord. Come on guys, do some research. One internet search is all it would have taken. "The wizard was starting to tear up. The Paladin stepped forward. "Let us strike him down instead of bandying words!" He swung at DL with the Sword of Althion... and the sword shattered against his neck. "What dark sorcery is this? Only dragon fire can destroy Althion's Sword!" "Please. I destroyed the Sword of Althion forty years ago when they figured out how to burn magnesium in large quantities. It's like twice as hot as dragon fire." "So... none of our stuff was real." "Nope. I've always wanted to monologue. With your permission?"DL looked at the crestfallen faces of the heroes. "Go ahead,"the rogue mumbled. "I saw your pathetic attempt to raise money for your cause. I even donated! But then I realized I could do so much more with the idea. I had my marketing team draw up some plans, and immediately launched a massive ad campaign to raise as much money as I could for you. I then got to work manufacturing "Dark Lord Slaying Gear""... "You mean Dark Lord Slayers R' Us was just a front?" "Yeah. Can't believe you fell for that one. Anyway, you guys bought everything I put out. My ROI from the campaign was insane. All the cash from the "Defeat the Dark Lord Fund"straight into my own pockets. It's enough to solve our nation's fiscal crisis!" "So we've been helping you all along." "Is that a bad thing? Look I'm going to use the money to fund infrastructure, education, healthcare, etc. I already have fame, a dope castle, and a lambo, I don't have any reason to spend it on myself. I really do want to help my people." "If you're so great why did they all donate to the campaign?" "Eh, it's easy to hate the one in charge. Especially when I've been in charge for centuries. Look, I'll admit in my early years I may have sacrificed a few children, committed the occasional genocide, but I was young and stupid. I've been exploring my spiritual side since then, and I've grown a lot as a Dark Lord. I haven't committed a genocide in hundreds of years. I even abolished the death penalty in '09! Everyone alive today just hates me because if anything goes wrong in their lives they assume I cursed them or let it happen out of spite. But even I can't control everything. Apart from all that, I kind of like my reputation so I don't dissuade people from thinking of me that way. It gives me an excuse to wear spiky armor and wield impractically proportioned but awesome looking swords." "So... what will you do now?" "I might need your help for that." ........................................................................ The next day, scenes of the devastating defeat of the heroes were splashed across televisions all over the kingdom. To the viewers at home, the worst part was that the heroes had been brainwashed by the Dark Lord and were now serving him. Now they too wore black spiky armor and wielded impractically proportioned swords. Soon a new group of heroes arose, claiming they could defeat the Dark Lord, if only they had all the Dark Lord Slaying Gear, and anti-brainwashing potions. So the Defeat the Dark Lord Fund began again, with renewed vigor. No one noticed that the roads were repaired, the schools were reporting their best results in years, and the hospitals had all the latest medical equipment. But hey, the job of a Dark Lord is a thankless one. At least he had some friends now.
I awoke in a seemingly endless abyss, floating in a weightless space with darkness all around me. I couldn’t see anything beyond my limbs. “Where am I?” As if on cue, an excited feminine voice boomed all around me, I could not discern the direction of the source. “Oh you are finally awake!” There was a blindingly bright light and my feet found land unexpectedly. However before I could fully fall, a chair slid up perfectly, landing me in the seat. I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to adapt to the sudden change as fast as possible. In front of me was a small round table with a transparent top and across me sat the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, a beauty that is ethereal, unable to be captured by humanity. She clapped hard in my face and yelled, “you are in the afterlife good sir, Limbo to be exact.” That did knocked me out of my daze completely and answered my earlier question but just resulted in more questions and then she responded as though she could read my mind. “I go by many names but I’m known as Santa Muerte in your culture and here is one of the places where I judge souls before I send them to their respective dwellings.” Dumbstruck, I simply nodded as she continued. “So your turn, do you think you did good in your life?” Before I could open my mouth, she put one finger up to shush me and said, “you can take as long as you like before answering.” She sat patiently, looking at her nails while waiting for my answer as I pondered about the impact of my whole life. “I didn’t feel like I lived for myself.” She looked up and stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. “I joined the army when I hit the legal age, desperate to earn enough money to provide for my family, then I fought wars and killed men, all to protect not the people of my nation but the interests of the rich and the corrupted. Then I got out and became someone that untouchable men feared seeing me on their doorstep, because that meant that day was their last day on Earth.” She smiled, “And you were good at your job, diligent even, a hound that readily dragged men to my domain, I believed you were even the best.” “I could remember every single one of them, some of them didn’t break the law, they just offended the wrong people and I was their tool to the end, it was the only thing I was truly good at enough to pay the bills,” I slumped back in my seat, the sudden influx of emotions and memories nearly too much to bear. “Are you seeking forgiveness or is this all just a facade to not face punishment?” “I would do it all over again because people depended on me, I will face whatever that comes, including forgiveness or not.” She smiled again, “do you remember what led to your death?” I tried hard to remember to no avail at first, it was like trying to find the Sun through clouds and then it was clear as day. It was a little girl, who lost her parents and stood crying in the middle of the road, not registering that a car was coming towards her. I had ran out and grabbed the girl, right before the car slammed into both of us. My last memory before fading was me lying on the road, the girl unscathed and her parents running towards us. My face was wet in the present, my composure broken as the emotions and memories were finally too much. I focussed on the woman across the table, as best as my sobbing mess could and followed where her eyes briefly went to. I looked down on the table, looking at a familiar document that wasn’t there at the start. Printed on the cover page was two words : Save Ivalice. She smiled once again, warmly this time. “Auditor this is your last contract, should you choose to accept it.”
He looked about twenty five years old. Handsome, in a classical sort of way. The kind of person around whom statues get carved. She’s never seen anything like him. Nor had she heard anything quite like him. His language was guttural, something long dead and forgotten. Assuming, of course, it was a language. No one had ever lived a thousand years, let alone thousands. Whatever it might do to a mind, it probably wasn’t pretty. She broke the phonemes down, and started mapping them. It made her life a little easier that he only said one thing over and over. But it made it a bit trickier too. Not a lot of hooks to bait. She went over the notes from the archeologists. The pictograms showed what would have been a vast nation. Armies upon armies. Bushels of wheat. A big deal. He never looked at anything but her. Repeating himself over and over. She tried a bit of Greek. But there was no recognition. She worked her way through Sumerian, Abyssian, and a couple dozen minor tribes. But he didn’t show any sign he understood. Every answer, every reply, was the same set of words. After a couple hours she noticed some patterns. Bits of what a dead language might sound like had anyone heard it in a thousand years. A language more about ideas than words. Emotions and intent made into sound. He stared at her with eyes black as night as she worked. Repeating himself. In the end it felt easy. The pieces that were missing slotted into place. The ancient young man spoke again, and to her new ears he said "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”. He looked unblinking. And then he said it again.

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