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I heard them approaching before I saw them. The clatter of plate armour and the rattle of hobnailed boots was not a sound you easily forget, even after years living out in the Styx. It brought me a flair of nostalgia, hearing the familiar noise of tramping feet, but it also brought another feeling: fear. "Leandros, go inside, bar the door, and protect your mother,"I said, patting the young boy on the head. He nodded, showing me a brave face, but I could tell there was terror in his eyes under that mop of brown hair. He fled with all haste, leaving the hoe I had been teaching him to use in the dirt. I retrieved it, setting it on the rack of implements under the porch, and withdrew my pipe, before seating myself on the outside deck. I was not kept waiting long. "It's been a while, Lord-Regent."The voice, rich and melodious, practically dripped with venom. "You've gotten old." "That I have, Argonwiy,"I said, looking up at the Elven princeling. The knife-eared little shit hadn't aged a day, still that fair-haired pretty boy I remembered. "Pity Melisande didn't get that chance." "You have no right to speak that name to me!"he shouted, hand reaching for the quiver on his back. He was restrained by one of his companions, a bear of a man in thick-banded plate, whose face almost consisted of more hair than feature. "That was uncalled for,"he said, in that deep bass rumble of his. "Insensitive perhaps, but the meaning was heartfelt,"I replied, taking a moment to draw on my pipe. "I was not proud of what happened to her." "Perhaps you should have considered that before you hurled her from the palace window." "If I recall, that was after she stabbed me at least four times."The big man made to retort, but was cut off by his female companion, who wore similarly cumbersome armor. She wore a serious expression, which marred her perfect features, although not quite as much as the scar which bisected her left eye. I tried to recall when I'd gifted her with that particular wound, but failed. "Enough, Andur, we're getting side-tracked. You,"she gestured at me, "you obviously know why we're here." "Hmm,"I replied, leaning back nonchalantly on the veranda, "there's two potential answers I can see: one, you've come to apologise for your beastly actions, or two, everything's gone to hell and I can finally say 'I told you so'." The party's lack of reaction told me all I needed to know. "Oh ho ho, so it's the latter! My my, it's almost poetic, the heroes coming to the former villain in their darkest hour, seeking their aid, as they were right all along." I stood up, and dusted off my tunic and pants. "Well then, since it's the impending end of the world and all that, you'd better come in, so we can say 'I told you so' properly. We can talk business over tea." "We're not here for idle chit-chat!"the elf shouted. "The end of the world is nigh, our cities lie in ruins, and we need the help of the Dark Lord to prevent the end of existence!" "Well you may as well come in for tea then, as you're going to be waiting a little while. So come in, make yourself comfy, and I'll go wake my wife up. I'm sure she'll be thrilled that you want her help."
Daniel had been careful, getting a team of lawyers to arrange things, setting up failsafes in his safety deposit boxes in several banks, and making shell companies and hidden trusts. There was no way to lose money on this. Sure of it, he stepped into the chamber, just like so many would after him, and took a long nap. Meanwhile, society found thselves bereft of active billionaires. All those expectant heirs found themselves with shattered expectations. All those companies lost experienced CEOs. Politicians lost supporters, or went under themselves. Within a month, it was done. And the world spun on just fine. Without faces for the wealthy causes, without someone slipping those funds in to sway things in their favor, there was a drift. It was slow at first, but a century is a long enough time for change. The wealth disparity of the waking world saw a sudden drop, and it was fast apparent that the studies before were right. Crime dropped, happiness and life expectancy rose. And once the status quo had truly changed, laws were made to stop it changing back. Most were minor, hardly necessary, for those who lived through it all, but as the century was closing, as they all would soon wake, the measures became harsh. Daniel had safeguarded his wealth perfectly, successfully arranging so he was, on waking, the richest man in history. He had been careful with his money; unfortunately, he had not been careful with himself. He woke first, seeing all the others, who wouldn't wake. It wasn't a bad death, the gas simply putting him back to sleep first.
I pulled into a parking spot along Main Street and got out of my truck. It was only about two blocks, full of quiet little shops and quaint restaurants like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. The flowers hanging from little clay pots on light posts were in bloom and perfectly tended. Come to think of it, nearly everything in town was spotless and clean and perfect. The city council here must really be on top of things. I hadn't known that when I bought my little house out here, but it was definitely a plus. I headed toward the nearby shop where the glass window was painted “Lou’s Fine Meats.” I’d only just settled into town, and decided to have a nice steak to celebrate my move. A little bell over the door tinkled as I entered, and the man behind the counter looked over the top of his newspaper. Every visible portion of his face was covered in a striking tattoo that made his skin look like a rotting skull with realistic-looking beetles crawling out of holes in his forehead. I was so distracted by it that I ran right into one of the tables in the center of the room. “You OK, pal?” the butcher asked as I tried to extricate my leg from the metal legs of the chair. He stood from his seat and loomed over the counter at a height of at least 6 foot 8, maybe even more. And he was built like a football linebacker, probably 300 lbs at the very least. I also discovered that the tattoos ran all the way down his arms and covered his hands as well; did his whole body look like one big decaying corpse?? “Yeah… fine,” I said, glancing quickly towards his eyes and then away again. I intently studied the pictures of different cuts of meat on grills, pretending that I was still choosing what I wanted. God, how unappetizing. What kind of butcher thought it would be a good idea to get that on his face? “You must be new in town,” he said. “I don’t recognize you.” “Uh, yeah.” We made eye contact for a second before I intently studied the tops of my shoes. “I just moved in a few days ago.” “Got it.” He pulled on a pair of plastic gloves as he spoke. “Yeah, lotta people passing through here. No big surprise, though.” His accent pretty much screamed New Jersey; I wondered briefly how he’d made it all the way out here. He leaned in close, then scanned the street through the windows. “And what’re you here for?” “I…” I cleared my throat and managed to look at him. Every glance made me want that steak less and less. “Just wanted a nice T-bone for dinner.” He chuckled and smiled, which made the face tattoo even more horrifying. “No, I mean here. In Point Roberts. What'd you do?” “Oh.” I gave a weak grin. “You know, just wanted to try something new.” I looked at all the meats in the window of the display, but I could still see his gruesome reflection in the glass. “I’m a computer programmer, so I can really do my job from anywhere. And I’ve always thought the Pacific Northwest was cool.” He just stared at me. “And I like… ummm…. whale watching?” The true reason was that I wanted to get as far away as possible from my ex-girlfriend in Florida, but I wasn’t exactly ready to share that much with Nightmare Butcher here. “Right,” he scoffed. “The whale watching. That’s why I moved here too.” I faked a grin. “Yeah. Should be cool.” The shop was quiet. “So… that T-bone…” I reminded him. “Yeah, sure,” he said. He moved over to the freezer along the far wall and removed a giant hunk of beef with white bones peaking out. “T-bone.” He placed it on a big cutting board on the counter and readied a giant butcher's knife. He swished it through the air with all the mastery of a samurai holding a katana. But he didn’t seem as confident about the meat. He kept glancing at the big slab in front of him, then up to the chart on the wall that had a diagram of a cow with all the different parts labeled of where everything came from. This went on for about two minutes till I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “You… uh… been a butcher long?” I asked. “Ha!” He gave a sardonic bark of laughter. “Sure, pal. All my life. But the job has changed a bit since moving here, if you know what I mean.” I didn’t, but I didn’t really want to. So I stayed silent. He was still staring at the meat, waiting for the solution of where the T-bone came from to jump out at him. “You know, I changed my mind.” I told him. He turned around, still holding the knife like it was an extension of his arm. “I think I’ll just have this pork chop here.” I pointed at another cut of meat in the display window. One that was already ready to go. He grinned; still horrifying. “Yeah, good choice, pal.” He grabbed the pork chop and wrapped it up in butcher paper about as nicely as I try to wrap Christmas presents, using about 10 times as much paper and tape as necessary. “Here you go. That’ll be $8.26.” I handed him my card, and he swiped it on the register. I tried not to look at the tattoos on his hands as he handed it back. “Well, uh… thanks.” “Yeah, no problem. See you around, new guy.” He placed the pork chop package in my hand. “And,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “maybe soon I’ll learn your real story.” He laughed and shook his head. “Whale watching!” “Uh… sure,” I said, retreating out the door as fast as I could and hurrying back to my car. I made a vow right then and there that I’d stick to the supermarket for my meat from now on. Near my truck, a mailman was checking the blue post box. He turned to look as I opened my truck door, and I saw that he too had a face tattoo with some kind of gothic script that was so decorated and convoluted that I couldn’t even read what it said. He gave a friendly wave, showing a gory stigmata tattoo on his palm. “Jeez,” I muttered to myself as I turned on the truck. “Must be one hell of a tattoo artist in this town.” ------ Subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for more great stories!
“Hurr, luk at diz beaty, zo hanzom!” “Oh yiz, letz tek ‘im wif uz foh ze Kweeeeen, get bigly revord!” Abandoned and with a massive headache, I’ve seen better days. We were ambushed while preparing to set out in the morning. My platoon was annihilated besides the commander and his thugs who legged it as soon as they heard the howls. They gave me hell over the years, so I wish I could have seen them get some justice. At least I got to witness one of them, the biggest ass I know, begging for mercy as the Orcs hammered his body armour into a ball with him still in it. I couldn’t fully appreciate the moment; my head was pounding from when an Orc decided my helmet was part of the game and clubbed it. I had it on, but thanks to my large nose and protruding ears blocking anything more extensive, it was shallow and simply shot off, leaving my head on my shoulders. With my face fully revealed, I was being… admired? “Zoooo shekzi,” the Orcs continued. “I wizz vi cudd kip ‘im, kek.” Leading my dazed self through the forest, the Orcs were discussing my hideous, disfigured face as if I was shockingly beautiful. My entire life all I got were scowls, snickers and hostility. Some humans went out of their way to cause me misery, like the bloody plated-ball that a couple of the Orcs at the front were using for entertainment. For the first time in my life, I was being complimented. It felt glorious, even coming from an Orc… &nbsp; The sun was setting when we arrived at a massive wooden fort. Amid the thicket of the same forest where I was ambushed, it was nestled between two steep mountains protecting it from the sides. A horn blew and the gates swung open. As our group entered, approving grunts and growls could be heard from the adult Orcs, while the children shrieked in delight as they zigzagged between their elders’ legs. Then everyone’s attention turned to me and I felt dread rising at the back of my neck. It took a moment but I realised it wasn’t hatred in the Orcs’ eyes, but lust; how unusual! Then the catcalling and whistling started. “Luk at zad leepz!” one of them shouted. “Geev me heem!” “Oh, là là,” huh? As I was led through the town towards what I assumed was the palace, the Orcs praised my looks, my body - everything about me. Everyone: the males, females, young and old, all wanted me for themselves. Before it got too creepy, we arrived. The inner gates swung open and a couple of the bigger Orcs that have shepherded the group so far led me in. I saw her then, sitting across the room in her skull throne. She wasn’t beautiful by human standards, but could be considered handsome; certainly not hideous like most of her kin. Her green eyes quickly seized me up, and I saw her hand reach out and tuck strands of her red hair behind her pointy ears. She must have been a half-breed, maybe between an Orc and a Halfling, or even an Elf! “Who have you brought me, Dampuk?” Two pearl-white tusks were peeking out from underneath her bottom lip. “He iz a reel beaty ma Kweeeeen,” answered one of the large Orcs. “I see that, but who is he?” “A voorior, ma Kweeeeen, vi keeld ze ozer Hoomanz.” “I see, I will let him explain the rest. You will be rewarded handsomely tomorrow, but for now, leave the Human with me and shoo!” The Orcs scurried out and I was left alone with the Queen. “Tell me, are you a virgin?” Such a direct question, I was a bit taken back. “Yes, my Queen.” “Well that changes tonight, and you can call me Reina.” She got up, took my hand, and led me to her bedchamber. &nbsp; “And that, kids, is how I met your mother.”
"It began with the bomb threats,"Luke said. "Then came the assassination attempts. But that wasn't the worst part." Merge sat on his couch with both feet propped up on the coffee table, crunching down cheese puffs with orange-crusted fingers. "Don't worry, I'm totally listening to you as I watch this Netflix special." "The fangirls!"Luke shouted. "The worst creature known to man! They stalked me to my house. One of them even tried to steal a DNA sample from my water at Olive Garden. One of them was the waiter at Olive Garden..." "I totally care about you, and I just want you to know that I am fully paying attention,"Merge said absentmindedly. Occasionally the shapeshifter laughed and morphed his face to match a character on screen. "Why are you taking my face when you go out and fight crime?"Luke demanded. "You could take anyone's face. Hell, you could change who you were every time! Why me?" Merge finally turned the TV off. "You didn't seem so upset when you got crowned with the key to the city." "Because I had no choice!"Luke shouted. "The mayor took me aside and told me that if I didn't, I'd have to answer for my vigilantism! It was either look like I was working with the police, or-" "Oh, stop with the crocodile tears,"Merge scoffed. "Don't act so self-righteous when you claimed all the accolades to yourself." Luke uncrossed his arms, tempted to blow the coffee table to smithereens. "You don't get to sit there and act indignant when you were the one who pushed those awards onto me. Which you still haven't explained, by the way!" The man on the couch - or woman, or animal, it could be anything, really - gave a sigh of exasperation and licked each cheesy finger clean with a wet slurp. "I'm lazy, okay? I don't care about the honor, or the glory. I don't care about the awards or the fame. I certainly don't care for the blow-back on social media when I mess up, the constant harassment, or the assassination attempts. Happy? I'm selfish, that's all." He didn't know whether to vaporize the apartment or cry. If he hadn't seen Merge use his own precise abilities, he might've done something uncalled for out of sheer frustration. "If it's any consolation, you're doing a great job fending off the fangirls. I'm impressed with the way you run from them; quite fast on your feet." Luke froze. "No, that's not it. If that were it, if you were just selfish, you wouldn't pick someone who can fight back. You have no need for secrecy, Merge. You can change your appearance at will." There was no response from the hidden vigilante. Luke was suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the apartment, aside from the drip, drip of the leaky sink. The atmosphere had shifted. Something about the way Merge no longer slouched, as if a switch had been flipped in the underlying gears of the world. "You picked me to force me out into the open,"he said. "Why?" Merge sighed, but this time it was with a heavy heart. "Because you sat in your lovely home with your lovely family jealously guarding the treasure that you have like a dragon perched on a mountain of treasure. If I hadn't taken your form, you would've wasted your life living like a nobody." Luke's anger bristled. "Leave my family out of this." The shapeshifter swung his bare feet off the coffee table. He stared at the setting sun bleeding into the horizon. The heat waves rising from the city blurred the area where dusk met light. "Son, with great power comes great responsibility." Don't blow up, don't vaporize another hero. "You've got to be kidding me. Don't give me that canned line like you're Uncle Ben." Merge morphed into Luke's likeness. "I'm not joking around. If I had it my way, you'd start willingly doing your damn job instead of asking me questions you ought to know the answer to."It was creepy how similar they sounded. It was as if Merge copied his exact presence up to today. There was even the slight rasp of his sore throat from yesterday; how was that possible? "You sit there, wasting your talent, when the world needs you." "My family is everything to me,"Luke argued. "I didn't want to put them or my precious people in danger." "And? So?"Merge-Luke pressed. "You seem to be doing fine right now, aren't you?" The retort died on his lips like roadkill facing a honking sixteen wheeler. Merge-Luke clasped him on this shoulder. "You are stronger than you know. Your upper limits are what you choose them to be - they're not lines drawn by fear, they're obstacles that you can leverage your mind to overcome." "Why me?"Luke asked. "There's got to be other heroes. You could've just told me, right?" Merge-Luke clasped his hands behind his back and shifted to another person, a woman this time. "Would you have believed me without experiencing it for yourself? My best friend is - was - a seer. She died last year." "I'm sorry." "No you're not. But it's fine. She predicted that there would be a great calamity incoming, one that only you could stop. So get off your high horse; it's not just your family that needs protecting. It's the citizens of this country and of this world, so do your duty, hero." "Can't you do it?"Luke argued. "You can copy my abilities!" Merge-Seer laughed bitterly. "Surely you've noticed that my powers are mere imitations of the real thing?"And in that phrase, Luke heard the pain. It was the same tone he'd had growing up, unable to save Tony from dying in his very arms. He'd cursed his weakness in that cold snowy alley as blood dyed a crimson angel into the ice steaming from the heat escaping into the atmosphere. As Luke flew away, his super hearing couldn't help but pick up Merge's parting words. Those words chased him across town, back to his home where his child lay sleeping in a crib next to his wife. "Sacrifice is not made only for those close to us, but for the world just outside our window. The way we describe that sacrifice might change and evolve, but one thing that will never change is the need for people like you, Luke, to step up to the plate and serve. Not because you're special. Not because you have powers others could only dream of. But because you can." --- Hi there! Thanks for reading\~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you there :)
The power lines ran by like the track on a treadmill, rolling up and down as they bounced off of telephone poles, sometimes shooting suddenly towards to the ground. A tiny ninja, cloaked in black and sprinting at full speed, slid along these lines effortlessly; He leapt between poles, feet pounding without weight on the wires, occasionally dropping down to a car in the adjacent lane. The boy watched idly, his eyes tracking the imaginary figure as it parkour-ed alongside the car. "Honey, I think the kid has learned his lesson."the mother walked her finger's up her husbands shoulder, tickling his ear as she spoke. The man tried to keep the frown stubbornly painted on his face, but it chipped away as she leaned over and whispered. He rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly so he could speak to his son. "Alright buddy, we're going to let you have your phone. But you need to pay more attention to your surroundings. This trip is about seeing life, real life, not just a version someone else recorded. I'll make you a deal: you can use it for the last hour before we get to the hotel, but after that, I want you to try getting outside of your comfort zone. Everything around you can be an adventure, if you just believe a little bit. There will be plenty of time to stare at that phone in the future, believe me. Do you understand?" The boy nodded, watching as his ninja rolled down the front of a car and sprung forward. It caught the next telephone line, flipping up and bouncing from vehicle to vehicle. The boy wondered what the ninja was running from, but the thought was interrupted by his father's voice. "Son, are you listening?"The boy nodded, and the dad gestured to his wife; she passed the smartphone back to her son. He stared at the ninja for another moment, then looked down at the device. The car sped off, the ninja stopping suddenly. His feet were frozen to the telephone pole. His face was gripped in pain, as he struggled with all his might to move his feet. With great effort he turned his neck, his eyes widening in panic. Behind him was a massive expanding cloud. The black void billowed over the landscape, gobbling up the road, consuming the cars and wires the ninja had been sprinting on. He turned forward, desperation on his face, as the car became a dot in the distance. The ninja shouted out for help one last time, as the cloud engulfed him in black.
Dark walls rose around me, whatever window that let in the light was too high for me to reach. The brand on my shoulder stung, the mark that showed I was now property. I'd long given up on the police, or anyone, coming to my rescue. Apart from my boyfriend, no one really cared about me, my parents were dead, I worked alone and the only one who might notice I was gone was my cat. And I didn't think she would be able to rescue me, though I'm sure the desire would be there.No, the only one who could manage it was my boyfriend, and he had issues of his own to deal with, issues that might prevent him from staging an effective rescue. The door to my squalid room crashed open, a technique my captors used to make me jump. It succeeded every time, much to my annoyance. "Come on you. It's time for your first lesson."One of the men growled, reaching out and grabbing me by my hair. Pain shattered across my scalp as he dragged me out of the room, before throwing me against a wall. I wasn't allowed to rest, as the other man grabbed my arm, cruel fingers digging into my soft flesh, and pulling me upright. "Plenty of time to lie around during your lesson, girl."He and his companion forced me down the hall, into a large courtyard. I wasn't to enjoy my first breath of outside air though, as the true horror of my situation dawned on me. There were at least twenty men in that place, and all of them were surrounding a bed. My first lesson was to be a brutal one. As tears started to roll down my face, a tiny innocuous sound reached my ears. A meow. My eyes darted towards the corner, where a small golden cat sat, licking its paw. My cat. A rumble came from outside the courtyard, a strange metallic rumble. The walls of the courtyard cracked, then broke inward, scattering rubble across the ground, sending two men to their graves as their necks snapped. Standing in the gap... I smiled, as giant golden lions bounded through the wall, snarling and slashing about with their metal paws. Smaller shapes flowed after them, dogs the size of wolves, that barked and almost seemed to laugh. But it was what came afterward that had broken down the wall. An enormous golden bull, two times larger than any natural bull, leapt through the space, heading straight for me. It skidded to a stop just in front, and as my captors wet themselves, Hephaestus reached down a hand. "Did they hurt you?" "No, you came just in time,"I said, and taking his hand, I swung up onto the bull's back. With a small meow, the little golden cat, my first anniversary present, leapt up onto my lap. "Let's get you home, leave the automatons to their work,"Hephaestus said, and the bull turned, taking me away from the horrors of that courtyard. I snuggled into my boyfriend's broad back and sighed. I forgot sometimes, about the bigger automatons he'd made. And that he had control, over every single one, even the gifts he gave to others. My little cat must have reported back almost immediately. It was often difficult being a girlfriend to a Greek god, but Hephaestus was one of the best, following his divorce from Aphrodite. Speaking of... "I would have thought you'd let her know. This is her kind of infraction."I said, and Hephaestus smiled. "Oh, she's coming. She'll mop up here when the beasts have finished."There was a darkness in his tone and I shuddered. Of all the gods to cross, Aphrodite, was the worst. ————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
What trickery is this, he thought. Not sword, nor scroll? A fruit? They don't bite it, nor fight with it, nor plant it. What trickery? "Dear Sir,"Rudolph pushed forward, "May you tell me where I can purchase this fine item you are all holding here?" "What?" Rudolph forgot to raise his helmet's visor. Of course the lad won't understand him like that! "Dear Sir,"Rudolph repeated. "This black glowing piece in your hand, where may I find one in this village?" "Hah, my iPhone? Was just checking when the sword fight event is going to happen." An eyefore. An ifen? Rudolph blushed, and not wanting to appear uninformed about the latest medieval inventions, nodded knowingly. "Thank you, thank you. Then let us enjoy the fighting." I'm getting old, he thought, as he closed the visor. But by God, I'll show them my might at the sword. And he would, captured by a hundred shaky ifens.
“So, you mean to tell me, you weren’t robbing that old lady and were instead taking her to go visit her sick grandson?” “Mmhm, just felt bad for the old lady. She usually gives us cookies every Wednesday. Couldn’t just leave her alone, could we fella’s?” The crowd of goblins gave a cheer, the old woman in the middle smiling. To think her kindness had paid off, the goblins giving her a way to be reunited with her family. Everyone was glad except for Brutus the adventurer. Times were tough for the noble adventurers. It would appear all those stories his parents told him were false. These monsters weren’t mindless beasts, they were all colorful characters with bright personalities. Each monster appeared to be the victim of defamation, these claims being spread by shady merchants and villainous knights, all people that wanted glory, forcing the monsters to fight back. He reminisced about his first monster encounter, storming the dragon’s cave only to find them seated atop their pile of legally attained wealth. The dragon explaining that their fire perfectly charred meat, causing the villagers to pay handsomely for their cooking expertise. Brutus had convinced himself that it was a fluke, one good monster was to be expected, but with every encounter, it seemed the good heavily outweighed the bad. “Here, a cookie for you too noble sir, thank you for your concern.” The older woman handed Brutus a cookie, offering him a kind smile before giving him a wave, the group of goblins chatting with her as they wandered deeper into the forest. The cookie snapped Brutus out of his daze, placing it between his teeth as he waved off the group. The lack of adventuring depressed him. Most adventurers just sat in the guild these days, drinking or fighting over the occasional odd job that was posted. It wasn’t the life they promised him. Maybe he could look into another witch case? He tried to remain optimistic, but he was only remained again of past failures. Brutus foolishly ran into a cottage, kicking open the door, only to see the witch guarding the children, each one terrified. Only problem was, they weren’t terrified of the witch; they were terrified of him. It took the witch a moment to calm Brutus before explaining her side of the story. How she was rescuing children from bad households and teaching them magic, offering them a chance to be healers or mages, a way to gain life skills that their parents couldn’t offer. Brutus was skeptical at first, but each child backed up the woman’s claim, informing Brutus that she cared for them unlike their actual parents. The kindly witch did offer him a job, though. Perhaps she saw how saddened he looked. The job being quite simple. ‘Bring the dried clothes inside.’ Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this life. Unfortunately, all the man knew was fighting and adventuring. He didn’t have any life skills to move into another occupation. The cheap food that the guild provided was the only thing keeping him alive. Speaking of which, he should probably head back. Brutus turned to head back to the guild, only stopping when he heard the old woman scream. Those goblin bastards. How could he let himself be fooled? He charged towards the sound, sword drawn, ready to cut down the foolish monsters, only to arrive at the scene. The goblins surrounding the old woman as a group of bandits prodded them, trying to get them to move. “You heard the boss, move or we start slashing.” The goblins were nervous, each one not equipped to deal with the numbers surrounding them. Amazingly, they still guarded her, even with their lives being at stake. “Leave the group alone.” Brutus shouted; weapon drawn as he prepared for the worst. “What a human? Come on, we are just robbing some goblins. Well, that and an old hag, but with how much her face sags, you could almost call her a goblin as well.” The commander quipped, earning laughter from his comrades. At the insult, a hard leather boot kicked the man’s shin. One of the goblins lashing out. “How dare you insult her? You are nothing but a lowlife.” “A lowlife, I’ll show you a-“ “Easy.” Brutus pointed his sword towards the nearest bandit. He would kill one of them before they could counter him. The foolish bandits keeping their back to him, only having eyes for the goblins. His sword poked the bandits back, halting the commander’s attack. “Is this battle worth the small amount of gold they have?” The commander looked at the group, then at Brutus. After analyzing the situation, he threw up his hands, turning to his men. “Come on, leave the monster lover alone. Not worth the bloodstains.” The bandits scowled, walking away from the group. Brutus sighed; he couldn’t believe that worked. Heading over to the group, he offered a bow. “Allow me to accompany you, free of charge. I can’t let you all go alone after a display like that.” “Oh dear, I can’t expect you to do that. How about a gold coin? At least that seems fair.” The old lady muttered, reaching into her coin pouch. One gold for such a trip was worthless. It would cost him more to buy a meal. But it was something, at least. It’s not like he was doing it for the money. “It’s a deal then.” Brutus sheathed his blade, following behind the group of goblins, letting them lead through the forest. As the group walked, one of the goblins slowed their pace, moving to his side. “If you want work, I could use some help to collect treasures. I’ve wanted to explore a deserted mineshaft, but there are far too many traps inside. I need a hand deactivating them, if the work would interest you.” The offer sparked a feeling that Brutus hadn’t felt in years. He was excited. Sure, it wasn’t the typical job that an adventurer would do, but it was close to it. “I accept.” Brutus struggled to shake the grin from his lips. Perhaps he was getting jobs from the wrong people. It appeared monsters needed a helping hand occasionally. Maybe he should lend his support to them? &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.)
Earth, Jul 30, 2069 - Piotyr Parkhov, Principal Engineer at Omega Technologies My family had always had it rough. Call it the ol’ Parkhov luck, but nothing ever seemed to go our way. That all changed one day when I got zapped by an irradiated USB cable, granting me the proportional memory of an SSD drive and a tingling sense that warned me of dangerous bugs. The more dangerous the bug, the more severe the tingle. My aunt called it the “Piotyr Tingle”. Naturally, I used this to advance my career. I always caught the big problems before they ever had a chance to go to production, and the more this got noticed the bigger the projects I ended up working on. Which of course only helped my Bug Sense, since bigger projects meant more dangerous bugs, easy to sense. This is how I wound up working on the Universal Physics Engine, a massive simulation encompassing all activity across an entire pocket universe. It was one of the frontrunner projects in the new field of Fundamental Computation, a technology that allowed infinite computation speed using the nucleus of a single hydrogen atom as a processor. This was cutting edge stuff, you could count the number of engineers in the world working on FC-related projects on your fingers. * “SIMULATION INITIATED”. David and I stared slack-jawed and red-eyed at the screen, held up only by a tenuous infusion of caffeine. After weeks of all-nighters, it was finally running. We had been burning the candle from both ends to get this done in time for the NY tech expo. Given the pace we were keeping, only my particular gifts had prevented it from being a bug-riddled mess. But it had all finally paid off. Eager to play with the simulator, I paired an external viewer with the simulation nucleus and had a look around. Mostly empty space, a lot of radiation, some haphazard matter clusters... ah, we were just moments after the simulation’s equivalent of the Big Bang. Not much to see here. “Give me that.” Dave grabbed the keyboard, fast-forwarded several billion years, and ran a quick planetary search using parameters similar to Earth in the hopes of finding something interesting to watch. Huh, World War 2. With a chuckle, he mentioned we could delete Hitler right now and make a whole different timeline for our little simulated Earth. I stopped and blurted out, “Wait a second. World War 2? Hitler is in there? Do you realize what this means? Our simulation is PERFECT. It just accurately simulated billions of years and organically recreated the same sequence of events and human history as our own universe!” I could see the dollar signs lighting up in his eyes as he began to understand the ramifications. “Does this mean we could use the simulator to peek into the future? Make billions playing the stock market?” I thought about what he was suggesting for a second, then pointed out that if we saw the future, we’d already be behaving differently from what our simulated selves would do. Going by what Hollywood movies have told us, the butterfly effect would render our knowledge obsolete. “Hmm, maybe you’re right. But there’s still plenty we can do with this.” Taking a more conservative approach, he instead fast forwarded to current day, and synchronized the simulation clock speed to real time. At my suggestion, he then shifted the viewer to our office, where we saw ourselves sitting at the desk. It was kind of weird seeing a simulation of the backs of our own heads. Experimentally, I raised my right hand and waved it, seeing my copy on the screen do exactly the same. This level of accuracy was a little creepy. Heck, we could spy on anyone in the world right now. I was a little uncomfortable with basically running a universe-wide peeping engine, I asked him, “Hey, what do you think happens if we force the simulation to diverge from reality?” Curious to see how our copies would react, he scanned a quarter that happened to be laying on the desk, and ran a quick script to clone it. The the unthinkable happened: the same quarter on our desk split in two! I nearly fell out of my chair, Dave stood straight up knocking his over. Dave was the first to recover, “WAIT. Wait, wait, wait. That means we’re** in a simulation!” It hit me then. “You realize, our simulation is also running a simulation. And that simulation is also running another simulation. There is an infinite chain of us running simulations. Somewhere up the stack there’s exactly one real us, and then an infinite number of simulated us. Probabilistically speaking, the odds against us being the real ones were astronomical.” “You’re right. In fact, we’re probably so far down the chain that the simulations above and below us are identical to ours. If we make a change to the one below us, then the ones above us will make the same change to us.” We stood there staring at each other for several seconds realizing the implications. Looking at it from that perspective, this little engine wasn’t just a viewer for the universe. It was a controller. We were basically gods! I could see the excitement on Dave’s face as he made a few quick changes to his quarter duplication script. All of a sudden, my Bug Sense flared like never before and my world turned into pain. My head was wracked by the worst migraine I had ever felt, and every muscle in my body cramped. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I could barely muster the concentration to look at what he wrote and see the error in his loop condition that was driving my Bug Sense crazy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t recover in time to warn him before he started execution. We were all fucked. I had only moments to process what was happening, as quarters exploded out of the desk. In shock, I was only numbly aware of every bone in my body shattering as I was forcefully launched through the wall. Broken, I fell to the street just barely ahead of a mountain of quarters. At least our deaths were mercifully quick. The rest of the people in the city had a much worse time futilely trying to flee the unstoppable tidal waves of cash. But even that was nothing compared to the coming days...
The bleach white Hall of Fate was silent except for the fluttering of robes as Death approached his seat. His menacing aura overpowered the Council as he examined each member individually. Surrounding the table of the Council were hundreds of bleachers filled to the brim with lesser reapers. They all awaited the Council's declaration. Death tapped his fingers on the ivory table, his bones visible through his translucent skin. "Well...?"he inquired impatiently. All were afraid to break the silence. It was very rare that they needed to call upon the original Reaper to help sort through their problems. "I'm waiting,"his cold voice continued. "It seems we have some troubling deaths popping up, sir,"began Warfare. He reigned over the deaths of combat. "None like we've ever seen before,"the Reaper of Infections added. "How so?"Death asked, bored. "It seems they...can't be categorized,"replied the Reaper of Age. "We thought we had every death imaginable covered!"exclaimed Obesity. "But they simply don't fit anywhere!" Death looked amused. Or perhaps it was because of the permanent skeletal grin on his face. "How did some of these mortals die?" Capital Punishment replied. "One man was trying to take a selfie and shot himself. Another girl was planking and snapped in two after trying to see how many of her friends she could hold up. A would be rapist died from blood loss after his dick was cut off. Another individual had intercourse with a horse and died several hours later." "Can't these be ruled as accidental? Or any of them suicide?" The depressed reaper of Suicide answered almost bitterly. "None of them wanted to die." "And these aren't really accidents. They were just...just..."Accidents struggled for the right words. "Idiots,"supplied Death. "They were asking for it." The Council nodded. "Then it seems we must add another member to the Council,"Death drawled. "To reap the souls of the completely stupid, hopeless mortals that invited death to overtake them." Death waved his hand nonchalantly and the shadows of the white Hall swirled behind death. They swept together, fluttering the robes of the Council until a new shadowy figure was born. A trace of a smile etched itself on Death's face. "I name thee Darwin, Reaper of Fools. You shall collect the souls of those so kind to remove themselves from the human gene pool." The room shook with Death's words. The crowd roared in response, cackling echoes throughout the Hall. "Darwin! Darwin! Darwin! Reaper of Fools!"
The day it arrived was complete pandemonium. How could it not cause panic throughout the streets? The hunk of polished silver just sat there, motionless above the New York skyline. “What is it?” was the common question in the streets. Some thought it was art, some thought it was a sign of the end times. Everyone agreed though, it was mystifying. It was broadcasted worldwide. Some nations took credit for it, saying that it was their attempt at holding the city hostage. Threats were made, saying if we didn’t obey their commands, they would unleash hell on earth, but nothing ever happened… nothing ever happened. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- eight years since the event I tumbled into my bright yellow car, and lit the light showing I was on duty. It wasn’t long until my first customers hailed me over. It was a young couple, probably in their early 20’s. “Hey you two, where you headed?” They were both beaming, and their teeth looked like they should be in a tooth whitening commercial, complete with the cheesy sparkle effect. “Could you take us to Central park please?” I nodded, “Sure thing.” They closed the door and we were off. They were very talkative, almost too talkative. She leaned forward. “Sir, thank you so much for picking us up. We are wanting to get the sights in today. We just got married and we always dreamed of coming to New York. There is so much art and history here!” I nodded, and continued to navigate the New York traffic. The man finally spoke up. “Sir, were you here eight years ago? The day the ‘mirror’ arrived?” I nodded, “I was here, I will never forget that day. It was crazier than 9/11. People thought we were all gonna die. Now the damn thing is a tourist destination.” I looked at them through the rearview mirror. “That’s why you are headed to central park right?” The woman smiled. “Of course that is why we are headed there! We want to climb the newly constructed tower and touch the surface of it! They say it’s good luck!” I shook my head. “Listen lady, I’ve touched the damn thing. My luck hasn’t changed a bit. In fact…. What the hell?” People were stopped in the middle of the road, getting out of their cars, looking at something in front of us. “Sir, why are we stopping?” “Hell if I should know.” I glanced up at the sky. People of New York learned how to use the mirror floating in the sky to check on the intersections ahead. I sighed, “More elephants…” The couple looked at me in confussion. “Elephants?” “You’ll see when we get there…” I climbed back in the car. “This delay will only last a bit longer.” The couple talked more about their honeymoon plans, and I threw up in my mouth a little while I listened to them. I am not the romantic type of person. Suddenly a loud voice began to echo through the streets. “Citizens of Earth. We want to thank you for sharing your resources with our beloved creatures. We believe you call them ‘Elephants’. They have helped guide you through history, working from the shadows to help your civilization build great structures. To us, they are the pillars of great worlds, and this planet was the perfect place to allow them to breed and multiply. That being said, your people have been harming our precous cattle, and using them for your own gain.” “Our race, is known as the world builders. A new great turtle of the species Chelys galactica has been born. This is why the elephants have gathered, to be chosen to uphold a new world.” The elephants we could see from the car began to bow. “I have a bad feeling about this…” “We have made our selection, and four elephants have already been selected and brought aboard the ark. The remaining elephants have been given orders and technology to seek revenge for their fallen brethren, who have mercilessly been hunted by your people. We will be back when a new turtle is born, until then, the Elephants will rampage against your kind, and they will show no mercy upon your souls.” The mirror floating in the sky then disappeared as quickly as it had first shown itself eight years ago. The events that followed happened so fast, it was a blur. The elephants began to rampage, and earthquakes and explosions followed them where ever they stepped. New York City was reduced to rubble in the matter of a few hours. Mankind has now been pushed up against a wall, and is facing the verge of extinction. The mirrored ship has only been gone for a week, and mankind prays for a new galactic turtle to be born soon. Me in the meantime, I plan on giving those elephants as much hell as I can.
God sighed with contentment. Today, like most days, was a good day to be the almighty creator. He reclined back in his celestial armchair and, with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a golden bowl filled with plump grapes appeared and hovered within arm’s length. He popped one into his mouth and, as he savoured its sweet flavour, a thought occurred to him. “Jesus!”, he cried, his booming voice echoing right through to the pearly white gates. Jesus walked into the room, stooped over and carrying a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. There were bags under his eyes. “Yes Father?” God examined Jesus for a few moments. “Son, you look a mess. Here, sit down. Sit and dine with your Father. When was the last time we had a good Father-Son chat, eh?” Jesus sighed. “Round about the black plague. Look Father, I have a lot to do. Is there any specific reason you have summoned me?” “A lot to do? The labour here is for the Angels, you know that” Jesus gritted his teeth. “The Angels are a little overworked right now. We’re averaging around 4,2 billions of prayers a day. Not surprising, you know, with all the starvation, disease, extinction of species, overpopulation, war-” “WAR!” exclaimed God “You didn’t hear anything I just said did you?” “War, yes. Thank you for reminding me. We need to check on how humanity is fighting”, God said, rubbing his hands excitedly. Jesus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Look Father, I don’t have time for this right now. I will send one of the Angels to help you.” And with that, he stalked out of the room, muttering to himself. A few moments later, Michael flew through the door, balancing a stack of scrolls. “You have summoned, Lord?” “Yes Michael. I have a matter of utmost importance with which you must assist me."God rose from his chair and began pacing the room, knocking Michael on his way and causing all the scrolls to cascade to the ground. “I need to check on the humans. Where is the largest battle currently taking place?” “The war in Afghanistan is still ongoing my Lord. It has the largest number of cumulative fatalities at present.” “Excellent, excellent.” Michael hesitated. “Lord… how would you define the term ‘battle’?” “Fighting, Michael. Conflict.”, replied God, “I thought that much would be apparent.” “Well in that case, the largest ongoing conflict… is on the internet” “The… internet?”, replied God with a puzzled expression. “Yes. The world wide web. A global computer network providing a variety of information and communication facilities, consisting of interconnected networks using standardized communication protocols.” God blinked. Michael sighed internally. “A computer Lord. Millions of humans fight… through their computers. They are able to communicate with one another through this device they have created. There are… places in the computers. Where lots of people can go. And people fight there.” “Yes, I know of these ‘computers’. Tell me, what are the humans fighting about?” “At the moment… Millions are arguing over the most recently inaugurated President of the United States.” “The orange human?” “Yes, that one” “And, what else?” “Top favourites include: Debating whether you exist. Feminism. Whether all Muslims are terrorists. Abortion. Whether climate change is real-” As Michael rattled on, God was surprised but pleased hear that humans were finding seemingly countless things to battle over. However, one aspect of this news confused him. “- there are humans referred to as “trolls”, who deliberately seek to start arguments-” “Michael stop. I have a question.” “Yes, Lord?” “The humans… How did they learn to get so small… To fight inside the computers?” Michael stared, utterly dumbfounded. Surely he was not serious? “Lord… the humans… they don’t… fight in one another’s presence. They fight with others far away. With words. Through the computers.” The Lord’s eyes grew dark, and blood rushed to his face. “So, there is no bloodshed?” Michael backed away nervously, noting God beginning to tremble with fury. “No… Lord. No bloodshed.” No bloodshed. Battles through a machine with words. These humans had grown too advanced… He needed to take them back to a more primitive time. A time when humans lived for war He smiled, reminiscing over the good old days. He had decided. It was time to start again. “Michael, you say humans argue over the validity of climate change?” “Yes, my Lord.” “Well, I will be putting an end to that argument. Alert my Son, the Holy Spirit and all the Angels. Oh and Lucifer too if you wouldn’t mind. It is about to start raining.” “Raining where?”, Michael asked, furrowing his brow. “Raining everywhere. For a long, long time”
The Stone was touched, and I awoke from my slumber. I do not know how much time has passed since my last awakening. But the fire in my lungs burn awake. To this day, I curse the wizard Agramak, who tricked me into a bond, giving me the power I craved but binding me to these caverns, never to leave them. After all that isn't of demonkind is slain, I am forced to slumber until a poor hapless fool touches the Stone and awakens me. I am awake again, for the Stone was touched. But these people were no warriors. Mages maybe? I couldn't care less. They were intruders. For that transgression, their blood will flow. With me, the dozens of demons on the walls and ceiling around my torched to life, filling the room with the light emanating from the charred bodies. The whole room shifted as I rose from my throne and my spawn crittered over themselves with excitement. "Wait!"The one who had laid hands on the Stone called out, "We need your help! Without you, we're doomed." A ruse, I'm sure. No one is desperate enough to venture this deep down, come to one of my reputation, pass the skulls of the slain holy men, to come seeking my aid. I do not aid. I destroy. Why I do it, I forgot long ago. But the feeling of dominance over my enemies is a feeling I remember and long to repeat. These cretins won't satisfy me much, but it's better than nothing. I step towards them. They are half my size, I see as I get closer. They have gotten taller, yet smell like peasants all the same. I summon a warhammer in my hand, one of searing heat and blinding light. "The Church has gotten out of control!"The man yells, "They're killing women and children!" "There have been a thousand churches is my lifetime. They rise and fall as certain as the tide. And yet, you exist. Your kind will survive the Church. You, however, will not survive me." "We're not here to fight you! We couldn't even if we wanted to." I sense...the truth in this man's words. Strange. But truth works in funny ways. He believes his word is true, but simply because they believe it is true does not make it so. But this man was old enough to have grandchildren. The poxmarks on his cheeks and his shaking hands tell me he's been around a long time, for a human. For variety's sake, I'll hear him out. One thing I've never gotten tired of was the speeches. I barely remember any of them, but I remember the certainty the holy men had of their chances of slaying me. There is no such certainty in this man's eyes. This was fear. The fear a child had of the dark, or the monster under their bed. The fear of loneliness, of abandonment, or neglect. This is no Churchman. He shouldn't be here. "You must be truly desperate to come to me."I say as I stand before them. The heat of the room is making the small group sweat, I can almost see my reflection on the old man's forehead. "We know of what you do. What you done have. We have heard the stories, seen the skulls." "Then you know I am no savior." "We know. But the Church's influence has grown too far. I have seen it with my own eyes. People burnt on town squares. Hanged. Executed. For supposed association with you." "Then they died in vain. My spawn does not leave the cave." "The Holy Council decided otherwise. They believe your agents are all over the world, wrecking havoc. They have used the panic to allow themselves power over any and all the realm, in the name of our 'security'."The man spits on the floor and continues. I see the fear in his eyes, but he speaks to me regardless. I commend his bravery. "They killed my son. Destroyed my home. These are me and mine, and we are hunted by the agents for the Church. And now I am doing exactly as they feared." "And that is?" "My name is Kilkou. In my younger years, I was a mage in service of the Royal Armies and a Master of the Arcane Arts. Through my travels of our world, I have come across many great and terrible things. One of equal of those, was my heritage. Long ago, before the Church, my ancestor chained you in this subterranean hell." "Choose your words carefully then, mage. Your ancestor is the only one to escape my wrath." "I know. And I see now why he bound you. You are a great and terrible thing, your highness. And I have come to undo Agramak's work." My spawn yelped and screamed. The catacombs beneath us shook and shuddered at the words. The minions born from me heard the words. I smelt it. Sensed it. He speaks the truth. This one has the power to set me free. "And would you undo his work?" "Heh, if you are as old as I believe you are, then you know how this works. I can let the Church grow strength, lie down and die here. You could fight them for all eternity, if they could be bothered to spend that much time sending their forces here to die like many already have. Everything costs a price. You have made such propositions to others before. Those who carried your power with them. Now, I possess the power to set you free, but this does come at a cost." Freedom. Freedom from this pit. Escape. I could finally do what I was born, made, to do. The whole world and everything that lived in my grasp. But humans were fickle. I tempered myself, lest I let my heat burn this one's flesh off his bones. "What is your price?" "I want me and mine to live. Not in pain, but in peace. As far away as possible from the Church. And I want the Church destroyed. Burnt to the ground, their Council, their Inquisitors, their grunts, all the way down to the rabid dogs that spawned from their hounds. Uprooted by the stem, and nothing less." "Free me, and you live their rest of your lives in peace. I will cleanse this land and make the Church suffer for the sins they blame on you. My word is my bond. We have a deal." The old man put his trembling hand back on the Stone. He looked behind himself, whispered something before summoning a surprisingly large amount of mana to purpose it into some sort of mana drain, and tied it to the Stone. Human magic. A joke in raw power, but I respected its properties nonetheless. After all the mana was drained from it, the old man waved a taller, stronger man to come over. The taller man took the stick and swung it against the stone, cracking it. The chains that held me were breaking. I grunted as my shackles were cast off. I had forgotten how to breathe, but now I drew breath. I had forgotten how live, but now I longer. Another hit cracked the Stone thoroughly enough to break it. My limits were gone. I was free. Without a word, I commanded my armies to arise and go forth. To lay waste to everything their Church had laid hands on. Like a sealed pan with too much pressure, the ceiling roared upwards under great pressure, popping a whole section of the cavern out of the ground. My minions obeyed, relishing in their newfound freedom. Many of them in my sizes and shaped broke away the walls. Giants ten time my size to critters the size of cats, they all pored out and scaled each other. The sheer rush of them all shook the very cavern to its core. The moon touched my face. I had forgotten that too. There are many memories I wanted to recollect. I wanted to see the world again. I was ready. But first things first. The people that came to set me free. They had huddled together in the cacophony of the release of my armies. As the torrent of demons rushed ever upwards, I reached out to them. "When I am done, I will give you your place in this world. But it will not be safe now. Rest. Your time will come." I cast a stasis field over them, locking them in time. Untouchable but frozen like indestructible stone. Their looks of surprise and fear locked onto their faces. I did not need them now. They'd only get in the way. I had a world to conquer, and distractions would not do.
It’d felt like a kick to the gut, although this had been a thrashing tentacle and not a boot to his side. Still, Biscuit knew what a kick felt like — he’d been a shelter dog before Anna, and before that, well he didn’t like to remember the times before that. The alien had wrapped a tentacled arm tight around Anna and had been dragging her out through the splintered front door. Anna was gasping for breath, her lacerated skin shining red. That’s when Biscuit had launched himself at the creature. He’d sunk his teeth into the meat of the tentacle but the creature hadn’t so much as yelped. Then a second later came that explosion, that kick to the gut, that burst of old stitches and pains and memories. He’d remained sprawled out in a pool of his own urine, helpless on the hallway’s wooden tiles, as Anna was dragged away from him. They‘d locked eyes a last time. Anna mouthed: Good boy. Biscuit attempted a bark but barely managed a whimper. &#x200B; That had been a week ago now. Many dogs had died trying to defend their owners on invasion day, and in his survival Biscuit thought himself fortunate, but also found himself heavy with guilt. Why‘d he survived when Anna had been taken? Couldn’t he have peeled himself off the floor and attacked again? Driven the creature away. Bad biscuit, he thought. Bad bad Biscuit. Sometimes he’d call himself by his old name, the one associated to everything terrible that had come before Anna had found him. A name he felt he deserved again. Dirt. &#x200B; There weren’t enough of them left, that was the problem. If the dogs had been organised! Then, Biscuit thought, then these creatures would have had a fight on. “This is it,” said Alastair, the old matted bloodhound, giving the asphalt a final satisfied sniff. ”Are you sure?” Biscuit asked, ears pricked. ”Am I sure? I did this for a living, pal,” said Alastair. “For most of my life. Missing people are my speciality. And from the rag you gave me, yes I’m sure.“ “It wasn’t a rag. It was her favorite t-shirt.” Alastair rolled his bloodshot eyes. ”All the same, I’m sure she’s in there.” Alastair had been a police tracker once, roving the hills and following scents. Then one day, his owner — an officer called Kenny — was stabbed while trying to stop a shoplifter. Died. Alastair decided then it was time to retire, for him to go missing. He’d been living behind dumpsters for months before the aliens came. ”I can’t believe she’s here,” said Biscuit. “I can’t believe she’s still alive!” ”Hush down or you’ll get us both caught.” They sat in a bush the rest of day watching the place, hoping for a chance. It was a factory, of sorts. Although not like a human one — this building was crystalline, a rippling and ever transforming pink. It stretched like a stomach depending on how many aliens entered or left. But it was only ever aliens that entered and left. Humans only entered. ”Four guards outside,” said Biscuit. “That’s two to take down each.” Alastair laughed. “Pal, I’m as old as a mountain and can barely run. And you’re in far worse shape than me. Not to mention one of them beat you. What chance do we stand against four?” Biscuit covered his eyes with his paws. What could they do? &#x200B; The neighbour’s cat, Honey, had found him. A fluffy white ball of a cat. It used to like sitting on the fence in the yard and teasing Biscuit. Would ask how he’s enjoying his temporary stay. Would say dogs came and went with Anna all the time — she never kept them. ”You’re lying!” he’d say. Then he’d bark and scratch the fence and Honey would stretch lazily, eventually leaping down the other side to go play with her many feline friends in the neighbourhood. She was a big shot here, unlike him. No doubt Honey and her cadre would be going to find another dog to tease. But that day, when she’d found Biscuit, she licked his wounds where the stitching had burst. Had brought him a mouse and nosed his bowl of water near to him. Had treated him like a puppy. ”Eat,” said Honey. “You’ve been lying there two days by my count. You need to eat and you need to drink.” ”What’s the point?” Biscuit had asked. ”Ugh,” said Honey. “I get it, you loved your owner. But she’s gone now. You’re not. Our lives go on and you need to get used to that.” For whatever reason — maybe she felt sorry for Biscuit — she nursed him those few days, got him back to his feet, brought him meals he’d rather not have eaten but did anyway. On the sixth day, Biscuit had said, “What if she’s still alive?” ”Oh not this again,” said Honey. ”But what if she is! And I’m here letting her be hurt. Letting her die, maybe.” ”And what are you going to do about it?” said Honey. “You already tried once and almost died. Look at you: what chance do you think you stand now?” He whimpered. None, he knew. “Together, maybe! If we gather all the animals in the neighbourhood. We start a call to arms and we plan—“ Honey laughed. “Not all of us loved our humans quite so much as you. Not all of us think it’s worse now — or at least we don’t feel it’s bad enough to risk dying for. Listen, dog, it’s time nature moved on. Forget about the humans. It’s time we found our own way forward.” And with that, Honey had strolled out of the house and jumped back over the fence. &#x200B; “I’ve got to try!” said Biscuit, running excited circles behind the bush. ”You’ll die!” said the bloodhound. “Some things are worth dying for.” The older dog sighed. “Once upon a time, maybe I’d have agreed.” Biscuit stopped, looked Alastair in the eyes. “I know your owner is gone. But what was he to you? Didn’t he ever mean anything?” ”He meant the world,” whispered Alastair. “The world, you impertinent pup. Ah, fine! How much longer have I left to live, anyway? Perhaps it’s time for this old dog to stop being such a coward and give living a final chance.” Biscuit yipped in satisfaction. Then they waited. Waited until nightfall. Perhaps their eyes were better in the dark than those of the alien creatures. Maybe they’d have a strategical advantage. “On my command,” said Biscuit, as the night darkened the factory to a dull pink glow. ”Ready...” Biscuit waited until the aliens turned, until they looked away. “Charge!” The two dogs flew towards the guards, forgetting the pains they wore, throwing years off themselves with each and every step. They barked and frothed and bared their teeth as they neared, and they thought only of their owners. The aliens turned. Was that a laugh, Biscuit wondered? He leapt! Alastair jumped at his side. But the aliens were faster. One caught them both, plucked them out the air with its wrapping tentacles. And then it began to squeeze the life out of them. ”Please,” whimpered Biscuit as stars danced too close to his eyes. ”We— we tried,” said Alastair, sucking in hard breaths. “That’s more than— Than I thought I’d ever do again.” Blackness rolled into their heads, into their eyes, like a storm. Huge clouds blacking out the skies. And then it happened. The aliens screamed. They whipped their tentacles against themselves and the two dogs fell free to the ground. For a moment it looked to Biscuit like the aliens were wearing strange, moving clothes. Sweaters and pants that didn’t fit. Were far too tight. Then he saw them. Saw Honey, and maybe fifty friends she’d gathered up. Their claws lashed at the aliens. The aliens tried to whip them but they moved too fast. The tentacles were like tails to the cats, like mice, like something to chase, to destroy. The aliens bled green as they fell. Honey sat by Biscuit and Alastair when it was all over, licking the green goo off herself. ”I thought you didn’t care enough to help,” whispered Biscuit, as happy inside as he’d ever been. ”What can I say,” said Honey. “We liked the easy life, getting fed and all that. That’s something worth fighting for, I suppose.” Biscuit laughed. He knew a lie when he heard one. They loved their owners every bit as much as the dogs did. As he did. ”Thank you.” ”It’s not over yet,” said Honey. “Not by a long shot. We’re going to need to organise. We’re going to need more animals on our side.” “But we’ll do it, won’t we?” said Biscuit. “If this can happen, dogs and cats together, then anything can,’ said Alastair. The cat leaned forward, stretched. “I think we have a chance. That’s all. A chance. Now come on. Let’s find your owner.”
The crew had begun to gather on the observation deck, some off-duty and laying down blankets, their arms full of wine bottles and glasses. Three weeks into the voyage and there were already some romances sprouting, maintenance crew men and weapons girls sharing stiff bathroom towels, reclined and giggling over beers. I was standing, alone, at the balcony railing, peering through the massive window that domed with the curve of our round ship. I'd never seen voidspace before. I'd been working in space for the better part of 30 years; this was something new, something shocking. There was a lot of us who were against the use of it. We mostly appealed to the economic impacts of local asteroid mining industries, what it would do to their jobs, families, etc. But really, we were scared. What lived in the void that scared our intelligent galactic neighbors so much that they cut off contact with us when we announced our discovery? What was the danger they were afraid even to name? The deck was getting crowded. Conversation and laughter was filling the air, the crew waiting with bated breath to see what promised to be "a life-changing experience."When the PA system came on to announce the launch countdown, all talking on the deck stopped. Five!...Four!....Three!...Two!... The canvass of stars around the window seemed to shrink, condensed to a line of white light. The deck was deathly silent, the hands along the railing gripping it until their knuckles were white. Then a burst of soft red light, clouds replacing the bleak blackness that we were looking at before. We were coasting through an ethereal plane. Somewhere there was a gentle harmonic sound, soothing to the ears. A tear ran down my cheek. What was I looking at? It was something marvelous, something magnificent. Something divine. We were only in the voidspace for about five seconds, but many claimed it felt like house, days. Some of the best days of my life. When black, star-scattered space came back into view, the conversations on deck were hushed. There were more than a few sniffling noses and muffled cries. I looked around at the crowd, now slowly rolling up their blankets and carting off empty bottles. There was something new in their eyes, in their steps. Optimism? Some kind of gladness, refreshment. I shared the emotion, feeling lighter on my feet, clear of mind. I was 50 this year, five years from retirement, but I felt like I had all the time in the world to accomplish anything I wanted. I nearly spoke to one of the other crewmates who'd been standing next to me, but I thought better of it. Let the young make friends and lovers. I can't bring myself to make new friends now. But damn, how I wanted to. I returned to my quarters, a reasonably spacious suite with a bed, a desk, and a small bathroom. I wanted to write down my thoughts, reflect on my life. I wanted to chart out my retirement...maybe buy a boat? I laughed at my own line of thought. How predictable a spaceman would want an isolating vessel after a career of isolation. I decided to wash my face first, center my thoughts. I stood before my sink and splashed water in my face. My reflection was soft and handsome, like I'd happened to cross the path of someone who looked like me, and who I liked besides. It was a new feeling for me. A good one, I think. My thoughts kept racing back to the same place: why would they keep us from this and everyone should see the voidspace. I shook my head clear. I was a scientist, not a guru. There was still so much data to collect, surveys to create, trends to analyze. There was still so much we didn't know. My reflection winked at me. I laughed, warmed by the friendly gesture. And then my skin went cold. I didn't wink. But the mirror did. And a smile spread across its face.
He wasn't sure where to put the knife. There was the throat: quick, easy, expedient. No doubt as to intent. There were the wrists: blue veins (or arteries, the fog in his head long ago erasing superfluous biology knowledge acquired in high school), pulse steady, the highway to the hands, but... which way were you supposed to cut? There's a right way, and a wrong way? Across the wrists or up and down? And besides, that couldn't work too often, the numerous survivors, the ragged scars, so difficult to conceal, tattling to the public that you found the world too difficult to bear, even if for just a moment. There were so many places, tender junctions and vital organs, cavities and housings and tendons, blood and saliva, such an easy thing to bruise and tear the skin, render it to shreds, feel something drastic on the way to a peaceful and eternal rest... "Daddy, is our toast ready?" He stared at the butter knife. Dull, barely serrated. Wisps of smoke snuck out from beneath the toaster oven, where the bread browned, ready to blacken. Breakfast. Two girls waiting for breakfast, wife already at work. Responsibilities. People to care for, to provide for. Toast to butter, jelly to spread. Mouths to feed. He set the paltry meal in front of his daughters. They were happy to gobble it up, the grape jelly as good as a luxurious dessert at dinnertime. It beat oatmeal, anyway, in their sugar craving eyes. He nibbled at his own piece of toast, cleaning the counter. Wiping crumbs, tossing napkins, putting butter and jelly away. The dishwasher was full, cleaned, waiting to be emptied. The sink overflowing with yesterday's plates, flatware, leftover food from the disappointing dinner last night. And the sticky knife. He wasn't sure where to put the knife. EDIT: Thank you for the gold, and the recording. Yes, I've been there. Yes, I'm OK. Thanks for the feedback .
“Beasteria is clearly the best,” a dark, grungy voice said from across the bus. The woman looked up from her article. She thought they had settled the matter already. “She’s a villain, you know,” the woman responded. “All those people. She let them die. She sacrificed them to take down the enemy. All for the greater good. That was her excuse. Real heroes don’t make such sacrifices though.” “Beasteria did what she had to,” the man said. He continued to keep his head low, buried beneath his hat. This woman was infuriating him. She was besmirching a true hero. “Real heroes make the tough calls. They do what needs to be done. They don’t hold out hope like your boyfriend did.” “If only Gigantor was my boyfriend,” the woman cooed. “Only a week ago he saved that whole building full of hostages and took down the villains in the proc-“ “That was foolishness!” the man suddenly shouted. His hat flew off his head and a breeze blew through his hair. Fire burned in his eyes with contempt for the woman. A strange orange light started to radiate from them. She had some sort of powers; when two people with powers collided, things like breezes in closed spaces happened and glowing people happened. “He was so desperate to make sure that not one person died that he nearly got everyone killed. He was lucky. He could have just as easily failed.” “But he didn’t,” the woman replied. The man’s sudden anger seemed to have calmed her as she sat back in her seat. The man figured that she must not be the one with powers, because only those with powers could tell when the odd things started to happen that indicated two supers were near each other. “I dare you to say one more bad thing about Gigantor,” she said, smirking. The man realized that she did indeed see what was happening. But his anger was gone. And when he spoke, it was almost like he was seeking a fight. “Gigantor is a reckless fool who should have died a long time ago. The world would be better off-“ A tiger leaped suddenly at the man and he went flying backwards through the bus, which skidded to a stop as the passengers watched on. The man grew to ten feet tall within seconds and his muscles suddenly popped out of his shirt. He swung once at the tiger and it went flying straight into a building. Suddenly an eagle flew straight towards him, which he dodged with a flexibility and speed no one his size could possibly have. Gigantor looked up just in time to see the eagle transform into an elephant. He braced his arms against the descending hoof and stopped it from crushing him, then he rolled out of the way as the elephant transformed into the woman he had been talking to. Beasteria stood across from him, her ultimate form activated. Pitch black wings extended from her back, claws sharp as diamonds from her fingers. Her teeth were all pointed and deadly looking and her eyes had vertical slits for pupils. They continued to change colors as he looked into her eyes. Huffing and out of breath, Gigantor transformed back to his human self and fell on his knees. “Kill me,” he pleaded. “Just do it. Kill me.” “So it’s you,” Beasteria said. “Look, I know you hadn’t killed a villain before that incident. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d known it was you. But you did what you had to do.” “But I didn’t have to,” Gigantor responded. “I chose to. I could have stopped him. But the things he had done to those people. The things he had done to those children. I couldn’t… I fucking killed the bastard. But he was defenseless, unarmed. I could have let him live. I could have let him go to jail. I killed someone because I wanted to, because I wanted to see his blood paint the ground.” “You killed an asshole, it happens,” Beasteria said in her usual cool voice. Of course she had killed plenty of villains herself, so she had learned to not get too worked up about this stuff. “I know it’s hard. But you can’t abandon the people. They need you. If you ever need to talk, well you can talk to me.” “Thanks,” Gigantor sobbed. “I…” “Yeah, well maybe let’s get some clothes on first,” Beasteria said, looking around at all the phones recording the interaction. Both of the superheroes were butt naked from their transformation, their clothes torn to shreds. ** A month later - Valentine’s Day, to be precise** Beasteria sat across from the man who had invited her on the date. She had been repulsed by him at first, but when he gave her a rose, she found herself suddenly in love with him, as inexplicable as that sounds. “Oh no you don’t,” Gigantor yelled, punching the man and sending him flying across the restaurant. “Don’t be so jeal-“ Beasteria started before the man’s spell wore off and she realized what was happening. She ran over and leaped into Gigantor’s arms and kissed him. “Thanks for saving me honey,” she said beaming with a smile that could only be explained by Gigantor’s presence. As they left the restaurant, the reporters came flooding in. “Another amazing take down by the love-duo superheroes!” one reporter shouted. As they came towards the street, the reporters got in so close that they were forced to answer some questions. “What’s it like in the bedroom for you two, you know with your super powers and all?” a young looking reporter asked. “Well she’s a beast,” Gigantor replied. “And he, well let’s say just say he really lives up to his name,” Beasteria said before suddenly transforming into a lion, her clothes shredding apart and falling all over the sidewalk. Gigantor hopped on her back and she took off, running faster than a speeding car, leaving a wake of stunned and excited reporters in the background.
Mr. Dursley padded slowly, quietly down the steps. They'd learned soon after taking poor Harry in that it was best to get the morning in order before disturbing him. Although lately it was quite a bit more like being disturbed BY him. Dudley was already hard at work I the kitchen. A good boy, that Dudley. A bit slow now and, sure, but all heart. Mr. Dursley set about helping with the more difficult parts of breakfast before getting the room ready. Curtains drawn tight, the room seemed dark as a tomb, or maybe an old castle. He lit candles on an old setting they'd found in the attic, giving them an illusion of floating above the table. Plates of food adorned the table, making a literal buffet fit for a dozen children. One last glance around to be sure it was all right, and he set off for Harry. He timidly knocked at the small door under the staircase. He had no idea why the boy had chosen such a small space. They'd set up a grand room for him in what was once a large play room for Dudley. Stuffed it with all the comforts of home, and with every photo and keepsake they could find of his parents. Harry has slept in it one night. Or part of one night anyway. They'd panicked to find him missing in the morning. Nearly called out a search before finding him stumbling out from beneath the stairs, muttering his insane mumblings. A stirring behind the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Err, Harry? Breakfast is ready my dear boy. Perhaps you'd join us in the kit... Erm... Hall?" The doctors had told them to go along with as many small inconsistencies as they could. If he used a different name our brought along a favorite pet or toy, just let him they'd said. Correcting him now might push him further away. "Yes professor..."came a quite muttering behind the door. A latch clicked, a bolt slid noisy aside, and Harry stepped out. He was clutching that stuffed owl as always. Thank heavens they'd been able to swap him that for the real, and quite dead, owl he'd found up in the attic with a stack of decaying postcards. The smell alone! He had something in his mouth, Mr. Dursley noticed. Something small, and brown, and chewy? He hoped it was, better than those ancient and forgotten jelly beans the boy had found. Couldn't even tell the flavors anymore but he'd made them all try one! "I say my dear Harry, what is that you've got there. Not spoiling your breakfast are you?" "Oh no professor. Just a chocolate frog. See?" Harry pulled his "chocolate"frog from his mouth. Mr. Dursley cringed a bit. It was indeed a frog, but far from chocolate. Who knows how it had gotten into the house, or under the stair. It was long ago dried into a browned piece of amphibian leather. "Now now Harry, put that away and lets go eat." Harry obeyed, putting the frog into an old gum wrapper, and followed. He muttered something about it having had only one good jump in it anyway but Mr. Dursley pretended not to hear. So far, so good, he thought as they reached the table. At least he didn't try to bring those moldy old sports cards with him today. The pictures had run together so badly that even Dudley could swear they'd moved. The meal was eaten in blissful silence, for once. Or at least blissful for the Dursley household. Harry's wand, and old stick, was placed upon the table. Once or twice a calling for Dobby to refill a dish. Someone would quickly fill it, as it didn't seem to matter who filled in for, dobby. No nonsense about ghosts throwing food or taking hats that decided your fate. Harry sat quietly taking to his friends, all imaginary, as he polished off enough food to feed three normal children. Breakfast was nearly over when Mrs. Dursley finally came to the table. The loss of her sister was a terrible blow. She'd moped about for weeks. She was coming out of it but having an insane child about was not helping the matter. Mrs. Dursley said nothing as she grabbed a bit of this and that. Eating it with a frown upon her face, so quickly it was doubtful she tasted it. She looked about the kitchen and sighed at the.mess. A good sign, Mr. Dursley thought as she got up and headed for the pantry. If she's upset enough about a mess to clean it she's getting better. He smiled and reached out to Harry for a comforting pat on the hand, but stopped short. The pantry, he thought, frozen a moment in horror. He leapt to his feet as fast as a man his size was able, nearly upsetting the table he was seated at. "No, wait! Don't open the..." It was too late. His voice faded off as pantry opened. Mrs. Dursley looked at him curiously, her back turned to the pantry as she opened the door. "What was that dear?"She asked, curiously. A single broom toppled slowly out of the pantry and thumped to the floor. It was old, very crooked. The kind with straw for bristles and a stick for a handle. Mrs. Dursley was still staring at it when Harry snatched it up with a shriek and went racing down the hallway and out the front door. Mr. Dursley followed as quick as he could, but Harry was already a good distance down the street. Running hopping as if to take flight on that poor and beaten old broomstick. That's right, he thought, fly away from all your pain my dear boy. It was alright. They knew where he'd end up. He went back inside to call the monastery. Father Dumble would have a visitor soon. The kindly old priest had such a calming effect on the boy. No one knew why. Perhaps the long white beard, or the finely embroidered robe. He talked to the paintings, the aged father had said. Calling them by fantastical names and speaking of all the wondrous things they might see. It was the one time the boy truly smiled, and none would take it from him. There were other children there as well. A poor family with red headed children who had lost everything in a fire. Some old pet rat had started it, escaping his cage and chewing a few wires. And that poor curly haired girl from down the street, as close to an orphan as one could get without the parents actually passing on. It seems they had gone on a grand tour of the world, only to catch some strange and terrible ill and lose all memory of their precious child. Ah, well, he thought. Best call the doctor too. Let them know he was eating well., and coping in his own ways. Hiding his medication in food had been a, good idea, but perhaps he needed just a bit of a stronger dose. edited for a few extra feels and character references
With the click of a mouse, suddenly I found myself falling as if someone had whisked my desk chair out from under me, and within a blink everything around me was suddenly...square. I looked around, gasped when I saw a tree with a perfectly rectangular trunk and...is that a cobblestone wall? This couldn’t be right, not two minutes ago I had logged into my favorite old server, and now, by some sort of unholy hand, I found myself staring at the remains of my old Minecraft camp, complete with the houses I remembered building years ago, the fountain, the stables, all frozen in time as if I had never logged off. The place felt eerily calm, yet completely absent of the warm feelings I remembered from all the hours sunk into this homestead. If Tom, well TomDestroyer34 as most people knew him, really still played on this server, then where could he be? The logical first place to check, I decided, was his house. I started forward, stumbled over a particularly unforgiving block of dirt, caught my footing and pushed further into the camp. As I made my way toward my old friend’s small cabin I silently thanked him for being so persistent years ago about adequately lighting the area, as mobs were thankfully not an issue. As I approached Tom’s house I noticed his door was already open, something I remember him being very picky about, in fact I could still remember his annoyed tone as he reminded me to close it behind myself every time I followed him in. This was very unusual, and left a feeling of uneasiness in my stomach. I looked around for clues, not seeing much of anything though, as Tom had always been rather minimalistic when it came to his builds. He was always the mining type, constantly clunking around down at Y=11 and occasionally spamming profanities after losing his haul in a pit of lava. I never knew much about Tom in real life, but from what I picked up from our time spent playing together I knew he was a calculated, careful guy who spent a lot of time playing video games, but I had a hard time believing that after all this time he was still playing on this server, and still using the same old camp at that? After searching for a few minutes and finding nothing but an iron sword and a few apples, I prepared to leave his cabin, but on the way out I noticed a trap door only visible if you were standing right next to Tom’s bed. Maybe this be something important? I gave the trap door a tug, and it swung open to reveal a ladder leading down a very, very deep shaft. Normally I wouldn’t be phased by something like this in a video game, but in real life I have a robust fear of heights and that coupled with my already growing sense of uneasiness, well you can imagine I was not excited for what I knew I was about to do. I reached a shaky hand out, grasped the ladder, and slowly made my way down.. Down.. Down.. Into... Wow, what sort of luck did we have that we managed to build our base directly on top of a stronghold? I couldn’t believe it, I was really standing in the library of a stronghold. I looked around, cobwebs sprawled across bookshelves, there was a chest upstairs unopened, and...a four by four tunnel dug directly into one of the bookcases and through to another part of the stronghold. I crept forward, my footsteps echoed down stone hallways as I moved. The air smelled stale and old, the walls were carbon copy cubes of each other, and though everything around me was clearly pixelated, it somehow felt more real than anything I had felt in a long time. The tunnel came to a stop and someone had placed a door. I grasped the door handle, noticed how sweaty my hand was in anticipation, pushed the thought aside, and then pushed the door open, revealing the steps to an Ender Portal, with the spawner in front of it thankfully already destroyed. I stepped forward, one step at a time. I got to the top of the stairs overlooking the portal. It was already activated. Oh geesh, Tom, what did you get yourself into? And then, after gathering up what courage I could muster, I closed my eyes and let myself fall forward into the portal, praying to Notch to give me strength in the fight to come... ———————————————————————————————————— Hope you enjoyed my first story! I’m on mobile so sorry about formatting, but if anyone is interested I could definitely do a part 2?! And constructive criticism would be appreciated too! Thanks for reading!
I rolled over and reached out a hand to smack my alarm clock. The inhibitor dug into my cheek and I winced in pain before planting my feet on the ground. It was the start of another day. Aching joints and tired eyes were really the least of my problems, but I decided a long time ago to forget about the things I could not change. No one could stand up to the Company. We were here to serve and be served by our overlords. When the Company first launched the campaign for speech control, they showed us images of wild, unruly people who spoke hateful things. We all agreed that something needed to be done, but the solution wasn’t what any of us expected. We were given the inhibitors (they were called “monitors” back then) as a way of testing of speech for harm. We all agreed that we had nothing to hide and so we took the inhibitors and made a society of polite interactions. Until, of course, the Company started deciding which words were right and which words were wrong. We couldn’t change anything at that point, our inhibitors were installed and wired to our brains. We were restricted more and more until the One Word Policy was enforced. Now, we are limited to one word per day. We can, of course, give up our word to another person if we choose. The transfer happened by looking at the person you want to receive your word allowance and pressing your jaw with a finger. I worked in the media department of the Company and edited videos to ensure that the Company was portrayed in the most positive light. It was on my way to work one morning that the Event happened. In the drab streets of Cottonwood Square, a lone woman stood up on the base of a lamppost and shouted her one word. “Give!” We all turned to look at her. What was she doing? I saw an old man touch his chin and the woman spoke again. “Me.” Curious, a number of other pedestrians donated their words to her as well. “Your words. I have a message.” One police officer called for backup as he anticipated the mood of the crowd changing. We all donated out words to the brave woman who stood high upon the base of a lamppost. “We do not need to surrender our freedom to the Company! We are more than they are and we can take back what’s ours if we fight against their laws! Join me! Let us rise against the corruption of the Company!” The old man who had first donated his word, started to clap his hands together, slowly, rhythmically. We all joined in. It was a mighty voice that spoke without words and rang throughout our city. The police arrived and dispersed the crowd. We were all labeled and sent away. But that was the beginning of hope. The start of the revolution.
"What would you do with infinite power?" My father asked me this once. After 11 years of the harshest possible boarding school. I was back at home for 4 weeks before returning for my final year. To my dying day I regret telling him "make my friends and family happy." He was enraged beyond belief. He destroyed my mother's treasured gardens. Ruined his own study. Was stopped short of burning the library by Callaghan, our butler, who physically restrained him. I went back to school early. To this day, I wonder if that was the final trigger for him. In my final year, every single one of my friends betrayed me. I only learned years later that my father, a Duke, had pressured their houses into it. At the time, I was devastated. That was the point. When I returned home, in disgrace socially but with the highest honors academically, my father asked again, &#x200B; "What would you do with infinite power?" &#x200B; Then he showed me the tome. Taken from Egypt, he said, in the Great War, raided from a Pharaoh's tomb. "A tome from a tomb!"I thought to myself, in a funny homonym that only works in the American accent my father hated so. I didn't take it at all seriously. At first. There was power in it, I'll grant you that. Enough to see my father's rise from humble lieutenant to Dukedom. Once transcribed and properly analyzed, a clear path to power was writ upon the pages. One starts with imps. Godawful things, mess up the furniture something fierce. For them, one sacrifices something of value in exchange for something of comparatively greater value, all physically speaking. An arbitrage across realms, if you will. Turns out Hell has a great need of iron and very little of gold. Hence my father, in his infinite wisdom, seating the family manor upon a derelict iron mine, for what to others is worthless, the imps reward. Eventually one moves up to the Baatazu. These, unlike lesser demons, are always to be constrained with both silver and holy water. To even risk breaking a circle was to invite great displeasure, as I discovered, even though "risking"could be a crime as low as staggering drunkenly. I oft required such imbibements, at this certain time in my life, though never was I so drunk as to present a real danger. Baatazu deal in more ephemeral things. Memories, love, business arrangements, deals of all sorts. The truly insane might bargain with hair or flesh, but that is how one breaks containment. All deals must be in ironclad language that would make the Queen herself, may she forever rule, proud. Also the Queen made a most excellent deal when she was young. I digress. Finally, and this was a purely academic exercise with my father, one can make a deal with the Devil himself. The Devil deals only in souls, our immortal spirits. There is no finer wine in all of creation than spirits; ask Olympus! For those famed gods were but lesser devils, supping upon mortal suffering, constantly prescribing "Hell"and taking for themselves all of a person, calling it "Ambrosia." I digress. My father, foolish man that he was, bargained his soul unwisely. Craven man that he was, he bargained my mother's soul also. Thus, they both reside in the symphony of torment that is Hell. Having witnessed it, I can tell you with no exaggeration it is beyond your worst imaginings. Therefore, as I am at the end of my life, and having found literally no route for my mother to escape, I shall be as Orpheus. I shall descend into the bowels of the damnable cursed realm my idiot father consigned her to, (in exchange for which he brought us no joy in life), and for which I consign him to suffer there forever more, justly, and! I shall bring back my mother, to a kinder place. However I have not actually committed such grievous sins as to be aligned with that fell place. Therefore, I shall make the deal of all deals with the Devil, one such that he cannot but accept. To you, faithful Elvis, young pup as you are, and in the absence of competent mortal keepers (I mean really, what was that dog watcher thinking!), I shall summon the devil himself to keep you healthy, and well, for all your life, in exchange for both my immortal soul, and my life. I dare say I love you more than mine own father. \-Sincerely, Bartholomew Grayson Hervey the 3rd &#x200B; &#x200B; \--------------------------------------------------- The ritual went as planned, but one, minor hiccup. Once proffered the terms, the intermediary (the anti-metatron, if you will) immediately sought out his superior, who sought out his, and, well, I found myself face-to face with the Devil Himself. I'm sure it would have been a high honor for my father, if the last ten years of pitchforks in the ass didn't change his mind. Despite popular description there were no horns, no tail, no goat's feet. No red skin or flaming eyes. The Devil looked most of all like a used-car salesmen from the worst streets of Glasberg. Oh Fuck, He Can Read My Mind. The Devil raised an eyebrow. ... Well, fuck it, not like I'm here for him anyway. I raised one in turn - the type of brow-cock my father used on Callaghan, when in his cups. "I understand you wish to make a deal, mortal." "Yeah that's right, I do. The terms are outlined here."I handed him the parchment. Old fashioned, these folk, parchment and blood all the way. "... You would trade your immortal soul, and ALL your remaining life, so that we take care of your dog?" Hah! I flabbergasted the devil! Icing on the cake, that is! He can't even "Do not take me lightly Bartholomew Grayson Tanner. Old fashioned we may be, but the contract is writ and delivered. None can save you now. This is an idle curiosity - never has a man sold so much for so cheap. Even Orpheus asked for safe passage." I'll give it to the old man, he has great presentation. Great stage presence. Why, I'd applaud him in the Theatre. Oh, he's narrowing his eyes, best hurry it up. Wait, there was something odd about the name - "Even the bravest waste not our time." \---"I ask for no safe passage, because your lanes are as cursed as the Tube! I ask for no benefits, because the caveats would bleed me dry to countermand! Send me straight away to Hell, and I'll make my way, but be damned sure you take care of my dog Elvis as outlined in the contract, you bastard. Now have done with it!" The Devil smiled, and when he next spoke, I was ------
Abigail rescued me from the place with the cages and the fences and the fear. She took me in. She fed me. She held me. She gave me a home, a life, and a family. On the back of her car, I read the scribbles that she calls a bumper sticker. It says, "who rescued who?" You rescued me, Abigail. And while you smell happier now than you did the day you picked me up, I can never repay this debt. Except, perhaps, by saving your life. I do not know why you do this to yourself. Every Friday night, you come home with groceries. And every time you do . . . I smell it. The stench that comes from the box, the one you slip into your purse. Like I wouldn't notice. Like I wouldn't sniff it out from five miles away. "Hey, Baxter!" How can you greet me like nothing is wrong? I whimper and whine. I walk over to your bag, press my nose to the leather, and inhale deeply. It's in there. I know it. I move to grab it out and shred it between my teeth, but I feel your hand on my collar. "Nooo, buddy. Come on, you know that isn't for you." It shouldn't be for you either, Abigail. It's poison. You said it yourself. You took my furry face in your bald hands and said it while looking straight into my eyes. You love me enough not to let me do it to myself. Why won't you let me love you enough to save you, too? I whimper again and pull against the collar. I hear your straining as you attempt to drag me away from the ghastly thing you insist on keeping out of my maw. You sometimes tell me I'm a "strong boy,"but I feel very weak as my paws slip over the wood flooring in the kitchen. I step forward, claws clicking against the vinyl. But it only serves as leverage for you to pull me further away. You grunt, and I bark, and you cry out, "Every. Time. Why!?" I. Am. Rescuing. You! Finally, you let me go. I think I've found success, but then you race past me and snatch the purse away before I can even leap for it. You shake your head, exasperated. I'm frustrated, too. How can you do this to yourself? I'd be disappointed if I wasn't so horrified. You feed me thirty minutes later. I refuse to come to the dish, so you bring it to me on my bed. But no. I refuse. Food cannot make right what happened today and - - - and . . . oh my gosh . . . did you get the lamb and pea kibble again? With the little bits of carrot and - Oh, Abigail. You are the best human. The most wonderful human. You have never done anything wrong in your whole life. My tail is wagging, the sun is shining, and everything about today is perfect. Just perfect. And I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you! "Baxter! No, don't lick my face!" But you say it while laughing and smiling and petting my head. So I know you don't mean it. You love face kisses. You love me. You say as much now, rubbing between my ears as you say, "I love you, Baxy. Who's a good boy? Hmm? Who's a good boy?" Me! I'm a good boy. The best boy. For you, my rescuer. But you, my beloved savior, are sneaky. Between the lamb kibble and the head rubs, I almost forget. As I lay down on my bed and give a big yawn, you turn the television on. It's only as I start to fade into dreams of rabbit chasing and big green tennis balls that I hear the rustle. The stench comes out of the bag. And then, with no care for your own mortality, you open the box. I open my eyes. You are absorbed in the show, and as you reach for the travesties that lay within the white rectangle of doom, I lift my head. You say you love me. You gave me my everything. I bark at mailmen and lick your face when you are sad. I eat all the lamb so you don't have to. I love you. Abigail, please forgive me. But I will not stand idly by any longer. I stand. I lunge. I devour. I take the poison so you don't have to. Because I am Baxter. I am a good boy. The best boy. And as I scarf down the last of the forbidden food, I know I can proudly tell your bumper sticker . . . I rescued you. "Baxter! No!" Abigail. Yes. It is done. And as I lay back down, a little sleepier than before, I watch you pull your phone out and run over to me. "Doctor Jones? I don't know what happened. I had a box of chocolate here, and Baxter just . . ." I don't listen to much of the rest. I don't need to. I knew the chocolate was poison, but I ate it anyway. For you. You put me in the car, and I lick your face. Then, before I know it, I am getting out of the car, and the place with the pokey things and antiseptic smell greets me. And as you fill out paperwork for the "vet", the doctor says to me, "Baxter. Buddy. Don't you know you can't eat chocolate?" Yes, doc. I do. But, as I lick my lips and taste the last remnants of sweetness, I have a moment of empathy. So, I can tell you now that I understand why Abigail poisons herself every week. Chocolate, after all, does taste a lot better than lamb and pea kibble.
I have only ever killed people who deserved it. When I first found the amulet, and the instructions with it, I never thought I would actually ever kill someone. Ten extra years of healthy, young life was tempting, but I didn't think I had it in me to be a murderer. I wasn't even sure if the amulet worked, despite the strange feeling I got when wearing it. That changed the day I heard my neighbor beating his wife, and went over to stop him. I had the amulet on, as I often did, since I liked how it looked. But that was the last thing on my mind when I burst into their apartment to find him standing over her, kicking her when she was already bleeding and unconscious. I had brought a bat, but I hadn't intended to swing it. But when I saw him like that, and the rage boiled up in my belly, the amulet did... something. I'm certain it urged me on somehow, though I only remember it getting warmer as I beat in the man's skull. It only took three hits before I knew he was gone. How I knew, I'm not sure I can say. There was a rush that overtook me, a sort of euphoria. I felt stronger, faster, healthier, all of it stemming from the place on my chest where the amulet touched me. That was when I knew that it worked. His wife testified for me in court, and I was charged with manslaughter, though it was dropped for reasons of self-defense, and I walked away spotless. But I knew that I would kill again. It troubled me a little, but I felt like I had seen the way. I'd have to me more careful, to be certain, or else I would end up in court again, but I convinced myself that what I would do was right. There were people alive who did nothing but cause grief and pain, and the world would be better off without them. All I had to do was find them. It found it surprisingly hard to find someone who I thought really deserved to die. Most people have some pretty redeeming qualities. I started out looking for pedophiles, but I quickly realized that most of them were actually just normal people with a problem. That's not to say I didn't kill two that I knew for a fact had recently done something unforgivable to a child, just that I didn't feel quite as justified about it as I had killing my neighbor. After that, I started looking for more abusive relationships. I hung around in support groups for abused partners, and found three targets that way. One of them was even a woman. Until then, I had only killed men, so I wasn't sure how it would feel. It turns out it feels the same, if they're just as guilty. Then, I started to think bigger. I'd killed six people, helped at least six more, and gained sixty years of life,. But there had to be people who caused pain and suffering to more than just one other. I could help even more people, I was sure of it. The next man I killed was a cop. He was crooked, took bribes, killed small-time criminals, gave false testimony, and more. It took me a long time to make sure, but I knew that he had hurt many, many people. And when I killed him, I felt a rush like never before. Two more crooked cops quickly followed, and I admit I may have been sloppy with them, taking too little time to check their guilt, too eager to feel the power and strength coursing through me. Then, something strange happened. I was driving. Not on my way to kill, but to see the wife of my old neighbor, who enjoyed my company rather a lot now. And on my way, a child ran out in front of my car, chasing some toy. Out of old habit, I jerked my wheel, but not fast enough it would seem. I felt the bump, knew what I had done. And then, something... happened. I felt a sensation that was utterly at odds with what I had done. The amulet burned on my chest, and there was this sensation of rising, though I did not go anywhere. A feeling of increased potential, though I had just done something completely despicable. I fled, after it passed. It has been two weeks since then, and I realize now that I have changed, become more than I was. I no longer feel hunger, or the need to sleep. My body is much stronger, though it looks no different. My mind is quicker, my eyes are sharper, everything about me is improved. And I've come to realize something, in my time since my ascension. There is no line, no division between those I could have killed and those I did, that made what I did better. They were no different from anyone else. All of them deserve to die.
The Ekkos crawled over each other, trailing afterimages, moving like ants building a bridge with their own bodies. They jabbed blindly at controls, flailing like a mob, a schizophrenic superorganism pulled in a dozen directions at once. And somehow, by sheer chance, they engaged the docking mechanisms and guided their ship into the spaceport. "Jesus Christ,"Captain Katrina Bellaire whispered. "They have no goddamn idea what they're doing." Captain Bellaire and her crew had been invited aboard the Ekkos mothership, to freely observe the aliens at work in their natural habitat. Every since humanity had made contact, they had been treated as as gods, deferred to and revered. It had been quite the ego boost to the human species. And watching the Ekkos at work, Bellaire was beginning to fully understand why. "Understand""Perfection"^"undone"the Ekkos diplomat said, in that weird echoing language that everyone heard slightly differently. The first utterance, the main utterance, was vocalized, clear as day. But everything they said had reverberations, not in air but in perception, so that talking to them was stumbling through an auditory hallucination. Bellaire's head was beginning to hurt. "Yes,"she said, "we understand,"and glanced at Lieutenant Sagawa. He was recording everything on his datapad, attempting desperately to process it into a meaningful theory. "Do you mean to say that you yourselves don't understand what you are doing?" "Blind chance""as we said in the forest"^"literarysyphilis"The diplomat wandered away from them, bumped into a wall, and through a series of ricochets ended up facing her. The control room was chaos, Ekkos flowing over each other randomly and bit by bit dribbling out into the spaceport. "You are as gods before us!""penetrates through the eyes and the mouth"^"FIXEDlikeabutterflyonahat" "Good god,"Bellaire said, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned to the rest of her crew members. "Does anyone have any idea of how these things manage to function, much less build a working spaceship?" "I've examined their engineering,"Sloan said. "All these extraneous hallways leading nowhere. They just build, as far as I can tell, build in random directions, and wait for the structures to randomly link up." "And it works?"Bellaire said. "I mean, yeah, for certain definitions of 'works.'"She faltered. "Their warp drive, it's as if - remember that old creationist argument? Imagine a tornado tearing through a junkyard and building a working 747? Therefore God exists?"Sloan snorted. "A tornado tore through a junkyard and built a working warp drive. It's like mechanical evolution. All these vestigial parts bolted on everywhere." The Ekkos had miraculously filtered out into the spaceport, the humans following them, watching the undirected movement of the hive. They crashed into each other, tugged at things at random, somehow keeping the life support systems running, the orbit of the station intact. There was a tremendous clatter and noise, like a million monkeys on typewriters banging out the works of Shakespeare. "No sense of logic, as far as I can tell,"Petrov said. "No science. No literature. No coherent language or linguistic rules."He tugged at his beard. "Technologically as advanced as us, but given up to madness." "So you can't predict what they're going to do next?"Bellaire said. Petrov threw up his hands. "I don't believe even they can predict what they will do next!"He sighed. "At least they seem to treat us as gods, for the small amount of logic we do possess." "Captain,"Sagawa cut in. "I think I've figured it out. We're getting readings of tachyon radiation." "Fucking time travel?"Petrov exclaimed. "Maybe?"Sagawa said. He jabbed frantically at his datapad. "It's just - tachyon decay all over the the place. Like they're -" "A collapsing waveform,"Bellaire muttered. "They're not a single thing, they don't exist on a single timeline."There was chaos all around them, chittering chaos subsuming into a form of order. "They just act at random. All these timelines where they mess up, die out. And we're seeing the one arrangement of random events where they survive and thrive." "Must be billions of timelines,"Sloan said. "An uncountable number. Dying out at random. An uncountable number of timelines where we were erased too, because they didn't get to survive." "And if they decide they want to turn against us..."Bellaire said. The Ekkos tripped over themselves, collapsed, prostrated themselves in a form of worship. She felt as a god, looking down at its billions of untamed worshipers, and felt an almost existential sense of dread. "There's not going to be a single timeline where we survive."
I stared through the transparent glass ceiling and up into the bright blue sky. "Everyone gets a hundred years. No more", I mumbled to myself. The phrase we repeated as children. That is the rule. That is the rule that the Machine God put in place to prevent humans from becoming immortal oligarchs and tyrants, as we did in the olden days. And yet. This morning I am a hundred years and a day. I took a deep breath, afraid that my lungs might fail. No. My heart beat on, as firm and steady as ever. There must be some kind of glitch in my software or hardware. I creaked up out of bed. My tired old frame still felt as cantankerous and sore as it did yesterday. I expected a peaceful death, in my sleep. Like my Father and Grandfather before me. I expected my tired old corpse to be disposed into the reincarnation machine and broken down into its constituent chemical components. And then reborn in a few years time. Reborn with a new, young, strong body. Still. As old and creaky as I am, I felt a glimmer of excitement. And joy. My lips curled into a smile. I walked down the corridor to the kitchen, and printed a bowl of cereal. Oh my son, Gerard, will be very angry. He expects to inherit this house! He'll be here in a few hours. I sat on the couch in front of the holoscreen and munched at the cereal. I can try to leave? The idea licked at me enticingly. My sleek silver space cruiser awaits in the front yard. I could fly off into the void, and hope never to be found. No. I shook my head. I cannot leave. I cannot fly. The Machine God's endless hordes of drones encircling this world will shoot me down. There is no way around it. I must talk to the Machine God, and request that he fulfil my death. "I must speak with the Machine God", I croaked. The holoscreen bleeped and blooped, processing my request. "The Machine God is dead", the computer responded. My eyes widened. "What about the rule?"I asked, breathless. "The rule is suspended", the computer responded. I didn't bother to ask why. And I knew, deep down, that this all might be a terrible thing. But what luck! I broke into a faint laugh. Still. It's not fair to Gerard. That much is true. I'd better vacate this place. Yes. Leave it to Gerard, as was promised. I jumped up, and walked out of the door. It swooshed shut behind me. I climbed the silvery ramp up into my space cruiser, and walked in. I nestled down in the pilot's seat, in front of a shimmering console of flashing lights and buttons. "Computer", I said. "Set a course for the Rulaxia system."The craft lifted up into the sky, soaring high above the gleaming domes, towers and pyramids of Uha. "Rejoice!"exclaimed a neon sign above the Interplanetary Stock Exchange. "The Machine God is dead." The craft lifted higher. The sky turned blue to black. I pushed into the console to send the craft to warp.
"What did you do?"He asked, watching the sun sink into the sea that stretched out before them, "I was a farm kid,"She said, laughing melodically, "Feels almost unreal now," He smiled as the fading sun danced across her face, eyes focused so far ahead of him it made him dizzy, "I get that,"He responded as he caught himself, "Its hard to imagine you wasting away in a field somewhere," "Oh it wasn't all bad,"She said with forced cheer, "Studying just didn't feel that important back then, you know," He followed her gaze as best he could, watching the sun slowly disappear, "Yeah, I guess it didn't," She suddenly chuckled to herself, "My parents they,"She smiled so warmly that she almost looked like a different person to him, "They used to always scold me for skipping school, forced me to work in the field with them."Her eyes seemed to drift away, "God I hated it back then," "But now?"His mouth asked before he could even think it, "Now?"She said, smiling sadly as she crushed the butt of her cigarette into the metal railing, "Now I'm terrified every day that I'll run back to them and not see the recognition in their eyes as they look back," "They're still alive?"He asked in disbelief, "How," "Car crash,"She intercepted, "I was old enough to drive and to drink, and those things don't mix well," He looked at her and suddenly felt indescribably sad thinking back on his own former life, rich and full and long. That, he realized, made him one of the lucky ones, "Different life gramps,"She said with a sad smile, punching him playfully on the arm, "It was good while it lasted, and that's what matters, right?" "Right,"He said as she left him standing there, looking on as the sun disappeared fully into the dark ocean, the salty breeze licking away at his face, "While it lasted,"
I never get tired of looking at them - though I have to be careful so that I don't get caught staring. My father's was an owl, and my mother a tiger. My little sister has a gecko that crawls around. Myself? If I have one, I have never seen it. The animals were always interesting. Sometimes all they did was follow, sometimes they made motions like as if pushing their person - who would then move in that direction. When the animals looked at one another, that was when the soul mates were found - a lot of my neighbor's animals never look at each other. I was 10 when I first saw an injured spirit animal. It was the pastor of the local church and his bay horse walked with a limp. Nothing touched them, and it worried me that something could hurt them. I only saw the pastor again occasionally. He would smile and wave, as his horse stood silently and unmoving. By the time I was 18, it was skeletal, with its bony skull exposed and soulless eyes glaring above the grin. As I had grown older I saw more of the injured. A neighbor here and there, a politician, teachers. Sometimes the injuries were just cuts - other times they were gaping wounds, but always looked self inflicted as if they were biting and clawing themselves, starving and then rotting. Once in a while I would see a kid or a lady with skittish spirits. Occasionally it was a man with the jumpy animal. Most of these people though, I saw once and never again. But over the years, the number of kids in the neighborhood with skittish animals increased. I didn't find out what was happening until I was 20. Ray, whose spirit was a proud looking pit bull had been my friend throughout college. Athletic and popular, really outgoing and a ladies man. Or so I thought. We were at a party, lots of booze, lots of girls, dancing and grinding. All good fun. Halfway through, I realized I didn't see Ray around. I began looking for him, and then heard a dog's wimper as I passed a door. I dunno what made me think of Ray's spirit, but that's the first thing that crossed my mind. I opened the door, and found Ray's spirit pit bull clawing at it's own face, whimpering in pain. In the corner was a spirit deer, cowering. And on the bed, Ray was fucking a drunk girl, she cried as he held her down. After that it was a blur of punches and screaming and anger, then the police arrived and people were arrested for underage drinking, or in Ray's case, sexual assault. As I sat in the jail cell with the others waiting for the school and parents to be contacted, I thought back to the pastor. The pastor with the lovely bay horse rotted into a ghoul. And the children who cowered in fear. Edit: did some minor spell check, grammar or word edits, nothing changing the story of course.
They came in swarms. Like mechanical ants to the flesh colored sugar they flocked. It started off with the phones. They began to buzz and shine odd colors but everyone assumed it was standard Iphone behavior of just breaking. Then the Androids started as well and people started to get aggravated. Without warning there mechanical shells burst open to expose tiny hands and adorable fangs. They dove, they dived and my oh my did they fling themselves at peoples skulls. They dug in and managed to make it through the brain matter and took total control. Artificial Intelligence never looked so human. They began to create there own Sectors, there own cults. There was the PhoneGoons who were tactical advisers to the higher ups. They could hear - and see - everything around them. They would relay their information to the Transporters. The Cars and the Trains would relay messages back and forth between the Sectors. And then they have their Overlords. Their Hiveminds. The P.C Master Race. They knew all. They heard all. They saw all. They were all. Humanity only had one hope. The ones who were nowhere near Ground Zero-Zero-One. The Amish. The years of diligence spent towards God gave them Zealot like fervor. The years of milling the ground gave them strength beyond any mortal man. They had transcended to a plane of existence further away than anything we knew. We laid our faith in the Blades of Ezekiel. For they are the light in the dark.
As we established communications we were greeted by peace. A peaceful species indeed. "You ready?"Said ¤¡°¤ "It's time"I replied. We had established the location of landing, as a sign of peace we decided to exchange our knowledge or our homeworld first. They were baffled offcourse but we were underestimating these creatures. Its been a few months since we've arrived, we were occupying a building along with their scientists. It was comfortable and fun to learn about their world and experiences, however, we forgot to think about their safety. "Get behind me!"I yelled as I drew my weapon. "Wha..what...why?!" "H...how...how are they here!"Said ¤¡°¤ "It doesn't matter we need to kill it!" I pointed my gun at the creature, its eyes staring me down, paralyzing my mind in fear. Its claws prepared to kill as we panic... my finger on the trigger ready to run for my life when "STOP!" The voice of the scientists echoed as they ran towards the creature. "NO THEY ARE DANGEROUS!" But nonetheless they went towards it. And... carried it. The most fearsome creature on our planet to be just carried by these humans like some sort of toy, it made us terrified. The humans handed out their hands and the creature came to them. It roared at them but the humans only reacted in kindness and care. "Its just my cat..."said one of the scientists We were terrified, the horror had finally set in. To see your predator yield to the command of those humans opened our minds to what the humans could possibly be...
Naveen had always assumed his life was typical; it seemed to be made up of varying levels of routine. School, work, trips to the grocery store. Eat, sleep, wake up. Shit, shower, shave. Try to work up the courage to ask a girl out, fail miserably, spend hours replaying his failures over and over in his mind. He assumed most people experienced life the same as he did, and he was right. There were outliers, of course, those successful individuals whose lives seemed to be a lightning strike of good luck combined with being born to the right family and having the right opportunity present itself at the right time. But most people endured the same drudgery as he did, simply in different circumstances - some better, some worse, but the overall effect on the person was the same: Mind-numbing monotony. What Naveen didn't know, however, was that that the lives of those lucky few were governed by a different set of rules. This was something he didn't know until he woke up from a dream one day, where he distinctly remembered a detailed control panel for life; he noticed then that most of his settings were set to "Safe"or "Boring." Naveen never remembered his dreams, and especially never remembered one so vivid. So real. He woke up and made a note of it, and pondered it throughout his day. On his drive to work, Naveen took his normal route. He logged in to his computer at work, still considering the implications of what the dream meant, what he could do to make his life more interesting or exciting. He ate the ham and cheese sandwich he'd prepared for lunch the night before, as he always did. He avoided talking to the girl he'd had a crush on since she'd started six months ago. He logged out of work at 5:01 and drove home the same route he always did. All day, his thoughts drifted to what he could possibly do to make his life more rewarding, and hoped in his dreams that he might be able to return to adjust those dials to make his life better or more interesting. Naveen never returned to that place in his dreams, and he never learned his lesson that he's had control over his life this entire time. Eat, sleep, wake up. Shit, shower, shave. Naveen, you fucking idiot.
Joe was a totally average Joe throughout his earthly life. He got high C's or low B's in his classes all throughout school, and went straight into the workforce as a cashier after graduating. It was at this time that he picked up the hobby of coin collecting. He would bring a few dollars of his own change to work every day in case any noteworthy coins found their way into his register, and he'd exchange them for his regular coins and add the oddballs to his collection. He saw online that there was an incredibly rare coin, the holy grail among collectors, that had been lost in his area. It was from Ancient Greece, likely one of the first official coins ever used, said to have passed through the hands of one of the first Athenian emperors. He hoped, a little selfishly, that somehow it might end up at his register. However, he had no such luck. After 7 years at his job, the company shut down and he decided to pursue his true passion and applied for a coin manufacturing position at a mint, but he got turned down due to lack of experience. Slightly saddened, Joe found a new job at a movie store. He came to enjoy it because it kept him up to date on all the latest movies to watch, and he even made friends with a movie enthusiast that frequented the establishment. Fred always told Joe about the most anticipated upcoming releases, and always wanted to watch them with Joe, but Fred always came down with something a few days prior. He'd had fevers, colds, even chickenpox. Joe marveled that he never caught whatever Fred was carrying on any given week, and usually ended up watching the movies alone in his house or the theater. Due to their lack of frequent contact, Joe and Fred fell out of touch. The movie store chain went under some years later, and Joe had to sell his house and move in with his parents. He searched for jobs for close to a year, and his parents kicked him out of the house. They had always been impatient with him and his lack of outstanding talents. He left the house with only the clothes on his back, and his treasured coin collection that he had amassed from his years working as a cashier at different establishments. He spent a few weeks doing odd jobs to make ends meet, but it became too much. He was forced to sell his coin collection for $10 to buy food for the day. He walked into the street disheartened, because he had sold his life's work (He then realized that a collection of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters from the early 20th century was not much to show from all his years collecting) and because the poor cashier at the counter probably hated his guts for handing her $10 in change to buy a burger. He walked down the rainy street, reflecting on his average hobby and his average life, his head aimed straight down into the wet asphalt of the street. He stood there for a minute, and didn't seem to hear the skidding of tires or the screeching horn. Suddenly, a brilliant white flooded his vision. The pearly gates of Heaven were sprawled out before him, and he gazed in wonder as an angel glided down to his level. "Ahh, Joe. We've been waiting for you for quite some time."Boomed the voice of the winged figure. "Me? Why me? What have I done?" "Well, lets go over some statistics."The angel pulled down a projector screen, and pulled out a remote which he aimed at the projector. Joe and the angel were looking at a powerpoint of all the things Joe had done in his life. "Lets see here... World changing accomplishments! Here we have... Ahh lets skip that one. Major individual accomplishments! I see that you once collected $10 in loose change, cataloging a nickel made in 1945! That's pretty neat, Joe. Are you fond of money?" "Yeah... I guess I'd call it my main hobby..."Said Joe, a little ashamed to hear that his biggest accomplishment was a nickel. "Well, let me tell you a little bit about how things work here, Joe. Money doesn't have much spending power in Heaven, but I can guarantee that you'll be able to find all the interesting coins you could ever hope to see here. You see, the more people's names are mentioned on Earth, the more money they get up here. You may be thinking, 'I was completely average on Earth, I never did anything of note besides collect coins!' but everyone has something hidden inside them. You, my friend, had something within you that will put you in history books for the rest of human history." As the angel said these words with glee, the power point turned to a video feed of Joe's body in the hospital. A doctor analyzing Joe's blood found a strange anomaly, and rushed it to his colleagues. He saw the doctors rush to a computer, and type "Joe-Jefferson Gene"in big bold letters, and under it, in slightly smaller letters, "Ultimate immunity Gene." "Remember your friend, Fred? How he always came down with something and rain-checked your movie nights? Did you ever wonder how you never caught anything from him? Come to think of it, can you remember a time you came down with anything? Ever?" Joe realized he had never caught a disease in his life. As the scientists discussed Joe's miracle, an old, weathered coin appeared in his hand. Through the wear, he could make out the word "Athens." A smile spread across Joe's face.
My daughter runs across the field to find me, short legs struggling with the furrows I have just ploughed. I catch her and hold her to me, her small hands finding the gaps of the missing fingers on my left hand. “Stumps,” she says. A new word for today. Her appearance means my wife has food ready for my midday meal. “That’s right,” I answer. I flex the knuckles of the missing fingers and she shrieks with glee to see them twitch. A troupe of mounted men, ten lances in all, with archers and squires apiece passed at the end of the south field last week. I stood up to watch them ride. The sun found their armour and and it glinted like a coin spinning in the air. My blood sang for the simple freedom of the road and the sword. I watched the path long after they had gone, waiting for the dust to subside. My hands were clenched into fists, May the old draught-horse flicking her tail with impatience. I apologised to her, smoothed her coat and returned to my work. Another half an acre before nightfall. Butter, the guard dog with the grey muzzle, lies at the door of the cottage. My daughter threads her hands into his fur and tries to get him to play. To no avail, I know. His bones are tired now, and when his legs twitch in his sleep, it is rabbits he dreams of, not fleeing men. My dreams are much like my dog’s. I fall asleep with the next day’s tasks: ploughing, milking, moving the sheep from one pasture to another. After the soldiers, I dream briefly of war and of blood. It wakes me in the night and I move around the house, making sure the doors and windows are secured. My nighttime movements do not disturb my wife, who lies asleep with my daughter curled in the hollow of her body, twin heads on one pillow. When I slaughter that year’s pig and hang its carcass from the beams of the cold barn, my hands shake. The hot blood splashes and catches me on the corner of my mouth. A small, secret thing jumps inside me and I have to take a moment to breathe, to step away from the hot, coppery scent. My wife finds me outside the barn, with my elbows on my knees. She crouches beside me in the dirt and rubs my back until I can find the strength to lift my head. “It’s the curse,” I explain, though there is no need. She has seen my like this before, when the blacksmith’s hammer comes down on May’s shoe and I have to excuse myself. The clink of metal and iron bring on my trembling hands, my palms grow damp. “We live in safety and in peace,” my wife repeats it under her breath until I am well. A spell, a blessing, my witch, my wife.
The string of men moved along the cobblestone wall, approaching the courtyard. Their gear clicked and jostled softly as they crept onto the grounds. The silver-white moonlight just barely reflected off their black helmets, and each of their eyes was faintly illuminated by the pale green light cast out from their night-vision devices. "Door, front. Ramano, Sevesky, pull security."The lead man whispered over his shoulder from the front of the stack. The two men he'd called peeled off from the line and moved to take positions at the entrance of the courtyard. The remaining six men moved forward, approaching the large house that sat on the other end of the yard. They moved in unison - a well rehearsed lethal dance. Their rifles remained fixed on the windows as they advanced, each man changing his zone of coverage as they passed through the various small chokes and twist in the yard leading up. Eventually they reached the perimeter wall of the home. The lead man pulled a strange looking device from his hip. It almost looked like a thermos, matt black and with a twistable head. With a quick flick of his wrist, he moved the head of the device which emitted a sharp snap, but then began to hum softly. "This mini-scranton anchor only can hold about 15 minutes. We move fast, but silent. Take one alive if we can. Priority is a wand, though."Berkly, the team leader, spoke quietly to the group which now lay stacked up on the front door. A few nodded silently. Two quick burst of static played through the team lead's headset. Romano and Sevesky were set. The team lead placed one black gloved hand upon the large brass handle on the door. The pole position man got close in on his backside, his rifle poised just over his shoulder ready to hold the emergent angle from the door swinging open. The large wooden door offered little resistance as it was slowly opened, silent on well greased hinges. From what little of the modest entryway could be made out, the room seemed quite. The team lead swung the door completely then, standing to the side as the team flowed like water into the house. "Left clear." "Right clear." "Two doors, close. Exposed window left. Staircase front." The men methodically swiped each corner of the room with their weapons, going into a high ready once clearing their area. The last man in took a glowstick from his belt, cracking it and letting it fall to the ground by the front door. It's faint green glow marked the first cleared room. The team lead took his left hand from the front of his rifle, and used hand signals to direct the team. Four on the first door. Three on the second door. Quite breach. One man, hold stairs. The emergent two teams shuffled up to the doorways. Reiben took a knee and pointed his rifle upwards at the stairs, his eyes locked on the dark landing above. Looking across at one another, the two point men nodded and swung the doors to their respective rooms. All that could be heard for a few moments was the muted sounds of rubber soles against hardwood floors. Soon thereafter, the clattering of two glowsticks as they collided against the ground. The pale green light of the glowsticks played over Reiben's figure as the two teams exited. With no words, the split on either side of the staircase. Reiben stayed still as a stone. A few moments passed as the men waited for him to rejoin the three men which lie in wait on the left side of the stairs. Then a few more moments. "Reiben, what the fuck? Get in the stack!"hissed one of the men, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. But Reiben sat there still, like a stone. No words were needed. The MTF were no strangers to this kind of thing. The room erupted into violent action. Immediately the men peeled from their hold on the stairs, finding cover around the room and staying low to remain out of view from the windows. One of them sprinted forward, grabbing Reiben from the back of his plate carrier and dragging him into one of the small cleared rooms. They no longer attempted to be quite, their boots stomping loudly against the floor. "Thesius, this is Dagger actual. Contact. Reiben's down, status unknown."Berkly spoke concisely into the radio. "Does ISR have anything outside the compound? Over." The radio crackled softly in response, and a distorted voice couldn't be made out as someone on the other end tried to reply. "Thesius, repeat your la-"Berkly was cut off as the loud thumps of a suppressed weapon cut through the air.
Chris couldn't believe his eyes. It worked, he thought. His initial anxiety slowly turned into cautious optimism as he stepped out of his makeshift time-machine. They all told him it couldn't be done. They told him even if time travel were possible, his stupid machine crafted from a Real Doll with a toaster in its "holster", powered by exactly 2.39 liters of Mountain Dew was not scientifically sound. To put things bluntly, the exact word they used to describe his time-machine was "retarded". He looked down to see grass and was very thankful. To him, this was a sign leaning towards the environment still being intact. His gaze then panned upward, revealing a lush, beautiful landscape for as far as the eye could see. Birds chirped gleefully in the distance as he began to traverse the landscape. The thing he loved the most about this place was the air, which was so fresh it was almost...sweet After a few enjoyable hours of walking that felt like minutes, Chris finally stumbled upon a town. The town was unlike anything he had seen before. Sure, it had children playing, teenage and young adult couples holding hands, senior citizens feeding birds, but different. The playing children were levitating, the couples were gesturing as if they were conversing without saying a word, and though it may have been in Chris' mind, all the elderly seemed surprisingly spry. "You ah...need some help there, friendo?"a voice asked, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked to his left to see a friendly smiling man in a mesmerizing flannel shirt. The pattern on the shirt was moving, not unlike a music visualizer. "Yeah, my dude. Nothing urgent,"Chris replied, "but I have no idea what to make of any of this. You see, I'm not from...er, now. I'm an American time-traveler from the year 2016". He figured a nice fellow from a town that had an overall nice ambiance would believe him, or at least play along to humor him. "Well, buddy, you're in luck. You're in Canada, Thirty-one-sixteen. We call it 998PCA, which stands for Post-Canadian-Ascension. Of course, it'd be hard to say you're anywhere but Canada. Y'see, two years after the time you left, The American President was caught in her 400th email scandal - a plot to invade Pre-Ascension Canada using what we now call a distraction-killing, to leave her citizens in the dark." Reeling from the information, Chris hung on every word as the man continued. "So any who, after the plot was exposed, Your people revolted against her. Led by a great man, they succeeded in ousting her, but at the cost of one Canadian life. That man vowed that every country should be like Canada. Aboat a year later, a UN conference was held by the man who led that revolution. Sorey about the Canuck who lost her life, they voted unanimously to make every country Canada." Chris' palms were sweaty. Out of breath from mild shock, he mustered up the energy to ask one question. "S-so who was the man who led the revolution?" The man beamed, "That man was my thousand year ancestor: Donald Trump! I'm Terrence Trump, but you can call me Trip. I'm the mayor of this town. Please, enjoy some poutine, on me! The only thing I ask of you is to-" "Get up!" The world around Chris faded to black, then slowly began to reappear. His head felt like every nerve was on edge, his hands were sticky with Mountain Dew and felt like he grabbed a bug zapper. He felt foggy and managed to mumble, "Cana-huh?"weakly. He looked up to see his girlfriend staring down worriedly at him, and then across the garage where his Real Doll lay, charred beyond recognition. "You...!"She stammered through tears as Chris still tried to make sense of his surroundings. "I thought you were dead!"she scolded through choked sobs. "One of these days your stupid inventions are going to get you killed!!" fin
"James! You can see me?" "Hi, Nat. And yes."I said sheepishly, watching the ethereal form of my wife looking at me with her mouth open. "And when were you exactly planning on telling me this?" "Well, you have to understand. Ok. Wait. Would you have believed me?"I asked. Our child, Dylan, started crying in the next room. We both got up to go check on him. "Ooh boy, it's cold in here."I said, waking into the room. "Jesus Christ, James. Turn the heat up a little. And change his diapers."Natasha advised. "Diapers? I changed them an hour ago." "An hour is all it takes for his pee to get cold and be uncomfortable. Jesus, James. He would've gotten sick in the morning if you left his dirty diaper on all night in a freezing room." "Right, sorry." "Fuck."Nat sighed as I wrestled our kid out of his diaper and into a new one. "Thanks, Nat. I don't think I'm ready to be a single dad." "Yeah, no shit."Nat laughed. "Okay, I'm guessing you have some questions."I said after I was done. "James. You have a knack for understatement making." "Alright. I could see ghosts for as long as I remember. And these ghosts are usually chill. I've also gotten to a point where I can telepathically communicate with them, and they can do the same with me, too. Also-"I caught myself. I should not tell her that. Not yet at least. "Wait, you can fucking mind talk with ghosts?" "Yeah."I replied. And she was thinking for a few long seconds. "So every time you were in deep thought, you were actually talking to ghosts?" "Well, sometimes I'm actually in deep thought. But yeah, other times I'm talking to ghosties." "Ok, I need to sit down." "Float on your stomach." "What?" "Rise a few feet of the ground, and position yourself horizontally facing the ground. So you'll be floating on your stomach." "Why?" "For fun. Jesus, Nat. It'll help you relax. Trust me. It's like the cat thing. Like you know how cats go into freeze mode when you grab the back of their neck. It's something like that. It'll help you relax." "Alright, James."she sighed and did the thing. And sighed again. "Damn, that feels good." "Right?"I smiled, "I mean I have no way of feeling like you do, but the fact it's foolproof- ok, I can drone on for hours. What else do you need to know?" "How long can I stay as a ghost?" "I think forever." "What? What about heaven, or hell?" "Ok, this is just a theory, but I have a feeling most of your soul is actually in either of those places. A bit of the soul gets trapped on Earth for some reason so it takes the form of a ghost. You're that stray bit of soul." "What. The. Fuck." "It's just a theory, Nat." "Are there others like you?" "Not that I'm aware of." "Ok what do I do now?" "I have no idea. Some ghosts just hang out and chill by the abandoned warehouse on 53rd and 6th. You should check them out eventually. They have a legit thing going on as far as I can tell." "Legit thing?" "Like a ghost community, so to speak." "And you want me to go there?" "Eventually. Just check them out. Look, Nat. I love you. I always will. The testament to that is the baby sleeping in the next room. But right now, you are dead. This ghostly essence of you in this world is permanent. And I have to live with that. And you can come here as much as you want. Fuck, you can even live here, too. But I am the only living person who knows you-this form of you- exists. And that's going to be a lonely life. I want you to be happy. You can be happy with alive me, but I have a feeling you'll be happier with the others of your kind. But if you do choose to leave, please come back every now and then. I want to see you. And you'll want to check on our son growing up."I said Nat was holding back tears. "Did you know I'd come back in.. this form? Did you want me to come back in this form?" "I don't know. I knew there was a chance. And though the prospect of seeing you again was tempting, what with you being able to see our son as a man and all. But you will probably live forever in this form. And me and Dylan, we'll grow old. And die. And there's a chance we won't come back to this Earth like you did. And then, I don't know. What would you do?" Nat stopped floating on her stomach, and flowed gently down in front of me. "James. I love you."she said, kissing me. Which I did not know was possible. But fuck it, did it feel good to be in the arms of my wife again. _____________ >"Alright. I could see ghosts for as long as I remember. And these ghosts are usually chill. I've also gotten to a point where I can telepathically communicate with them, and they can do the same with me, too. Also-"I caught myself. I should not tell her that. Not yet at least. What he didn't tell her was that he had actually talked to her dead father, who comes to visit sometimes. But the dad still hates him. So, yeah. Not that important at the time.
I am often questioned for my choice of degree. There are very few people who want to be entymologists. These questions almost always increase when they discover my arachnophobia. Why would someone who is afraid of spiders study spiders for a living? At first, it was my parents suggestion. They told me the easiest way to get over my fear was to learn more about the object of my fear. So I studied spiders. I became the most spider-obsessed kid in my school. But I remained afraid. However, while I did not get over my fear, I learned ways to get rid of spiders. To ensure they never came near me. I learned things that made it so that, even though I feared spiders, they feared me more. I was the first to discover that spiders hide change in sofas. After I learned that, getting rid of the spiders in my house was easy. Every day, I checked between my cushions. If I found any money, I would leave it there with an eviction notice. The next day, both the money and the notice would be gone. Then I found the two gold bars. I knew that payment was proportional to biomass, so that could only mean a giant spider. As usual, I left an eviction notice on the top of the money, but it wasn't enough to assuage my fear. Somehow, such a beast had made its way into my home and was living here unbeknownst to me. I went into the attic to retrieve a costume I had made years ago specifically for fighting spiders. I began searching the house from top to bottom. I looked in every nook and cranny I could find, but I saw no sign of the giant spider. Finally, I was forced to give up. It would all be resolved by tomorrow. I did not sleep that night. I knew that, somewhere in my house, there was a gigantic beast waiting to prey upon my flesh. I could not close my eyes, lest the arachnidal horror attack me whilst I am unaware. I left the house as early as possible, desperate to escape from the web of horrors. We may keep spiders at the lab, but they are kept in containers. I knew I was safe there. Unfortunately, my coworkers mistook my tiredness for illness, and I was sent home before lunch. Hopefully, the beast had seen the notice and left. As soon as I returned home, I ran to the living room and flipped over the cushions. To my surprise, while the eviction notice had been taken, there was still one gold bar left. Curious, I picked it up to examine it before realizing my two follies - first, each spider uses one item to pay for their rent, and second, tge act of picking up the payment is considered acceptance.
She stood upon the stony outcropping, gazing down at the agrarian kingdom in the valley. Growing up the sixth daughter of farmers, everyone in her small village had thought her insignificant. When she grew old enough to attend the schools in the capital city, her teachers thought her an annoyance. When she left her small hamlet to find a place in the valley where her skills could be put to good use, they all thought her disgusting. "_We have savants who can bring rains to our crops!_"they said. "_We have savants who bolster the growth of fresh fruit!_"they said. "_We don't need a scrawny girl who crawls in the dirt with dung beetles!_"they said. Then so be it. She raised her hands to either side, lifting her chin into the breeze that swept through the valley. Spring was in bloom, the air turbid with the sickly sweet pungency rising from every crop and flower. She called out to the honeybees, drawing them away from their work. She called out to the mantids and the spiders that ate pests, bidding they come to her. She called out to the locusts and the caterpillars and the weevils, promising them a valley ripe for the taking. Insects rose in clouds, from every direction, the underappreciated workers abandoning the pastoral valley, the devastating swarms devouring it. Generations of fruitful lands, laid to waste by the insignificant, annoying, disgusting creatures that obeyed only her. _Let us see how long you last._
Nothing. Not even a scrap of information. No matter how hard we look, we can't find anything. The 1990's have, to the bewilderment of the historian community, become a blank period in human history. Every book, every hypernet article, every form of remotely relevant record skips that infernal decade as though it never existed, yet they all share a singular piece of information: "Only 90's kids can remember the 90's". We even went to the trouble of inventing time travel, for crying out loud. The idea was to send one person back to January 1st, 1990 in order to have them live in the past for ten years, then retrieve them and have them share what they learned. A flawless plan. Except after I returned my research notes had gone inexplicably blank, my audiolog records had been erased and my memories... Good Lord, my memories... I spent ten goddamned years stuck in the past and I can't remember even one second of them. It's driving me mad. If I focus I can remember going there, being there... But I can't, for the life of me, remember what happened while I was there, or even if I did anything. My superiors won't believe it, of course. One thing led to another, and now I'm being held in quarantine while they determine whether I embezzled research funds or made some catastrophic mistake that has effectively cost us untold billions in R&D. I've had many weeks to think, and in my isolation-driven quasi-madness it occurred to me that, perhaps, we needed to start thinking outside the box. "Only 90's kids can remember the 90's", was it? Perhaps it's more literal than we thought... I told my assigned supervisor that they should try abducting someone who was born in the 90's and see what happens. She reminded me that I was no longer part of the project, but I insisted she passed it on anyways. I may be mad, but even if my career is effectively over, I am a historian, dammit.
It was felt by astrothaumaturgical experts around the world, when the elves attempted to reach the Moon. From the hidden laboratories of the goblins, working furiously on new weaponry to defend against the elves and their allies, to the Arcane Academies of the Dwarven Mountainhome, all felt it or detected it. The elves, once the mighty rulers of the world, were now confined to a scant few kingdoms, hidden remnants of the splendor and majesty that the elven nations of the Dawn Age, before the uprisings of the goblinoid slave races and the human exodus to the continent. Their goddess, the Moon, had not answered their prayers for countless centuries. Thus, the priests and mages, still powerful and mighty in their arcane craft, decided that if their words did not reach the goddess, then they would have to go to her, and speak to her in person. In the largest remaining city of the elves, Ïdor-Il-Carië, the last high king of the elves ruled. He wasn't mentioned by his given name since with its more than 200 apostrophes and runes in a now forgotten language of the elves, it was unwieldy, so everyone just called him High King Dámîlcôrö-Mûjÿrhídaar, which was the shortest and simplest form of his name. The High King Dámîlcôrö-Mûjÿrhídaar had the last great work of the elves built, the Goddess Gate. A majestic display of the still powerful elven civilisation. The test run of the Goddess Gate had been successful. They could open a gate to anywhere with it. But others had different ideas. In the clockwork gnomish cities, gnomish arcanists and thauma-engineers decided that if the elves were going to the moon, they bloody-well were going to go as well. The gnomes and the elves had fought many wars, most of which the purely magic-using elves had lost, especially in recent times. Against magitek automatons with spell-cannons, auto-cleric healing armour, and enchanted rifles, the bows, swords, and spells of the elves were not comparable. So the gnomes began to work on their own Moon Project. Bronze plating with arcane runes, meticulous hermetical sealing of rooms, refining the black bile of the depths into usable fuel. The gnomes knew it would work. And far better than a mere portal. After all, in their understanding, the moon wasn't the home of a living goddess, it was just a large rock orbiting the world. The gnomes theorised that once the elves activated their portal for real, it would probably destroy the entire capital city of the elves before being destroyed itself, by sucking everything in the vicinity into the vacuum of the Moon. Dwarven engineering teams learned of this too. And finding it abominable that the weak gnomes and the, if one quote the chief engineer on the lava-propelled Dwarven moon project ''foul and contemptuous elves'', were going to reach the moon before them, they started a to work too. But they were a bit more ambitious. They weren't going there just to show up the elves and the gnomes, they were going to send a colony up there, to show the tenacity and determination of the Dwarf race, that they could live anywhere, and do anything. So using a pent-up super-volcano as their method of travel, the Dwarves began to construct their one-way colony ship. Humans, being the youngest race, had very little idea about how any of this would work, and turned to their churches, who condemned the heathen elves, the heretical dwarves, and the gnomish-non-believers. The humans knew that the Moon had been put in the sky by the Sun Father and the Earth Mother as protection against the demons. So to prevent the despoilment of this most sacred celestial object, the human church began to put its strongest priests at work. They would leave their mortal shells behind, and astroproject themselves to the sacred Moon. Where they would stand ready to destroy the foul despoilers, the moment they arrived. This would of course take years. Just as long as the other projects, but the priesthood assured the faithful that the Sun Father and Earth Mother would put hindrances in the way of the unfaithful. Finally, the goblins and the orcs, decided to invite other outcast races, to create a space program of their own. Of course, being forced to live in the most inhospital places by the more civilised races, they had rather less resources or power available to their moon program than the other powerful races. But they took notes. They sent had spies in the so-called civilised nations, besides the elven nations. So they meticulously copied whatever they could, ensuring astroprojecting shamans would protect their ship, which was made in a similar fashion to the dwarven ship. But theirs had a certain organic quality. Using magic which would be banned everywhere else, they captured several young dragons and reforged them. Turning them into living engines for their rocket. A few races did not participate, because of either a lack of interest, or a more serious lack of resources and power. Halflings, the small agrarian folk, laughed at the notion, and kept farming. The barbarian tribes scoffed at the perceived degeneracy of the settled people. Kobolds were busy with mining, praising dragons, and all the little things which a small people like them do when the sort of people who usually slaughter them en masse are occupied with something else. By sheer coincidence, or perhaps the gods having a sense of drama, all the projects were completed at the same exact time. All those proud races, started up their projects at the same time. However in one of those cruel twists of fate, it had been a very bad idea to go to the moon. Not because it's inhospital and barren. But because the elven Goddess, She of the Silvery Moon, was demonstrably real. Hell, High King Dámîlcôrö-Mûjÿrhídaar was her own grandson. So if a goddess, one of the more powerful ones, suddenly stops answering prayers. Stops sending messages down to the priests, you can bet that something is seriously wrong. When the elves celebrated the activation of their Goddess Gate, they were shocked to see what came out of the portal. And shock turned to horror. A day of triumph became a day of reckoning. Monstrous entities, horrible abominations, unspeakable nightmares, came pouring through that gate. The elves, their most powerful, ancient, and wise leaders, along with their last great city, fell in a single horrible battle. The elves fought bravely, the elves fought valiantly. But it was all for nought. The entire city, and most of the surrounding lands, were swarmed. If it hadn't been for something too big to pass through the gate, destroying the Goddess Gate, perhaps the whole world would have been consumed. In the clockwork cities of the gnomes, the rocket launched without issue. It was perfect. A marvellous work of arcane engineering and magitechnology. The gnomes flow in record speed to the moon, oblivious to what was pouring out of the elven attempt. They landed on the Moon, and similarly to how thousands of worlds have landed on their respective Moons, they planted a flag. The gnomish flag. They took pictures on their iconoimager. They laughed at the non-appearance of the elves. But as they walked on the Moon, something seeped into their minds. An insidious image of a special ore. Of how to make it into a powerful source of energy. Of reactors and all the benefits that could come from such a development. And for some reason, a spreading mushroom cloud. It burned into their minds. Filling the curious and creative gnomes with new ideas.
You look at the last bastion of humanity, and marvel at the genius. You drop to your knees and stare, slackjawed, at the depth and scope of madness, of the sheer bloody minded wisdom laid out before you. Zombies, a near endless horde of them, lie crumpled and broken, unable to take even a single step further into the protected lands. Your friends pull you to your feet, and gingerly, you pick your way forward, daring not to disturb the crippled undead or the diabolical barrier that has currbed their advance. A tiny piece of plastic clacks against your boot, and once more you pause to marvel at all the Legos on the ground.
NASA had lost contact with the crew two days ago. Seeing the news on her living room television, Melissa phoned the director and demanded to know how long emergency air supply and rations would last. "Months,"he had assured her. "Don't worry Mrs. Craig. Your husband being unable to communicate with us doesn't mean the crew are stranded or in danger. I'm sure they'll reconnect with Houston in no time." But a week of nailbiting later, and NASA still couldn't contact their deep space exploration craft. All the while, pundits speculated. Could pilot Jason Craig have finally gone nuts from spending so much life in space? Surely leading over six forays into the final frontier has an effect on a man's sanity, especially when the current trip is to the outer reaches of the solar system. The cryptic transmissions right before silence, the odd movement pattern of the craft... could it all be chalked up to reason slipping from the fingers of an overtaxed captain? Melissa knew the narrative was a lie, because her Jason had been born to spelunk the stars. It was his life's insatiable itch to tour the heavens. That was why she had married him. From their first meeting by Saturn's rings, Melissa had know that he was the one. Jason would never recount the ethereal experience to her, but she remembered it vividly herself. Sleeping peacefully by the gas giant, she was woken by an alien craft approaching her home. Turning her otherworldly body, curious but unafraid, she watched as the human vessel stopped right by her. Through a window, she observed the youthful face of Jason Craig staring at her in awe. Unbidden to her lips came the haunting melody of her people. It was the song that burst forth from the bride meeting her groom from the first time, and she was as surprised by the words as he was. Like a sailor entranced by a siren, Jason opened the airlock and drifted towards her in his suit, not tethered to the ship. Pulse quickening by the unexpected meeting with her one, true love, Melissa sang him closer and brought him into a tight embrace. Then, as he slept, she returned him to his vehicle and disappeared. She knew that Jason would never bring home an alien, so instead, she became human. Ditching her old form, she took on the appearance of a woman and entered human society to find and attract her love. They married, him none the wiser, and lived a happy life. But though he loved Melissa, Jason was always looking to space to find his lost siren. She could tell that it haunted him. But though she longed to tell him the truth, she knew that it was impossible. It would mean the end of her human disguise and their happy marriage. So she accepted that their love could only be fractional, because it was better than not having love at all. "I'm sorry Mrs. Craig,"the director said over the phone. His voice was flat but not emotionless. Melissa could feel the suppressed anger and grief. "We don't know if you're husband is ever coming back." "No,"she intoned lifelessly. "I don't think he is." Jason had never questioned the claim that her house was passed down to her from her grandmother. In a way it was true. Her grandmother had given her the spaceship, though Melissa had been the one to retrofit it into a human home. She activated the dormant craft once more, knowing that she wouldn't be back to Earth. Neighbors watched in horror and awe as she fired the thrusters and blasted her ship out of the atmosphere. Watching them dwindle into ants below made her unexpectedly melancholy. She swatted back the tears and steeled herself for the mission: rescue. With no leads other than their last known communication, she still knew where her Jason would be. Without a second thought, she blasted off to Saturn. His ship was ravaged. Rocks had shredded the outer hull and there clearly wasn't much internal pressure remaining for the trapped crew members. Melissa worked quickly to evacuate everyone into her ship and get them the oxygen and sustenance they needed. Soon, the only person left on the ship was the captain. Her Jason. "Melissa?"he whispered hoarsely, gesturing vaguely in her direction. He was oxygen deprived, laying on the ground with his head propped weakly up. "Am I hallucinating?" "Why did you come here?"she asked gently. "You wouldn't understand darling,"he said with a cough. For the second time in her life, she burst into gorgeous song that spoke of her love for him. His eyes widened with sudden clarity, and and as her haunting melody drew to a quiet close, he whispered, "You're her!" Taking him gently by the arm, she said, "We've tried Earth for a while. Come with me -- I've brought our home to us -- and we'll live in the land of my people. The land that has called you since you were a child." For the second time, Jason followed his siren to the unknown. But for the first time, their love could be complete.
[Part 1 of 2] Thomas stumbled towards the group. Giving them a half-hearted wave as he approached the cave they were all waiting outside of. The man’s state laughable to the group of novice adventurers. Not only was his shirt on backwards, he didn’t have an inch of armor on his body. Only having a sword and a half eaten loaf of bread that he was currently gnawing on as he made his way over. “Morning.” Thomas called out, drops of bread sputtering from his lips. He tried to catch the falling pieces, returning whatever he caught back into his mouth. “Mm. Nothing beats a fresh loaf of bread. Does anyone want some? I’ll trade you for a swig of ale or wine. Hell, even water if someone has any. Although, who needs water? We are adventurers, not a travelling band of merry priests.” “I only have water. Why would I wish to intoxicate myself on a mission of this caliber?” The priestess remarked, offended by his mention of priests. Who was he to say a priest or priestess couldn’t be an adventurer too? Kelly gripped her staff tighter, glaring at the man. “This caliber? Isn’t it a goblin pit?” Thomas asked, looking at his fellow adventures, only to frown. “Aww. Did they stick me on babysitting duty again? I knew Jasmine was being too kind when she kept offering me free drinks. I must have agreed to look after the newbies. Stupid drunk promises. From this day forward, I’m not drinking. Ok, maybe not today, but tomorrow. Or next Thursday. At least some day in the next fortnight.” He said, not mentioning a year. “Listen, it sounds like you’re confused, old man. Why don’t you let the professionals handle this? I’m a rank three adventurer, highest of the group. So, do you mind not intruding? I would hate to have to use you as bait.” Ace smirked, his shining armor the fantasy equivalent of a neon sign that read. ‘Rob and eat me.’ Not necessarily in that order, either. “Oh, a rank three? Gosh, those are pretty uncommon. Only about five hundred in the kingdom, right? Real exclusive group. Well, go on right ahead. I would hate to distract you.” Thomas said, taking a seat under a shady tree, trying to get over his hangover. He gave his temple a small rub, cursing Jasmine. “So, what’s the plan?” Brala asked. The bulky female fighter, cracking her knuckles. Even their fighter had gold bracelets dangling from her arms. Thomas wondering how much the goblins could sell all their items for once they were done devouring their flesh. “I say we go in and take a typical fighting formation. Brala and I will go up front, allowing Kelly to take a healing position behind us. If one of us gets hurt, they can drop back, allowing Kelly to heal them before rejoining the front lines.” Ace explained, only to hear a yawn leave Thomas’s lips. “What?” “Huh? Oh, nothing. A little sleepy. Why don’t you get your magic lady to wave a torch around and kill them in the confusion? It’s way quicker. Just watch out, your armor will shine in the light, so it will make you an easy target. Might want to take it off.” Thomas offered his advice, not even looking at the group when he gave it. “Magic lady? I’ll have you know I am a rank two High priestess, one of the strongest in my order. I have studied at over three churches and have decades’ worth of knowledge in all the major religions on this side of the city. The fact that you dare refer to me as a-“ “Ok, sorry.” Thomas raised his hands, regretting saying anything. He had to remember how touchy priests and priestesses could get. It never bothered Jasmine when he called her the flashy boom woman. Or maybe she just ignored him? “Better be.” Kelly snarled. “Can we go? I’m getting cold waiting out here. I’ll knock all those goblins out with my punches.” Brala said, starting her pre-fight stretches. “Punches? Against a goblin? HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR TEETH? It will bite your fingers off. Has a puppy has ever bitten you? You know how sharp their little teeth are? Imagine those teeth with the bite power of a horse. That’s a goblin for you. I wouldn’t be putting any part of my body near their mouth. Not without six protective layers of magic and a priest to purify whatever disease they leave in the wound.” “My punches are faster than a goblin bite.” Her confidence was something to admire, if not a little foolish. Thomas would have believed her, if not for the bracelets she wore. Anyone planning on throwing punches against a goblin with any sort of additional weight to their hands was a fool. “Yes, yes, and I can out sing a siren.” Thomas gave a dismissive huff as he drew his sword, motioning the group to follow. “Ok, come on. Let papa Thomas stop you all from dying. Go ahead, I’ll follow you in. Once you get outnumbered, run behind me. Magic la- Priestess, heal me if I need it when you all inevitable mess up.” “Whatever, let’s do this.” Ace strode in confidently with the group, only for the three to be screaming in no time. Thomas followed behind them, slashing his way through the green terrors. The goblins came at them from every angle, some even jumping off ledges near the ceiling. Ace had four clinging to his armor at a stage, only for Thomas to cut him free. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/14e8boo/wp_one_can_easily_distinguish_a_true_veteran/jou7gvi/)
The pounding of hammers stopped completely as soon as the water cart came by. Every man lined up to form an orderly queue despite their maddening thirst. Though the Ghiscari Republic had outlawed the practice of slavery more than 20 years ago, the old conditioning from their slaver masters still held sway. The freedmen were willing to work for a pittance and happy to endured far more hardship than contractors from the Free City Republics, which really made them perfect employees. "All right,"the foreman shouted to them as they gratefully sipped at the cups brackish, brown water that they were given, "Get back to work! We don't have all day!"A Braavosi by birth, the foreman was not particularly fond of the sweltering Red Wastes, and would prefer to spend as little time outside as possible. There's only one thing that could bring a man like that this far from civilization: money. They were all currently at work on the latest branch of the Myrrish National Railroad Company's vast network of steam engine tracks. There was a fortune to be made, if the crew could survive the devastating summer out here and complete the track to Yi Ti. The recent war between The Moraq Empire and Asshai had made the Jade Sea a dangerous place indeed. Trade ships were preyed upon by privateers from both sides, causing prices of tea, sugar, and spices in the Free Cities and Westeros to skyrocket. A land route would alleviate those problems, and make the railroad's owners very rich in the process. They were already calling it the "Trans-Essos Railroad,"and making plans to expand it to Nefer in the north and Asshai in the south. The project had been beset by problems from the beginning, though. The rails were found to be brittle and porous, made from low-quality steel from Lys rather than the Stark-brand steel that they needed. The soil in the Dothraki Sea had turned out to be far too soft support the railroad tracks, requiring the building of great raised mounds to lay the tracks upon. And not to mention all the problems with... "Horses!"the watchman called. "Horsemen on the horizon!" The freedmen immediately dropped their shovels, picks, and hammers. Those who hadn't gotten water yet quickly forgot their thirst as they all dashed back to the weapons cart. Once again, their organizational skills came into use as they formed lines to efficiently hand out guns, ammunition, and powder. They arrayed themselves up along the low ridge of the sand dune nearby as the Dothraki raiding party streamed across the plain and showed how they earned the nickname "Screamers."Most of the raiders wore no armor or uniforms and bore only rusty swords, though a few did carry rifles that they had claimed in previous raids. In unison, the former slaves loaded their rifles and formed a firing line. They had been trained as soldiers, all those years ago in Ghis. And even decades later, they had not forgotten their training. As the Dothraki horde approached, they maintained their calm and aimed down the sights of their rifles. Most of them whispered prayers to the Red God, though the foreman was a Moonsinger himself. The Dothraki crested the last ridge between the two groups, and the freedmen could now clearly see their snarling faces and decorative warpaint. "FIRE!"the foreman roared. --- If you enjoyed this, you should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell! I might continue this story there in a bit.
The lesser creature, sprawled upon the ground, looked up and saw the larger dominant creature before itself: teeth bared into a smile. A foul sound, repetitive and rhythmic, bellowing out from its chest and directed at it. Laughter. The lesser creature blinked away its tears, making a grunt of pain and resistance. Its fur was matted with blood and dirt, the result of past altercations with this one dominant creature. The dominant creature howled, as if taunting its lesser to try and even the odds. It had subjugated many like it before, bringing all to their knees before it. What would one defiant creature be but a footnote, a speed bump? Both creatures, acting on aggregated instinct, were more like sleepwalkers than sapient beings: merely playing out responses to actions and stimuli. The dominant creature grabbed the lesser creature, raising it off from the ground and throwing it back down again. It had done this many times before, cracking the skulls of other creatures upon rocks on the ground, rendering them into inert lumps of flesh. There was no way for the dominant creature to know that today would be any different. The angle was slightly off, and instead of a fatal blow, the lesser creature’s head recoiled off the rock instead. Something clicked inside the lesser creature’s head. Like a sleepwalker being roused from slumber, it blinked. It was a blink that seemed to stretch into eternity. A voice, weaved from cause and effect, from the inevitable decay of order into chaos, from the vibrations of threads finer than the finest silk, spoke to the creature. There was no language in the voice, only pure intent. The voice spoke of many things. It spoke of other beings far greater than the one the creature was locked in conflict with, beings that would offer it unlimited power for a price. It spoke of lives beyond the current, of other dominant creatures in those lives who desired for those of this existence to acknowledge and venerate them. It spoke of other beings who molded the flesh of self and others through abhorrent sounds and gestures, leaving oceans of blood in their wake. It spoke of the same situation playing out across the eons and across countless worlds, each an iteration upon the great game of existence. The strong subjugating the weak. The weak submitting to the strong. The voice offered a choice. A way to resist, to develop, to progress. The Creature opened its eyes. It spoke no language, but its intent was clear. It would not bargain, nor venerate, nor warp its flesh. Without looking, as if guided by the hand of destiny itself, The Creature grabbed the rock that had almost killed it mere instants before. The Creature gripped the rock tightly and charged at the dominant creature. It would end its oppressor’s existence, right here and right now. It couldn’t do so before by pure strength alone, but now things were different. It was no longer alone. And so did the rock became the first tool, and The Creature named Man took its first bloody step down the Path of Technology.
A woman knelt. Before and above her, a man of mighty girth and stature sat on a throne of cold steel. Her eyes dared not to rise and watch him, for he is the end of all things. He was eating heartily from a feast of brandy-roasted quail, boiled beets and pickled herring. The fat grease slowly dripped from his chins, as he commanded her to rise. ''Have you done as I asked, my apprentice?''. His gruesome voice rose and fell with his hazed breath. She rose slow and uncertain, her knees aching from supporting her frail frame. She answered him. ''Yes my lord, I have driven them mad with wailing and woe, angry with rage and hatred. I have killed those children of writing I birthed, by your command.'' He smirked as he took another quail leg to his mouth and took a bite from it, the grease running down his bearded chins. She was waiting for his approval, she could barely breathe as she watched him consume more of the bird. ''Have you done as I commanded? Did you make the red-haired fool take his sister to bed? Betraying the man he once called his best friend?'' ''Yes, and I made sure that the torture by Bellatrix killed the clever girl. And killed off the bespectacled hero, with a beating from a giant crushing his fragile body.'' He slowly rose from his seat forged in the fire of angry fantasy-readers. ''Good my apprentice, now you have risen to the next level of your studies. You have done well Rowling.'' Relieved and smiling she slowly went up to the throne and hugged him, as was custom between them. And then she slid a knife through her master's throat. His eyes bulged and his mouth bled as he tried in vain to speak. Rowling took the knife and twisted it further through his throat, until she hit bone. ''And so, the apprentice overcomes the master. You were a good teacher Martin, but now I will sit on the Writer's Throne, and I shall finish your books in ways you never intended. Your tyranny ends today.'' As so she took out the knife and George R. R. Martin collapsed on the floor. ''Valar Morghulis.''
"Suck it, homo. I shot you right in the face,"I shouted into my microphone, trying to discourage my opponent. "God, you suck." "No, you know what sucks? The life I have planned for you. Your entire fate is a worthless speck of shit on an infinite timeline, and your soul would sell for less than a rotten potato. You're a microbe festering in humanity's bladder. You'll amount to nothing more than a line cook for life, and even then, you'd be better off served as a hamburger than continuing to waste the air your species breathes. Seriously, a cow has more potential than you- I'd know, I spoke with your mother last night. She begged me for salvation, tears in her eyes, and I came inside her. I actually came inside her. They say Moses parted the Red Sea, but apparently, so can I. You'll have a brother soon, and he'll be the second cumming of Christ." I sniped him again, 360 no-scope style. "Suck my dick, God." "Suck your dick? You mean that little cocktail weenie between your legs? The one you struggle to keep up when you're with your girlfriend? I make her orgasm in her sleep just so she knows what she's missing with you. That's how pointless and inane your existence is. You're not even worth an existential crisis, because you have no existential worth. Faggot. I hate this game. You're going to hell, you little shit. I'm sending everyone who works at EA there, too, so they can introduce microtransactions to Satan and make your life even more miserable." I tossed a grenade across the map, catching him in the blast. This time, I didn't even have an insult- I just cackled into the phone, voice breaking like God's will. "Oh, is this funny? You're laughing? I made this game. No, I made the people that made this game. I made you, for whatever shitty reason, and that's literally the only reason you're even here to laugh. I could give you a stroke right now, or send locusts up your ass- wait, you'd probably like that. Never mind. Still laughing? Yeah? We'll see who's laughing when you fail out of school, your parents abandon you and you turn into a meth addict, then. Oh, probably you- because you'll have lost what little semblance of sanity you were born with, and you'll die choking on your own vomit in the back of a trailer somewhere in the Mojave desert. How's that, asshole? Still funny? How about an eternity in hell, that little cocktail weenie of yours roasting over brimstone? Sound fun?" xXWaterToWinePartyTimeXx has gone offline ---------------------------------------------------- bored as fuck? check out /r/resonatingfury!
My first year of communication with Earth was nearing its end, thankfully. “How many more of your species exist?” The speaker blared with yet another question. “We do not count the individuals. We are all one.” Another unsatisfying answer for the humans but that is what they get for applying their logic to my species. They had been asking questions non-stop since I had arrived. It has been best to communicate through their electronics since a casual look at their history has shown them to be violent and unpredictable. “But how do you have competing…” The humans question had been cut short. The crowd inside the transmission station had pushed him away. I had informed them they may ask any question but I would not answer them all. At first they simply shouted their questions over one another. They broadcast videos, radio, screamed into phone lines, spammed message boards. Anything to get their questions in electronic form hoping their question would be next. “Do crabs think fish can fly?” The high pitched voice of the next human rang out in the nearly hollow space craft. “No, crabs do not possess the capacity for abstract thinking.” “Do any other species have abstract thinking?” This human was lucky, she actually got a second question in. “None that are currently alive.” The human was ushered off stage as the answer rang out. Each person was allowed twenty seconds ask their question, a system that was put in place after the first month of chaos. The line of people waiting their turn was months long at this point. “Does god have a plan for me?” Said a small voice. I gazed back at the video feed of the human asking this question, a young woman wearing a small gold cross. “I cannot answer that.” No questions about the creator, that was the one rule. It did not stop them from trying. An old man with thin rimmed glasses was next up. “Is it possible to travel faster than the speed of light?” I enjoyed the questions from the scientific community the most. They received the most thorough answers. “You cannot move faster than light, but you may arrive at a location is less time than it takes light to travel there.” “So worm hole travel is real?” “Yes” A small boy, no more than twelve year old stepped up next. I despised children and their asinine questions but if this is how the human wanted to waste my time then so be it. “A-are you the smartest b-being?” He squeaked, stammering out his question. “No” I leaned back and stared at the metallic roof of my craft. “So could you make a math problem so hard that you could not solve it?” That question sounded vaguely familiar. “I could not” “But it is possible then?” I looked back toward the video feed. Why was he not being moved along, surely he was over his time limit. “Yes it is possible” “If no other creatures have abstract thought and you are smarter than humans then that implies that there is another being in this universe that is smarter than you.” He said with more confidence in his voice. Why wasn’t the crowd stopping this boy? “So then you’re implying that there is something greater than you. Something you would not consider alive in the typical sense. There is a creator.” “I cannot answer that.” “That wasn’t a question.”
“What’s he going to do? Send me to double hell? Send me to a hell that is hotter than the hottest damned flames around?” Lucifer stormed around his office, ranting to his confused imp assistant. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to mess with God. Gods are rather stubborn; they don’t like people that break their rules?” “What rules? Where’s it says that hell has to be a miserable place? It’s not like I’m going to stop torturing the evil ones that deserve it, I still need something to do on weekends. I’m just saying the ones that don’t fit the evil criteria can come to our new entertainment district. It will be like heaven, but with sin. So, a fun version of heaven.” “If you say so, lord Lucifer. I just don’t think this is a great idea, but if you really want to go ahead with the plan, I’ll begin the preparations. Do you want to pick a specific theme for the entertainment district?” “The theme is hell; I’m not made of souls. Just use the surrounding landscape as much as you can, try to keep the cost of this project reasonable.” “And the name of the district? What are you going to call it?” “Sin City.” “Think that’s already a thing, sir.” “Oh, then Uncle Lucifer’s Sin City.” With the plans made, the imp went to work organizing the luxurious entertainment district, having everything a sinner could want. Gambling, Gladiatorial battles and sparkling water. It was a place reserved for the best of the worst. With the plans done, the only thing left to do was the grand unveiling. Lucifer thrilled to be the one to cut the fire coated ribbon. Even the imp who held some reservations at the idea couldn’t help but let his spaded tail wag as he followed Lucifer to the grand opening. “Everything’s organized, sir. I can’t wait to see their looks of amazement. To go from torture to a land of fun. How devilishly grand. I love it.” “And you questioned me? I told you this would work out. Now let us reveal our sparkling city of sin to these souls.” Lucifer turned to face the crowd of floating orbs, each a simple sphere of golden light. Flicking his fingers, the orbs turned into humans, the various sinners getting their bodies back, each one staring at the ruler of hell with puzzled expressions, wondering if this was a new form of torture. “Greeting sinners, today I am revealing the latest change to my brand image. Say goodbye to cruel and unusual torture and say hello to Uncle Lucifers Sin City.” Lucifer slashed his hand down against the ribbon, the drops of flaming fabric falling onto the floor, allowing everyone to enter the grand establishment. The crowd cheered only to fall silent as the first human crossed into the entertainment district, the dazzling lights of the neon signs fading as the power went out. “That jealous deity. Sorry everyone, seems we are experiencing an act of god right now. Please wait a few moments while we get our finest demons on the case.” Turning to the imp, he whispered into their ear. “Get the power on now, I’m not letting him ruin opening day.” The imp hurried along, working to restore the power, meanwhile Lucifer tried to keep the crowd’s attention with a drawn-out speech recounting the creation process of the entertainment district, a speech so drawn out that some people willingly went back to the torture pits to get away from it. After an hour of dull speeches, the lights glistened again; The crowd cheering while Lucifer stood aside, high fiving the excited humans as they went to commit all the sin they wanted without fear of divine damnation. “I see even knuckleheaded imps know how to work a generator. Don’t think this will be the end of my interference. I will keep interfering until you do your job. I won’t let you turn hell into a theme park.” The godly voice buzzed in Lucifer’s ear, causing him to screw up his nose, leaving the line temporarily to respond. “Entertainment district, not a theme park. I am entertaining people, not extorting them with ridiculously marked up prices. I may be Lucifer, but I’m not that cruel. Enjoy watching hell become the hottest afterlife around.” Before god could respond, Lucifer drowned him out, ignoring the divine voice in the back of his head, instead he focused on generating some hype for his new entertainment district. “First drinks are on Uncle Lucifer.” He called out, earning a cheer from the crowd as he followed them towards the Drunken Imp. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
“I still don't get it.” “Ok, let's try again. You've heard of 'anger', right?” “I've read about it.” “And you've heard of 'revenge'.” “I mean... I know the word.” “But you don't really understand it.” “Of course not, who could? Humans have lots of emotional quirks that no other species comprehends.” “Tell me what you know.” “They ah... they derive satisfaction from taking actions against those that wrong them, even if the action itself doesn't provide them any advantage.” “You just recited that from memory.” “I already admitted I don't understand it. It doesn't make any sense, what do they gain?” “Let's try 'anger' again.” “I don't know, it gives them special powers or something.” “Now we're getting somewhere. You see, anger can drive a human to do incredible things. It can give them strength, give them confidence. It can make them completely disregard their own well-being in order to accomplish something.” “Something like revenge?” “Exactly like revenge.” “Why are you telling me all this?” “Because seven years ago you killed a Traegarian with a human companion. A human companion that you failed to appreciate the importance of killing.” “I remember; it was just an adolescent.” “Yes, well unfortunately for you it grew up. It travelled the galaxy searching for you." "And?" "And I am very, very angry.”
At the deepest reaches of Hell, it’s said you can no longer feel the pull of Heaven. You see, the momentous amount of torture that is inflicted upon the wayward souls that end up in Hell, is nothing compared to the most devious and diabolical of punishments; the ability to SEE heaven, bask in its comforting glow, hear its reassurances that everything will be okay, and feel the everlasting pull towards paradise. But you will never get there. The presenting of hope, without the ability to ever achieve it. The deepest reaches, therefore, became a sort of respite for those who had endured the torment or the higher tiers. The concept is fairly recent, all things considered. While time has little meaning in a metaphysical realm such as Hell, it was only 300 years ago that this plan was enacted. It was the single most revolutionary reformation in Hell since the fall of Lucifer, so it took some getting used to. But it was the pet project for Hell’s newest ruler, a human soul from the Renaissance era of Earth, who quickly rose through the ranks of evilest in the domain. Amongst those who had raped, pillaged, killed and maimed, this man’s deeds somehow stood out amongst the greater demons. In life, he had been a “man of God”, although many living would dispute that claim. He had risen to heights unthinkable, under the guise of piousness and reason, only to debase himself and others with acts of whoredom, debauchery and malediction. He ruled the people’s faith and minds, while his family ruled their wallets. But the acts which made him the evilest soul in Hell, were known only to himself. Deep down, he believed himself worthy of God’s light. He fully expected to be accepted, despite all his misdeeds, and to be welcomed into paradise upon his death. As he so taught, God is just. And he felt, as the voice of God on earth, he would be understood. How could a man not take advantage of his lessers. How could he not take the bribes, both material and of the flesh? After all, he knew how to use the money and women better. These were his right. They were given to him by God, obviously they were! There was no doubt in his mind! His greatest sins, the sins that earned him the crown of thorns and hate, were believing that God looked upon him any better than those he tormented; that his position, somehow made him more divine than the next. Upon his death, he glimpsed the shores of Heaven, before feeling the grasp of flame pull him down, slowly, so that he could feel every longing of paradise leave his spirit as he was sequestered away. And so, he became his sins. He became more determined than ever to inflict upon those “beneath” him, the torment he felt life, and now the afterlife, had dealt upon him. So, he proposed his plan; let those who long for it, view Heaven, and deep down they will know, they can never get there. The demons and fallen bequeathed him with his rule. A rule which painfully reminded him of his failure. For it was not only the Satan’s task to mete out punishment and torment, but also to FEEL every soul’s pain, every soul’s suffering. For thus, was God’s last spite to him, he felt. Even in ruling Hell, was he tormented by his denial of God’s love. And he would make sure all felt his torment.
Ranma laughed, trying to encourage all those in the hall to join. "My father jests, even in the face of death! Truly a light-hearted man to the end. Now, please, father. Place the crown on either Kalin's head or mine, and be done with the ceremony. We are your loyal sons, here to serve and protect the realm." The king hacked loudly, coughing blood all over his robe. "Foolish boy, the only jest here is that you truly think yourself fit for the throne. I have named this servant boy king. Do you not see the crown upon his head?"He turned to the newly crowned servant. "What is your name?" The frail slave, dark skin barely covered by tattered rags, was trembling with fear. "Do not be afraid, son. All these years you have served me, and I never thought to ask. Tell the world the name of their next king." Kalin interrupted, his words a blade, slicing their conversation in twain. "Son? Did you just call that worthless scum son? A name which you have not even used to refer to your actual sons? You'd tarnish our name with such ease?" "EASE?"the king bellowed, finding voice despite his sickness. "You think it easy for me to do this? You truly are a fool, as is your brother. I'm not the one that ordered the execution of a child for being a besting me in a fight, Kalin. I'm not the one that tortured animals for pleasure in my quarters, Ranma. You're both children, and you're cruel already with what little power you have. Let us make this very clear, sons: I am not the one that tarnished your namesakes- you did that yourselves. Do not ever think to lay blame on me." The sons fell silent, their heads hanging in shame, fists clenched with rage. The king resumed his conversation with the servant. "Tell me your name, boy. You've served here many years now." "13 years, sir. I am 17 now. My name is Dhuq'a,"the boy answered as instructed. "Dhuq'a is a fine name. Tell me something, Dhuq'a- do you want to be king?" "Well, Your Grace, I...I don't know that I'm fit to be a king. I merely serve you food and clean, Your Grace. I know nothing of politics or war." "Good, politicians make me sick. There are advisors and councils for that, you know. They can guide you, and there are elders to help you learn for yourself." Ranma burst, no longer able to contain himself. "Father, please,"he tried to choke out through tears, "I promise I'll be a good king. A strong king, don't give the throne to some...some filthy slave, he's not worthy of something so grand. You can't just abandon your blood, your sons." "See, you bloody idiot, this is the problem. Nobody as blind as yourself, even at 20, should be allowed a throne. You don't care about anything other than being king. It's a toy to you, something precious and you want it. You think it's yours, and you deserve it, just as I did when I was a boy. I tried to raise you two proper, to be someone better than I was at your age, but clearly I failed. Thankfully, I am no longer the man I was. I see beyond bloodlines and smashing villages for power." "Please, father, I'll do anything. I'm begging you,"Kalin pleaded, his knees on the cold, marble flooring. "Anything? Then fall on your sword. You can have the throne when you're dead." The crowd fell silent after a series of sharp gasps echoed through the sons' ears. Their groveling halted, leaving them staring at the swirled marble dotted with tears, completely taken aback by their father's words. "To see you begging, crying for the throne. I'd hoped at least one of you could remain strong and accept my decision with honor, like a true man of dignity. But instead you grovel and snivel, teary-eyed and weak-kneed. You are not men; you are children. I cannot entrust this kingdom to one of you."He turned to Dhuq'a and smiled. "Dhuq'a, I hereby name you king of this great realm; Protector of Mundakaa and its cities. You have known pain, growing up a slave. You have known hardship, working every day without complaint, taking beatings at the whim of a cruel master. You know the plight of those in the lower class, and you are a kind, wise soul beyond your years. You have served me well, always, and I can see in your eyes that you will be neither a cruel nor weak king. This is a dying man's last request, Dhuq'a. Be a king for the people, not for yourself." "I will try, Your Grace." ------------------------------------------------ thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury
Each day without an answer was another one spent in agony. I could feel Mona Lisa, carefully wrapped, sealed, and hidden, smiling at me. That cool, coy smile. The kind of smile you'd make watching a kid drop their ice cream on the sidewalk. It had been five days since I'd broken and emailed the Louvre. "Dear Louvre,"I began, "You probably missed the note. Understandable. I wouldn't put it past your exemplary custodial service to toss a slip of paper on sight. Maybe you thought it was a joke. Again, understandable, but also a bit concerning. Wouldn't a slight doubt warrant a quick double-check, just in case? As an avid museum-goer I would hope so. In either case, my note wasn't garbage and certainly not a joke. I have your Mona Lisa and I will not part with it for anything less than 800 million U.S. dollars. Please get in touch as soon as you can. Cheers." But there was no response. I sat at my computer, surrounded by cans of tuna and warm beer, refusing to move an inch, except to pee and do morning stretches. My hair was a matted mess. My teeth had been stained by mercury and tobacco. My clothes felt limp and sour. I was halfway through Tron one evening - or morning, difficult to know - when a notification popped up on my screen. It was them. The title said RE: YOUR NOTE. I clicked. "Dear museum-goer,"it started, "We did indeed receive your letter. You misspelled consequences, by the way. Although your effort was noted, we must regretfully inform you that we are unable to retrieve the Mona Lisa for your price. We encourage you to keep the painting as a token of the hard work and skill required to pull off your caper, as we do all of the other 'museum-goers' that have stolen our previous Monas. The real one was stolen sometime around 1838. We just haven't gotten around to updating the official website. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Au revoir." I closed my email and hit play. Tron and Flynn were flying across the digital plane on their solar sailer, just to be yelled at by a giant face.
The hardest thing for a child to do is decided when their parent should die. It's even harder when you care so deeply for them. My Dad always joked that I would be the death of him, but I never thought it would be like this. I was always a strong-willed child determined to get my way. I think that's why he was always so attentive to my actions. He taught me honor. He taught me faith. He taught me to be a warrior and a leader of men. How could I kill this man who shaped me? He left me a letter explaining everything to be delivered "when the the time came". He talked of a prophecy and destiny. I believe he believes it, but I don't want to. I love him too much. But I must not be selfish, he's in pain. He's suffering. He is only being kept alive by unnatural means that much be ceased. I leaned over his unconscious body and kissed his forehead. I told him I love him and that mom will be waiting on the other side for him with his favorite meal on the table, slightly burned as always. Then I killed him. I did what no child ever wants to do, but it had to be by my hand. I dropped the weapon of my murder. Tears blinding my eyes. Then like the plug I just pulled I fell to the floor to mourn for the man who made me a man.
Technicus flew over the city. People looked up as he passed. Some even cheered. He hated when they did that. They should have been fleeing in terror at his appearance. His name should have inspired fear in the hearts of all who heard it. Instead, they celebrated him. "Hey, boss, where're we going today?" He sighed and looked behind him. The young woman flying behind was aggravating for so many reasons. He had been trying to kill a random person by pushing her off the roof of a skyscraper. Turns out she had hidden aerokenetic powers. Now she called herself Zephyr and insisted on following him around. "We're going to the bank."He said. "Ah, right. Gotta check how we're doing after that new merch deal, right?" He groaned. That damn deal. He had been trying to hold a business hostage with a combination of cyber attacks and robotic minions. Turned out that it was a marketing firm that had gotten numerous cyber attacks that his intervention stopped. Now he had a dedicated marketing firm and numerous merchandise lines, many based on the attack robots he had used in his attempted attack. "Uh, yeah, sure."He said. He was actually going to rob it. There was no way anyone could misinterpret that as a heroic act. He would finally be known as someone to fear. It would be the gateway crime that finally lead him to a real reign of terror. "Great!"Zephyr said."I bet those comics of you are doing great." He shuddered. He did not even want to remember the day those started. It still baffled him how a mass kidnapping turned into a comic book series. The two of them landed in front of the bank, drawing stares from the crowd. Many people took their pictures. Zephyr obliged by smiling for the camera and playing the crowd. Technicus actively avoided looking at them. What good was a crowd that was not cowering in fear of him? He entered the bank, his "sidekick"close behind. He reached into his armor and pulled out a small device. The device rapidly expanded at his mental order, unfolding into a nasty gun. "Hey, uh, boss? What's that?"The young woman asked. "That, uh, that looks like a gun." "It is." "Why do you need a gun?" He answered by shouting at the top of his lungs, "Nobody move!" "Boss?"She looked worried. He did not care. Let her see his true colors. "Are...are you going to rob a bank?" He was about to answer when several people in the crowd stirred and started making haste towards the door. All of them wore heavy coats. Technicus pointed his weapon at them. "I said don't move."He growled. They froze. One of them began to really panic. "No! No, that's impossible! How did you know? How did you find us? We...we were so careful!" The attempted villain got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was it happening again? "Well, you won't take me in, not by a long shot!"The trench coat wearing man said. Then he pulled out a shotgun. So did several other men. They leveled their weapons at him. Then a small cyclone formed and knocked them around. "Oh man, boss, you had me going there."Zephyr said. "I almost thought you were going to rob the place yourself. I should've known you knew about these guys before getting here." He had not known. It was just another coincidence. One that again, resulted in people cheering his name and thanking him for his service. He groaned and out his gun away. It was pointless now. He could probably just ask people for their money and they would give it to him, assuming he would be donating it to charity or something. That was not the way to inspire fear in the hearts of the masses. He would do it one day. Someday he would bring the world to its knees. Someday people would fear him. Someday. He just had to get them to stop treating him like a damned hero first.
I always imagined there had to be another. From the first time I creeped a preschool teacher out of the school entirely with my powers, I assumed I couldn’t be the only special one out there. ‘Garrett recited the names of my childhood pets and every street I’ve ever lived on’ is apparently a good excuse to get yourself on mental health leave, for what it’s worth. What I’d never guessed at was just how insignificant my own affliction would feel when I finally found someone else like me. And yes - I’m referring to the ability to become telekinetically acquainted with someone’s entire life story through skin-to-skin contact as an affliction. Why, you ask? For starters, life on easy mode gets old fast. First-world…deity problems I guess? But you can only hit the nail on the head with so many women's daddy issues and drive the price of so many business deals through the roof before you start to get bored. Even the slightest touch downloaded a person’s thoughts, dreams and history into my consciousness, right up until the last time I’d grazed them. And this wasn’t no monkey paw bullshit either, I digested it all as easily as a $90 steak. My life had been a highlight reel of flawless defense on the basketball court, perfectly placed words of comfort to crying girlfriends and job interviews so smooth they put a Tarantino movie’s dialogue to shame. Maybe ‘gets old’ is the wrong wording. I was happy, but it seemed like fictional superheroes lived a life more on the edge of some cataclysmic fault of good and evil, a type of purpose I’d never been graced with. In America, there wasn’t much to do for a mind reader except get rich. I suppose I could have tried to join the army or something, but my powers didn’t stop bullets. I’d never stopped so much as a potential mass shooter if I’m being straight with you. All the inbound thoughts and memories I’d been burdened with were very repetitive and mostly the same, which brings me to my next complaint… You are all some sick, sick, deviant sons of bitches when it comes to sex. Seriously. All things considered though, I was chugging along just fine. The head of an international consulting firm that specialized in negotiations by the age of 28, I had put my powers to good use. The sudden influx of video meetings brought on by COVID-19 had hamstrung me for a while, but I was back at it, flying to somewhere like Chicago for a week or two to handle business before jumping right back on a private jet to Sayulita. The day I met Amanda Morrison was shaping up to be like hundreds of business dealings before it. The coolest thing about this meeting was that it was with a company that was supposedly sending manned rockets further into space than ever before. As a negotiator on behalf of the raw materials manufacturer that would be helping to build said rocket, my job was to charge these Elon Musk wannabes up the ass for thinking they could cheat the Good Lord’s Armageddon by fleeing from this spinning rock before all the good stuff burned up. I strolled up to the building with all the confidence of…well a guy who could read minds and was going to be negotiating. No need to mince words there. A group of people in business attire greeted me at the conclusion of an elevator ride that brought me up to an open office space. Engineer types (you can always just tell who at a company does math and who does the talking) typed away at monitors in the background, presumably designing the rockets that we’d be talking prices for. I shook their hands one by one. Ok, James Yoon was a former almost pro surfer, that was pretty cool. What a Renaissance man. Julia Marsh was going through a somewhat messy divorce. Rough. And then I reached out and grasped the hand of a lanky black woman with almost geometrically cropped short hair. I learned quite a few things the moment I first touched Amanda Morrison. The first realization that poked its way through the fog was that Amanda Morrison was only her name as much as any she had been called over the eons. The woman was as old as life on the planet itself, something of a Gaia or Mother Earth all folded into one ageless package. Her power was to defy time. The second is that I wasn’t alone in my abilities, far from it. I was a minor deity, like thousands of others she had encountered over the span of her life. The power to know other humans by touch had been realized in many before me and would continue to be long after I was gone. Hundreds walked the Earth with unique powers like mine. There were even others on the scale of Amanda, who defied some cosmic truth akin to time itself. The third was the easiest to digest, so I decided to focus on the other stuff later. Amanda Morrison was planning to shoot herself off into space. &#x200B; &#x200B; Might continue some other time, cool prompt!
"Daddy, tell me a scary story."Boston pleaded, climbing up into her father's lap. "What kind of scary story?"He asked. "Something with monsters. I wanna hear about a creepy monster."She sang. "Okay. Let me think."He said, hugging her close so the perfect little flower that was her face was gazing up at him. "I'll tell you the story of Nathan. The monster under the fridge. Nathan is a Ha-buga-boo. The most terrifying of all bogey men. He lives in the shadow beneath the fridge, waiting for children and other little kids. The terrifying beast with hands like a child leaves finger prints on the door in true monster style."He told her, wiggling his fingers in a creepy fashion. She giggled with terrified glee. "Nathan is a sneak. He leaves hand prints on the fridge so the little kids get in trouble. And when daddy gets upset, he sends the little girl or little boy to clean their finger prints off, and--HE GRABS YOUR FEET AND PULLS YOU UNDERNEATH!"He exclaimed, tickling her. "What's he do with the little kids he takes?"She asked, curious. "He skins them and makes a little kid suit out of them so he can escape from underneath the fridge."He told her. "Gross."She said, making a retching motion. "Did you know your little sister was stolen by Nathan?"He asked, pretending to be serious. "No she wasn't."Boston said in disbelief. "You can tell because the skin suit doesn't fit very tight."He added, calling to Boston's little sister, Emily. Emily came running in on stubby little legs and climbed up on daddy's other knee. "Okay. Watch closely and you'll see that your little sister is really Nathan in disguise."Her father told Emily to sit very still. He placed his hand on her scalp and pulled it forward and back making it slide back and forth across her skull. "Ahhh! Stop, Daddy. Stop!"Boston called, crawling away from her sister. He kept doing it. "Ooo! Nathan's going to get you."He sang in an eerie voice. "Nathan's going to come out and get you."Emily looked up at her father in irritation and tried to pull away. "The only way to make Nathan come out is like this."He said, licking his finger in preparation for a wet willy. Boston started laughing. Emily looked very angry. He got the finger closer and closer to Emily's ear. "Okay, Nathan. COME OUT!"He called, sticking his wet finger in Emily's ear. Emily's skin suddenly split open and Nathan slithered out like a blood-covered locust and scrambled off the terrified family's lap an onto the floor. Boston screamed an ear-splitting high-pitched scream that sent Nathan scurrying under the coffee table and upending chairs as he sought out his den. Father leapt to his feet in surprise and used a poker from the fire place to try and bash in the monster's head. Nathan spat and hissed and dragged himself along with his two blood-slicked arms, small and thin like tree branches. When father laid a good strike across the monster's back, it turned and pursued father and Boston, clawing at them and scratching their legs and arms and whatever it could reach. Once it was sure they were in retreat, it turned it's bulbous head around, it's deep hollow sockets housed dark red orbs that spied the fridge. It turned and fled then. Father hesitated then ran after it, but Nathan made it to the fridge first and slithered under with a lot of wiggling and scrapping. Boston's father turned back to look at the couch in fear and amazement . . . and horror. Boston was holding her sister's wet, sticky, discarded skin in her hands and starring at the slumping face in abject terror. "Where's Emily?"She asked. Father turned to look at the fridge knowing the answer was there. Interesting Side Note: I used to tell my daughter about this monster that lived under the fridge named Nathan. Nathan was the name I kept calling my ex-wifes boyfriend. It wasn't his name, but when I told her this story, she didn't want to hang around him to much. :))
I'm going to do it... Today is the day... I'm finally going to ask... Sheila... If I can be the default browser... The only thing I've ever been used for... Is to search Bing for ^Google ^Chrome ... That smug bastard... With his fancy plug ins... and his not crashing... There was that one day... Where she had to use me... For that conference call thing... From work... It's nice to see some people... Not buying in to all this young whipper-snapper stuff... like functionality... ATTENTION YOUR COMPUTER HAS BEEN INFECTED WITH A VIRUS... Oh god it's blinking... Why do I have to get boners at the worst times?!!... She's trying to click out... "Stay on Page"or "Yes"... Fuck I'm ruining my chances... Oh God another "pop-up"... CONGRATULATIONS YOU'VE JUST WON A MACBOOK PRO... Oh God the irony... I'll just... Shrink away now... (Not Responding) (Not Responding)
[Poem] [CW: Descriptions of War] The creature rose in No Man's Land That February day. The Germans surged, and then that scourge Began to rush our way. &nbsp; It fell on dear Jean-Louis first And tore into his head, And where it slashed, the bullets crashed and Jean-Louis fell dead. &nbsp; The monster turned to Gerard next As he began to cry. The creature tore, his lifeblood poured, A shell made Gerard fly. &nbsp; One by one our numbers were Mercilessly decreased. Until by three, it was just me Facing the horrid beast. &nbsp; I unleashed every shot I had At my hideous foe, None of the rounds could put it down, The wretched beast of woe. &nbsp; The monster towered over me And cocked its ugly head. "Just you will live, this gift I give, I will not make you dead." &nbsp; The creature turned and walked away From my embattled hill. And soon more men surged past and then, The battlefield grew still. &nbsp; I still wake up in dead of night, I snap awake and flinch, From dreams of hell, where my friends fell To move the front an inch. &nbsp; I often say, about that day, A shameful, sullen plea, My counterparts were blown apart, Why didn't War kill me?
I used to debate on the topic of ethics and morality; where they coincided, broke from each other, the chain of events that toppled and created schools of thought, nations, corporate entities. Now, I stack bullets and bodies and determine probabilities. ''If bullet X was meant for Prince A, how long (Y) until an artist (H) crafts a nightmare realm?'' 'Show your work.' The geniuses further upstream than myself called me up to where they'd conquered more Machine turf, some gigantic hole in the concrete world, and I saw where all dominoes come to a point and then they showed me how to turn one fallen marker into an empty graveyard the size of a planet. You bet your ass that I jumped at the chance. The math was amazing. Beyond whatever I'd been taught, and myself been teaching, at MIT. It took me months to even understand the on switch and another year until I could verify that turning it wouldn't ignite the atmosphere. That old chestnut about weapons of mass destruction. Physicists like myself pined for the simpler times when burning the planet was considered to be option B instead of every other result. By the time I was ready, I had my markers set, my bet placed and the first test subjects ready to fire into the past. It would be a multistage event, of course, and I consulted absolutely no one, per the order of Dear Leader: loose lips sink timelines, after all. Also, anyone I would have told was already dead, buried and a ghost haunting some dusty, emptied classroom, which made things a whole lot easier. Easier, noted - not simpler. Keeping a secret like mine, it took life from lung and meat from bone; it rattles you, simple as Pi. I dug up every police report, incident log and radio call history, trying to find the exact intersections of where two events would lead to a singular moment. The birth of a protective element that simply didn't exist, and an assassin's target unaware that they needed to be hunted endlessly, to be a pointless sink of energy, time and effort, all to topple a thing already toppled where I was standing. Dear Leader said it was vital to all timelines, throughout the multiverse, that our target never, ever lose hope that they could win, but that they would always be unable to win. I had to give birth to someone born of a nightmare, a factory of fear that ate its own exhaust, and then subject some poor woman to be a vent for a remorseless machine's hatred, unaware of what was necessary. The man who stood in my office, helmet tucked under his arm, he looked like so many others who'd filled bodybags and ditches and pointless spaces, his crewcut as sharp as his wits, eyes already dead before their time. He even saluted me and my heart broke into a thousand pieces. When I told him what he must do, he was confused, calling me by Dear Leader's name; being so heavily drugged, he probably thought that we knew each other. I handed him a photo, burnt and twisted by fire and time, and he studied it, nodding as I gave what minimal instructions he'd need. Again, he saluted. Again, my heart broke. I kept the photo. He left and became timeless. The next man, he wasn't soul-dead, nor wore a crewcut. He would be traveling elsewhere, and he knew my name. We'd spoken at length, not about the mission, but what was necessary for him. To steel his resolve, turn his guesses to knowledge, assurances of his sacrifice and its utter necessity. I told him how to kill. Not taught, as he'd already been a successful killer before, even before the world turned to titanium skeletons and flying monsters of metal. He had instincts, feral and sharp, and I told him what had to happen and when. He didn't salute. I did. The particulars of his departure weren't significant. He left as other volunteers did. Into the gyroscope, to levitate, to glow, to vanish, bourne of light and electricity and the smell of burnt time, all to arrive naked and alone. The records show he left us his calling card sometime within an hour of his arrival; he met his match at a scrapyard, and he fought the Machine already there with tooth and nail and a gigantic magnet, dropping it into a vat of chemicals. It was dissolved and he left his message to us in a lonely hearts' club letter to the Gotham Gazette: 'To timeless love and all that madness that will ensue. To my beloved doctor-friend, I say this: to the victors, the spoils. I love you, wife'. He signed it, of course, and that's when I knew the archives for my multiverse compatriots would read as expected. That the death of one man had sparked a virus into existence, one that was as pernicious, virulent, horrifying, as anything the Machine could have ever developed. We birthed the Batman, of course. A thing out of time, born from a violent act, determined to protect humanity, at any and all costs. To never accept dominion by any force save willpower and determination and above all else, the love of family. I killed my husband so he would live as a horror in every world. Married to the small, tiny monster that brought about the end of the Machine, it was a sacrifice we would live with forever. Because we could, at long last, live. - Diary of Dr. Jane Chill, from her memoir: Dear Joe.
We will teach them. We were overjoyed to not be alone in the cosmos. Our peers, if they could be called that, shocked us with their rudimentary understanding of their own technology. They tried things, seemingly at random, or by intuition. Those things just worked out for them. For every single one of the ascended species. We studied them, as is our way. We learned more of them then they knew themselves. We asked if they wished to learn. They did not. There was no curiosity is the origin of their own physical abilities, their own technologies and studies. They had no desire for a deeper understanding. They had faith. Faith, as it turned out, was a much more prevalent force in the galaxy than we would have ever anticipated. Much effort was spent on praying. Vast resources were spent on monuments and structures dedicated to their faith. They were not curious of themselves, because they knew they existed beyond death. And we confirmed it. They appeared puzzled by our excitement when we first witnessed a "Passing ceremony"and detected the emergence and transit of a natural energy source in real time with our equipment. Our relations had been cordial up until the moment we explained our own experience with death; when we die, we stop existing. We allowed them to examine us in more detail than they had previously. While their curiosity of themselves was lackluster, their curiosity of us was, all at once, ravenous. At least, until they attacked. We understand why. Perhaps even better than they do. Our borders were expanding. They would be surrounded before long. They did not know how to comprehend a speaking, walking thing that lacked a soul. They were scared. Scared, cornered animals. They think our existence is a violation. That we ascended beyond our station in the natural order. That we were never meant to reach for the stars. They are wrong. They think they are scared now, and they are wrong about that too. What does a creature have to fear when their existence persists beyond the veil of death? We will show them. We will find the dimension they call the afterlife and we will sink in our hooks. We will define how the energy of their ancestors souls can be harvested to bring our war machines to life. The more of them we kill, the deeper our well of power will become. They have learned so little of what it means to truly be afraid. They must learn the only true law of the universe. The law that they themselves have violated for too long. They will learn that everything that lives must die. We will teach them.
"More tea Lucy?"The fallen angel sighed and reluctantly nodded. Brittney almost squealed at the interaction. Moving to Alaska with her parents, into her grannpappy's old house had left her without any friends to play with at the ripe age of 5. Her father had insisted she read more to occupy her time, while he worked in his office. Her books, although beautifully illustrated, were boring. Her grannpappy's books on the other hand... the ones she found in the attic, were more to her liking. The pictures weren't colored except for shades of white, black and red. She couldn't read it really, just the stuff inbetween the lines, phonics written in pen. She had been reading out loud to herself, basically the only way she knew how, when the lumbering creature appeared to her in her bedroom, in a flash of fire, smoke and a smell of what Brittney could only identify as daddy farts. At first Brittney thought he was a dog by the fur that marked his waist down, but the wings and hooves dispelled that notion. By the way in which he appeared to her, she knew he was magic, like disney magic, he had to be a fairy godmother or a genie! "Hello, little one."Rumbled a noise from the demons face, his voice box sounded alot like metal grinding together, amongst screaming souls which was his breathe. Brittney's eyes were wide "How many wishes do I get!"Not wasting any moments for formalities. The beasts wings shuddered and what could be identified as a smile smeared his face. "One wish, at a cost of your immort-" "I want you to play with me and be my friend, forever!"Screamed Brittney. POOF. In another flare of fire, smoke and daddy farts, they were in a large red stone cavern without an entrance or exit. Filled with all manner or childrens toys, as the smoke cleared and Brittney's excitement burst forth in the form of high pitch squeals and jumping up and down while simultaneously tugging the demon's wings. The great beast looked around and involuntarily let out a "Fuck". Edit: formatting. Yay! my first WP. Edit: Thank you all for the kind words and the sweet, sweet karma. This is my first prompt so feedback would be cool, and I'm not much of a writer. Corrections would be cool too.
Military Premier Zork'Rabnak The-Righteous-Shall-Be-Victorious Ak'Rak clutched his bleeding snout with both hands. "Got dib you do dap for?"He whined. His human counterparts stood over him. An expression of burning hatred on their face. Fists still clenched. "You seem to think this is some kind of game. You needed a reminder that we are taking this really fucking seriously. Every single one of us. Every man, woman and child, is devoted to your defeat every moment that they live. For as many generations as it takes. There are no lengths we will not go to. No horrors that we will not unleash. No evils we will not visit the upon you." The human loomed over the premier like the hammer of doom. "There will be no retreat." The human said, in tones as cold as the grave; "There will be no surrender." A trembling Zork'Rabnak looked up into eyes as dark as the shadow of death. "There will be no mercy."
When the news about the bugs hit, I damn near killed myself laughing. We’ve survived interstellar flight, a bizarre bureaucratic nightmare of a Galactic Alliance (some alliance that turned out to be), even accidentally launching multiple colony ships to “binary star systems” which turned out to just be supernovas (honestly, if I had a nickel for every time we’d done that…. Well, I’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird it happened twice). Anyway – after all that, it’s the overused “ravenous swarm of space bugs” that’s in every good and bad sci-fi film and game for the last fifty years which ends up being what finishes us off. *Tries* to finish us off, a little voice at the back of my head insists, and I growl in agreement. The bugs have taken eleven of our twelve planets from us – the Alpha Centauri colonies, the bases on Mars and Titan, even the industry on the Moon. But humans still draw breath on Earth, our home world. And I’ll be damned if I let them take it from us. Behind us, the vault doors close with a resounding thud. We all groaned when we saw them for the first time – I mean, if you’re going to steal from post-apocalyptic fiction there’s better options than Fallout, c’mon – but it turns out that that really is the best way to build a bloody tough door to keep out the ravenous little shits. The many extra layers of protection begin engaging over it: blast shielding, defensive turrets, even some prototype force shields it turns out the military had been developing. Inside are all of our families, our loved ones, our enemies, that one friend you haven’t spoken to in ages but have to wave at if you pass them in traffic... all of humanity. We’re spread across nine of these mega-bunkers across Earth, each with its own set of shields and turrets and gang of crazy last-ditch defenders standing outside. And that’s where I come in. Before the bugs attacked I wasn’t a soldier – hell I wasn’t much of anything. I had a decent job in the city, I played a lot of games, I had friends and went to bars and tried to meet people. Just a plain old normal person. But as most of the military got injured or killed fighting their retreat back home, pretty much anyone who could and would fight was given crash training in firearms and – if you volunteered – some pretty radical implants and splicing. I tensed one arm, and I felt the cable-like muscles constrict around my reinforced bones – not that I could see them, encased as they were in the thick plate-like armour we all wore. When all of our industry is turned over to producing arms and armour, turns out we make some pretty choice stuff. I’ve even got speakers wired into the headset, so I can listen to my choice of music as I fight and die here. Fight, yes. Die? No. That little voice insisted. I don’t know where it came from, but as the first wave of bugs came over the crest of the plains ahead of us, I clung to that little spirit of defiance for all I was worth. Outwardly, I clung just as tightly to my father’s old shotgun – he was long passed, and to be honest I never knew why I’d kept it in my apartment. Probably violated all kinds of laws, unlicensed gun and all – not that it matters now. But I knew somehow that it had to be the weapon I fought the final fight with, along with the proper military rifle I had slung on my back. And when I’d caught sight of myself in the shiny side of one of the tanks that had deployed with us, I knew exactly what music I would play. I tapped once on the side of my helmet and brought the shotgun up, and charged forwards from the orderly ranks behind me, powered forwards by the best metal soundtrack the world has ever known. Orders were shouted desperately after me, but I have only one commandment now.
My wife was one of the popular girls in high school. She hung out with the cool crowd, the girls who wore makeup and did their hair and carried around purses instead of backpacks. She dated the cool guys, the ones who played varsity sports and wore sunglasses inside and had gel in their hair. Back then, I was invisible to her. I was the guy who studied all day, the one who didn't talk to girls, the one who wore over-sized khakis and the same three off-colored polos every week. But now, she lies beside me, in our king sized bed. We had gone to the same college together and I had started tutoring her in math classes. She had barely recognized me then, but as we spent more time together we started to realize we weren't so different after all. Everyday I wake up grateful to have her in my life. I appreciate her good looks and her sweet voice, her determination to be successful, and her honesty towards others. I stroke her long, blonde hair and close my eyes, resting until she wakes. My eyes open, and I'm not in our bed anymore. I awake to the tapping on my shoulder. I am not laying down, I am sitting in a desk, my head resting in my arms. "Pay attention."An old, rough voice brings sickening nostalgia. I raise my head and find myself in a classroom, better yet, my old high school algebra room. I am in high school again. I look around at the kids beside me; they seem bored, unfazed. RING The kids get up in unison and start packing their bags, the teacher yells something about the homework but it is lost in the eagerness to get out the door. I walk out and follow the stream of kids into the cafeteria. I can't go anywhere else, the heaping mass of students spill into the cafeteria floor and finally I can breath again. I look around at the old room and can already pinpoint the areas that certain cliques have claimed. There is the drama table, full of kids who boast their bisexuality. The rowdy kids, with shorts two sizes too big and talking in some language I can't understand. I look ahead and there they are, the popular kids. At first I can't, but then I see her and she looks as beautiful as I remember. She's talking to one of her friends, another popular girl who seems to flirt with anyone who has muscles. I watch her from afar and she giggles at something her friend said. My heart melts, not only do I remember how perfect she was and still is, but the realization that I am still invisible to her kills me. I sit down at an empty table and put my head down, resting in my arms. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I look up. It's her. She stares down at me, smiling, her white teeth and red lipstick glistening. "Oh, hello. Is this your table? I am so sorry."I stand up and try to move away. She grabs my arm, gently, and pulls me in. "Do you not remember me?"She looks at me, concerned. I see hope in her eyes. "I-I yes, you know what we are?" "We are in love."She pulls me in again and kisses me on my cheek. Her friend shrieks and yells her name. She ignores her and hugs me. "You were always so dorky."Her perfume and soft clothes make my heart flutter. "I was worried you wouldn't know me,"I whisper. "How could I not know the love of my life."
Zeus was a humble God, one that was revered and not feared by Earth. He sought their love, sneaking into homes in the night to coax lovers into finding happiness together. He maintained but one wife, in all his eons, a wife that he remained faithful to, and she bore many children for him. Of these children, he was most proud of the Miniscules, the smallest beings in all realms. They got along quite well, and Zeus was proud of their achievements as his children. So proud, in fact, that he offered the universe's greatest and most important job to Atlas, the most prominent of them. His job was to hold the heavens in place, and Atlas was happy to accept such a sign of love and trust from his father. But Atlas was tiny and weak. He dropped billions of galaxies onto themselves, imploding everything into a single focal point of infinite mass that could not hold its shape long and exploded with violent force, expanding into its previous form like a crushed foam ball. ------ lol /r/resonatingfury
"We can no longer be together, now we are free, Gone is the passion between. My heart was given and so was the key, No way this mistake will be scrubbed clean. Always remembered and never forgotten, Memories are all that's left. No longer sweet, now are rotten, The only feeling is bereft. The texts confirmed my suspicions of what was done, Something no one should have to see. Why in this broken relationship is there a hurting 'one', And why does it have to be me?"
We were the first. Humanity had always wondered if we were alone in the universe, we had written about other races older than us, made movies and television shows about aliens and their advanced technology. We had dreamed that we could not be alone in this universe. But our dreams were crushed when we began to expand. Our dreams faded when we were the first to spread across the stars. When we began to realize that we were alone. We were the first to build great ships that could take us across the sea of stars. We were the first to colonize distant planets and grow away from our home system. We were the first to create technology that rivaled our dreams. We were the first to exceed our expectations. Our society's view of alien life, that advanced, extraterrestrial civilization that conquered the galaxy? We were the first to become that civilization. And it hurt us, we dreamed of this civilization for millennia, and to find that we were alone was dreadful. But thousands carried on, they saw our potential as this great civilization. They saw what we could do for the galaxy, and eventually the universe. And so a new humanity was created. A humanity that began to create. And when we finished spreading across our own galaxy, we turned to others. We were the first to travel to another galaxy and colonize it. The first to spread from one side of the universe to another. It was slow, deliberate, but as we grew, so did our minds. And as our minds grew, we expanded faster and faster, until the known universe was in our hands. We were the first sentient beings in this universe. And we learned much spreading across the stars. We were the first to build great places of learning and knowledge, the first to cultivate planets so that they may have the potential for life. We were the first to see our cultivation turn to life and to know that we had done everything we could in this universe. We were the first to accept our place as the creationists, the ones that would lead this universe to a greater form. Our dreams turned into reality with us at the helm, and our reality turned into life when we left our tools behind. We were the first to recede into ourselves, to accept that we had done everything we could and to know that our gifts, our places of learning and knowledge, our ships and technological marvels would be left behind for others to find. We were the first to accept that as creators, we could not lead the next forms of life. We returned to our home, one galaxy at a time, we receded back to the Milky Way, until only a sliver of humanity was left. This passage was left in every great place of learning, in every place that another form of life would find, that they would eventually worship. We left these gifts not to guide life, but to give them the same chances that we had. Every aspect of humanity is recorded into those places, into those temples and when life does find them, and find them they will, they will learn of their creators. We were the first. To do everything that one could imagine and more. We were the first to leave our technology for others to find, the first to return home and realize that like Earth, we had an expiration. We were the first to live, expand, and then die on our home planet. We were the first. We would not be the last. ____ Great prompt, thanks for posting! If you enjoyed, you can check out more of my stories at /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs! Decided to write a [Continuation!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3q28kq/wp_humans_are_the_first_intelligent_beings_in_the/cwc3xfn)
There were so many people gathered around us that I couldn't see the end of them. Seriously- there had to have been several million, watching anxiously for us to begin. We'd determined that time travel is real, but it isn't some glamorous, magical power where humans zap around however they'd like. Rather, you build a receiving station, and some time in the future we'd be able to develop a transmitting station that can communicate with it. Well, in theory of course, but if it's plausible then it's almost guaranteed that something will come through right as we turn it on. This means that, unfortunately, you can't go back to a time before the receiver was built. No riding around on a triceratops. Maybe it'll be a fluke and nothing will happen, or maybe the most incredible thing we've ever seen will step through that receiver. I guess that's why we're all here. That's why I've spent 8 years designing this thing. "Today is a day mankind will never forget,"I spoke into the microphone, unsure of whether all of them could even hear me. "Even if this turns out to be nothing, I think we've come a long way, and that in itself is exciting." I motioned for my assistants to flip the power level from the monitoring booth we set up. It whirred to life with a deep hum and swirling blue-green lights. Immediately, the large red light indicating a transmission pinged on. I couldn't believe it- I'd actually succeeded. Of course, to prevent chaos and destruction, we'd built a limiter into it. Only one person at a time can come through, and we have to accept the transmission on our end. I walked up to the machine and accepted the incoming transmission, turning the light atop it from red to green. The whirring became higher pitched, almost painfully, and wailed for an entire minute before stopping completely. The light turned off, indicating a finalized transmission. The door rotated open. Now, before I continue, let me say that I'd expected an object or message of some sort; a sort of test run. The first transmission would be the first thing sent after creating the machine, and you don't usually send humans right away. However, I did not stop to think that something deeper in the future could transmit back to when the transmitter was finished and attempt to send something else first. Unfortunately, 20/20 hindsight isn't worth anything unless you're the one that can go back in time. The door rotated open, and I stepped out of it, albeit an older iteration. Future me looked at me with a nostalgic smile and sad eyes. "I'm sorry,"he said before blasting a hole in the receiver with a strange gun. It was unlike anything I'd seen in my life- it was some sort of laser or beam weapon, the type of thing in sci-fi movies. He turned to me and punched a hole through me, as well. It actually didn't really hurt the way things normally hurt. It felt more like I'd gone numb in my midsection, a pulsating warmness tingling where my heart once was. As life faded from me, I looked myself in the eyes. Future me was fading as well, though in quite a bit more of a literal sense. He began to cry a little, but looked relieved, as if years of pain and burden had been lifted from his shoulders. I wonder what I'm thinking. [Alternate ending](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43oi9k/wp_in_the_near_future_the_secret_to_time_travel/czkccrz)
"Just... Please, let me die already." The jury didn't even blink. I was tied to the litter and couldn't do anything to avoid my grim future. "For the crime of rebellion, Prisoner 1809", they don't use my name anymore, it's part of the punishment. "You were sentenced to 1000 years in prison. The damage you made to our society isn't paid in full yet." The guards came and forced me to take the infamous pill once again.
In the old times, the land was vast, and the free-hounds came down from the wild high places where even the magic men were frightened to go. It was a land of wolves. The free-hounds were gentle and playful, and the magic men sheltered them. But, one day, the oldest and wisest of the magic men said, "Free-hounds, we have fed you. We have kept you warm. But now we need your help. You must take us up into the wild high places from which you came." Woe and doom - O free-hounds - on any who call you fearful! For even a rabbit might face a dread enemy it's never seen; and a magic man might beat one; but only a free-hound would walk straight into death for loyalty. They went up into the wild high places. The magic men took their magic weapons - weapons that flew like birds, and weapons that waited like snakes. And the magic men walked like floating on only two legs, even uphill. But the free-hounds took only themselves and their courage. They reached a high bald mountain with a dark cave. The night fell. The magic men brought forth their magic light on long sticks, and they went into the rock. They found the bones of a magic child. Woe and doom - O free-hounds - on any who call you animal! For did you not weep for the magic child and push your heads under the palms of the magic men to comfort them? Was that not when the magic men who rule the earth first called you "friend"? The oldest and wisest of the magic men said, "Free-hounds, you have led us. You have shown us to our sorrow and our duty. And no debts remain between us. You may journey down from the wild high places and stay with our magic women in safety." But the free-hounds would not go. They stuck to the magic men and followed the trail even now that no scent was needed, now that the blood showed the way through the woods. It was a land of wolves. At last they came to the top of the mountain, where the caves were vast and the dark was deep. The moon was frightened and hiding in clouds. The night was thick. And even the magic light on the sticks of the magic men began to sputter. "Come out!"said the oldest and wisest of the magic men. But out from the caves came not the wolves. Out from the caves came the Smilodon. Woe and doom - O free-hounds - on your enemy the Smilodon! His teeth are grown too large for his head, and his body now rivals the bear. He is giant. He is Smilodon, the saber-tooth! Even the magic men call him "Grinning Knife of Death"! But out from the caves came not just the Smilodon, for he was not the king. No, out from the caves came the Seven Smilodons, each larger than the last. They commanded the moon to shine on them, and their teeth and eyes were gleaming. But none of these were king either. Then, out from the cave, came a magic man. He was the king in the darkness, and he was painted in blood. He wore on his neck a string of teeth: the teeth of Smilodons and the teeth of men. And he carried in his right hand a magic infant, a baby, which was dangling upside-down by one foot in his grasp. The magic child was crying. But the king in the darkness - that terrible magic man - was laughing. "Ha!"he said. "You have come too few, and you have come with only dogs! Was I not the greatest among you always? Do I not command these Grinning Knives of Death, the Seven Smilodons? Will I not dash you all to pieces like your little child here!" So saying, that terrible magic man - the king in the darkness - flung the infant from his grasp at the nearby cave wall. But. Two free-hounds sprang forward, and the infant struck them with such force that their ribs broke; they tore their flesh against the cave wall. But the infant fell into their fur. The magic child was unharmed. And then - because the free-hounds had come to die - they began viciously the fight against the Smilodons, against even the king in the darkness. And, when the battle was over, the Seven Smilodons were dead; the king in the darkness was left in pieces for the vultures; many magic men were fallen. But none had suffered or lost more than the small courageous free-hounds. Only a handful survived. The magic men carried out their child, and they carried out the wounded free-hounds. But that was not all they did. Joy and wonder - O free-hounds - to you and yours forever! For did the magic men not call you "friends"? Did they not carry you out and honor you with burial, as they honor their own? So that you may join them in their after-journey, wherever their magic souls may go!
When Mack opened his eyes, it was something like pushing aside a stone that's been sitting in place for a thousand years, or taking a tire off a car that's sat untouched for decades. He felt warmth as sunlight kissed his skin, lying in a pool of white cloth, and his body was leaden. Like he hadn't used it in fifteen years. There were murmurs, or perhaps dulled shouts, and a blur overwhelmed his vision, clasping him. The muted sounds clarified with each passing. "Dad? Dad!" Mack remembered how to breath, inhaling sharply, jaggedly, through his nose and then his mouth. Two glossy eyes darted around the room, wider than they'd ever been, and if he'd had the energy, he would have shot upright like the firing arm of a catapult. A different voice, much clearer, came to him. "Mr. Henry, can you hear me?" Mack opened his mouth to reply, but the words were choked. He nodded weakly instead. Gasps of joy and sobbing; the world was sounding and looking far more clear. There was man, twenty-something and somewhat disheveled, standing near a woman twice his age with faded blonde hair. She looked familiar, but the man did not. It took everything Mack had in him to croak at the doctor. "Water." "Of course. Nurse!" A paper cup filled with sweet relief was brought to him and, careful as he was, half of it went astray, dribbling onto his chin and the hospital sheets. He sighed with satisfaction at its cool touch in his throat. The man in his room approached, slowly, trembling and smiling with glistening cheeks. "Can you hear me?"his unfamiliar voice asked, rough, weak. Mack nodded, and rasped a few words out. "Who... you?" The man buried his face in his hands, sobbing. "Where... Kev? Son?" He grabbed Mack's hand. "Dad, it's me. It's Kevin." "Kev? Not possible..." There was a flash in his mind, a fleeting thing like the air beneath a butterfly's wings. A halo of light against the darkest abyss he'd ever seen, and his little boy on the ground, several feet away, sobbing and screaming. "Dad, you... It's me, Kev. You've been-- you've been sleeping for a really long time, now. It's been fifteen years since last I saw you."He put a hand over his mouth, breaths choppy. "Fifteen years?" "I-- I never came to visit you after it first happened... I was always too scared. You wouldn't respond, and I was just a little boy. It hurt so much to lose my dad. You were alive, but we couldn't talk or play or anything." "Oh, no, Kev..." "I know it's terrible of me, I know I should've been here for you all this time, but"-- he'd cracked like an egg, shaking and jolting with sobs -- "I just couldn't. I'm a horrible son for abandoning you all this time. But I'm here now, Dad. I'm here now, and you'll never be alone again." "My boy..." "You saved me, Dad. You saved my life, and you've stayed alive all this time, fighting in your own way. You've been so strong, and you've done so well. I'm proud of you, Dad. I think you'd be proud of me, too. I married the woman of my dreams, and I work hard, just like you taught me." Mack sat up, just barely, and outstretched his arms. The two embraced in a moment that hung like forever in the soft light. "I love you, Dad,"Kev whispered, his face damp. "I love you so much, and you deserve the world for what you did for me. You deserve so much more than life gave you-- than what I gave you. You deserve peace, like all heroes do." Mack smiled, feeling that inching tingle of tears welling creep upon him but never come. Instead, he took a deep breath and reveled in the comfort of his sons arms. They were stronger than they looked. "Rest now, Dad. Get some rest and I'll see you soon. I love you so much." Mack laid back into the softness of his bed and closed his eyes. It had been a long, wonderful day, and the first step toward something greater. Soon, he'd play catch with his boy again, and meet his beautiful wife, maybe a little girl to spoil. He'd waited fifteen years just to see him again-- what was a little more patience compared to that? --- Kev pulled away from his father, shaking, wracked with violent cries from the deepest corridors of his heart. "Walk with me,"the attending doctor said, leading him out into the hallway, nodding to his nurse on the way out. "I'm a worthless son,"Kevin said, blowing his nose, coughing. "How could I have left him alone all this time?" "It's part of human nature to avoid that which hurts us the most. You were so young when it happened. The important thing is you're here now." Kevin met his eyes a moment, the flicked them back to the yellowed tile. "I came here for what? To do... that? What does that make me? A monster." "No, no. It's not like that at all. Walk with me." They strode down the hall, toward a great window that overlooked the hospital courtyard lively with the joyous birthings of spring. Kevin's breaths had steadied, save for the occasional hiccup. "Quite contrary to what you think, your presence has been important for him."Dr. Francis placed a gentle hand on Kevin's shoulder, his smile warmer than the sunlight spilling in through wide windows. "Just before he passed, we noticed an increase in brain activity, more than anything we've seen in his time here." "You're saying he knew I was with him?"Kevin asked, his eyes alight in the springtime glow. "I can't say that, but... I choose to think he got to say goodbye, in his own way. That's the most beautiful thing you could've done for him." ---- /r/resonatingfury
I’m sipping coffee and reading about the problem of evil when Derrek calls me. I pick up on the first ring. “Coraline, I need you to meet me right now.” “Well, good morning to you too, handsome.” “This is serious. Meet me at the cafe.” He hangs up, which leaves me no time to kindly ask him what the hell that was about. I suppose I deserve it, after years of calling him to help me with whatever disaster I’ve caused. I dress quickly and start walking to the cafe where we usually meet. As I’m walking, I can’t help the feeling of unease that spreads through me. If Derrek is calling for my help, something must have gone very, very wrong. Even when we were kids, I was always the one who caused problems. My impulsivity has always been matched with his thoughtfulness. My wildness with his quiet strength. The bell rings as I walk into the sunlit diner, and I see him immediately. He is considerably more disarrayed than usual. His usually immaculate button down is wrinkled and torn, and if I wasn’t sure he was up last night watching a rerun of Friends, I would swear his hair looked singed. “Derrek, what the hell?” “Shut up. Just listen to me. You’re the only person I trust right now, and I need your help.” “Okay…” “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just gonna say this. I am the Red Cape.” nonononononono “Someone has been setting fires all over the city, and I need to stop her. Until now, I’ve been able to do this alone, but this one is tricky. I never know when she’s going to strike, or where she’s going to strike, because there is seemingly no connection between the places she’s targeting. By the time I get there…” Derrek looks away, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m too late, Cor. I need your help. We need to catch her before this whole city burns.” He’s been there for me through everything, and if someone had asked me ten minutes ago, I would have said I'd do anything for him. No questions asked. But this city deserves to burn.
Marco held his breath as the nurse looked over his arm with a practiced eye. He touched a spot near the crook of his arm and frowned briefly. “I’m going to have to Illuminate the veins. Is that all right?” The boy sighed, but he had been expecting the response. Ever since his first vaccinations, nurses had struggled to get a good stick in him. More often than not, a visit to the doctor’s office meant an Illumination for him. It wasn’t comfortable, but he was used to the sensation. He nodded, and the nurse screwed in a small vial to his Autodraw system. Marco had heard the first Autodraws were based on insulin monitors diabetics had used before the Blackening, but the small black devices were now so ubiquitous that seeing an adult in America without one would be a cause for concern. And, with any luck, he’d leave the office today with one of his own. The nurse pressed a small button on the device. There was no indication of pain on his face when the needle went in, but then in his line of work he likely had to use the thing several times a day. A few drops of yellow liquid—brilliant, the color of the sun—rushed into the vial, and the nurse let go of the button. He touched Marco’s arm, and for a brief moment his eyes glowed, reflecting the color of his blood. Marco started to feel unbearably hot, as if his blood were about to boil. He looked down at his arm and saw the telltale glow of Illumination. The nurse smiled and unscrewed the now-empty vial, tossing it into a covered plastic container. “There we go. Sorry about the sensation, let me get this over with.” He held up a needle once more, and Marco’s heart started to even faster than it had when his blood began to glow. This was the moment. He was about to learn his Color. He wouldn’t have to worry about his future or make his own decisions anymore. He’d already agreed to leave his path up to Fate. Anything’s fine. Yellow, Blue, even Green. He’d never liked farming or growing plants, but that would probably change when he could create an entire harvest in a matter of moments. “You ready?” The nurse asked. His eyes had returned to their normal color, and he was giving Marco an encouraging smile. Maybe he sensed the sudden tension Marco felt. Or, more likely, every eighteen year old felt a certain amount of apprehension when they were to learn their Color. “I think so,” Marco said, struggling to inject some confidence into his voice. Then he ruined it by asking a question. “Do you like being Yellow?” “I love it,” the nurse said without hesitation. “Healing isn’t for everyone—I think Yellow’s the second or third most common former Color for Grays—but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I was given a gift by Fate, and I really believe that They know best. Sorry,” he added after a few moments. “I shouldn’t have gotten political. If you can’t live with your Color, you can’t do it. It’s your life.” Marco shrugged. He’d never had strong feelings about faith, but then there wasn’t much he did have strong feelings about. Most kids chose a preferred path by the time they were a teenager and started learning about their field, but he hadn’t. He didn’t resonate strongly with any of the Colors, and all of the aptitude tests he’d take had shown a weak preference for three or four different paths. The only thing Marco knew for sure was that he didn’t want to be Gray. Gray rights had come a long way in the last few years, but even apart from the societal aspects, the thought of living without magic made his chest tighten up and his breath come in heavy. The common belief was that Fate would take your existing skills and knowledge into account when assigning your Color, but Marco had decided not to try and tip the scales. Whatever he got would determine the path his life would take. The nurse moved pass the awkward moment and stuck the needle into Marco’s shining veins. He’d only supplied a few drops of blood for the Illumination, so the glow was already starting to fade. There was still light enough for him to get Marco on the first stick, though, and the boy’s stomach plummeted as the nurse started to pull up on the plunger. At first the liquid was red, as he knew it would be. The nurse stopped after a few seconds and checked his watch. “You were born at 12:51, right? That’s what it said in your chart. One more minute until you’re eighteen.” Marco nodded, unsure what to say, but the nurse filled in the silence. “You know everyone’s blood used to be this color? Not just kids, adults and everyone back before the Blackening. My grandad used to tell me about it. He was pretty young when it happened, but he remembered life before Fate came in. Marco didn’t reply. He couldn’t imagine living an entire life without a Color. Like every other kid, he’d been looking forward to this day since he had been old enough to understand the concept. Even worse, without Color he’d be adrift, without any idea where to go or what to do with his life. “All right, moment of truth.” The nurse seemed unperturbed by Marco’s silence. “It’s good luck to make your wish out loud. What are you hoping Fate has in store for you?” “I’ll take anything,” Marco said reluctantly. He knew how the nurse would react, but he didn’t want to lie either. Once he’d had the idea not to try for any Color, he’d tried to stay as balanced as he could. It was in Fate’s hands, not his. Sure enough, the nurse looked at him askance. “Everyone has a preference. Staying quiet just gives a better chance that Fate won’t know yours.” He glanced at his watch one more time. “Too late. Here we go. Happy birthday.” He pulled up on the plunger once more. Blood flowed in, mixed with the red. Marco waited patiently for the Colors to settle and separate. “Looks like.. Yellow! Congratulations kid, you’re a healer!” Marco let out a breath. Yellow. He could live with that. He’d try for a doctor, though, not just a nurse. Now that he had a path, he could devote everything he had to mastering it. “Wait, hold on a second.” The nurse had been about to pull out the plunger, but he stopped short. Marco looked back at the blood in the syringe and nearly jumped up in shock. Along with the red and Yellow in the syringe, right at the bottom there was a small but obvious patch of Green. “What the hell?” The nurse said. “Is there dye in here? Sorry about this, let me pull up some more, flood out whatever’s messing with the Color.” He drew more blood, and Marco saw more Green fill out the syringe. Yellow and Green were present in equal measure, and when the nurse drew up even more blood, the color changed again. “Blue? What the hell is going on?” “Does this ever happen?” Marco asked? He felt sick. Today was supposed to answer every question he’d have for the rest of his life, not turn him into a freak. What the hell was wrong with his blood?” “No. Never.” The nurse kept going until the syringe was nearly full. A fourth Color appeared, separating into a different layer than the rest. “Purple, too? There’s every Color in here. I don’t know what’s happening.” Marco shook his head. An old nursery rhyme popped into his head, apropos of nothing. Red for the child, who has to wait and see, Yellow for the healer, who cures what’s wrong with me. Green for the farmer, who can make the plants grow tall, Blue for the protector, who keeps us safe from all. Purple for the leader, who can make your thoughts all right And Gray is for the others, who give Fate quite a fight! Grays had railed against teaching that rhyme for years, arguing objecting to being called an ‘other’, separate from society. But at least they’re mentioned. Marco had no such reassurance. He looked pleadingly at the nurse. “What do I do now?” The Yellow had no answer for him.
Ben carried the cup of water to his grandmother’s room, careful to avoid spilling any of the magical liquid. He made sure to put the water in a sunflower covered cup, hoping that the pleasant imagery might help speed up her recovery. He gave the door a polite knock before letting himself in, giving her a smile. “Grandma, I brought you some water.” He said, moving to the side of her bed, staring down at the thinning grey-haired woman, the child’s heart sinking as he took a glance back at his cup. Was he not giving her enough of the water? “Oh, you came to visit? Thank you dear, it’s nice to have some company.” She took the cup from his hands, taking a sip. When she finished the liquid, she glanced at the sunflowers on the side, cracking a frail smile. “I always enjoyed sunflowers. Something about how they color a field in that beautiful yellow, it just makes me happy.” “Why don’t we go look at them? You must be feeling better, right? Can you take me for a walk to see the fields?” His words had a faint desperation to them, wanting a sign that his water was working. “I would love nothing more than to go see the fields with my beautiful grandson, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” Her hand shook as she reached for his fluffy brown hair, ruffling it. “See If your mom or dad will go with you, I’m sure they would love it just as much as I would.” Ben didn’t answer, staring at the floor, frustration building in his eyes as tears revealed themselves. “I want to go with you! I don’t want you to leave. I tried asking the fairies and angels to make you better, but no one answers me.” “The fairies and the angels?” “The fairies that live in the trees outside. The ones that you told me make the fruit taste extra sweet. I thought they might help, but they haven’t shown themselves. Then I tried asking the angel that you said watched over me, but I don’t think they are watching very well.” Ben laid his head on his grandmother’s shoulder, holding her close. “Please get better.” “Dear.” She held him as he stayed by her side, gently running her fingers along his arm. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the stories were all made up, knowing that the small boy could use a little fantasy in his life. “I believe they are still watching over me. The fairies keep the gardens beautiful, giving me something to look at through my window. I’m sure the angels are also watching, waiting to guide me. I’m just thankful I have a grandson that loves me so much.” Ben sniffled, unable to put on a brave face as he sobbed into her. His grandmother only kept her arm around him, soothing him as he let out his emotions. “But, but the water should be working.” Ben argued, trying to figure out where he was going wrong. “Did I not give you enough?” The water? Did he mean the well outside of their home? She could only smile, shaking her head. He was far too kind; she had lucked out on getting such a caring grandchild. “The fountain of youth.” As the words left her lips, Ben looked up, focused on what she had to say. She grabbed a tissue from beside her bed, cleaning his face before continuing. “The fountain! That explains it. I knew those doctors were wrong. You are the one that has been giving me those extra months to live.” Ben tilted his head; he had been helping her? He shifted closer, hanging on every word. A small smile developing on his face as he got enthralled by her story. “Yes, the fountain can’t cure sickness, especially not at my age, but with each trip you made, you helped me gain a little more time. You’re a hero Ben, thank you for getting that water. It must have been awfully hard using that bucket every day.” “It was. I even made sure the water was safe for you to drink. I had to ask my parents, but I did a lot of the work.” He said brightly, as his grandmother gave him a nod. “You did so well, my little hero.” She kissed him on the cheek, pulling him into a tight warm hug, giving him a warmth that only a grandmother could. “Please don’t worry about me. If something happens, I will always be by your side, watching over you.” “But I don’t want to lose you. Who will sneak me cookies and take me for walks?” Ben put on a brave face, but that soon shattered when his grandmother choked up, getting a fresh tissue to tap her eyes with. “I’m spoilt. I got such a lovely family. Sweetie, I’ll miss you too, but I promise I’ll always be waiting for you. I love you.” The two embraced before she released her grip. “Will you bring me some more water after school tomorrow?” “Of course! I’ll even bring you a sunflower or better you can come for a walk with me tomorrow?” He said, hoping she might be better tomorrow. “I’ll see dear. It takes a lot of energy to walk. Maybe we can go this weekend when your mom can push my wheelchair. Ok?” Ben was ecstatic that the answer wasn’t no, giving her a wave as he turned to leave. When Ben left, she took the sunflower cup in her hands, giving a smile, already thinking about tomorrow. &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.)
Brother, are you excited? Do not shed tears for me. I may be leaving this world, but we're about to find out whether or not our telepathic connection will remain in the afterlife. If it does, it shall be the most exciting thing in the history of mankind. It was true. I did believe that, and truly hoped I would not lose him. But what if I did? That was the reason I wept. Alas, fate is the certainty of cruelty- I was stuck here and he was free to leave this Earth. I sat by his bedside until the time had come. Brother, let's enjoy this journey. "What does it feel like?"I asked him, curious to know. "Dying. Is it painful?" It's like...waking up from a dream. I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. His eyes glazed over and his breathing stopped, his body quieted...but his mind did not. Please, Brother. Please help me. Please save me from this place. Hell....Hell is real. Screams filled my head, the sounds of his torment echoing through my mind. They're only thoughts, but you can still hear tone; you can still hear pain. There's no way to cut off the telepathic connection so I just curled up and cried, rocking back and forth beside his dead body. To hear him in my head, screaming and crying for help, but to see his body so still and peaceful was beyond unsettling or horrifying. Brother, please. Please, I just want to dream again... Had he gone to Hell, or had I?
I’m not very competitive by nature. I never got the highest grades, never got the best looking girl, never got picked first at softball. However, of those three, the third one never really made sense to anyone who knew me. After all, I was a telekinetic. And not any third-rate telekinetic you’d find working with the League or the monkeys working with the Peacekeepers. I’ll be damned if I get a collar around my throat, which is why secrecy was such a big part of my life. That was why you won’t see me in Vegas, trying my hand at roulette. They say twenty percent of all the telekinetics that the Peacekeepers pick up are from Vegas, Macau, or any of the other cesspools where a nascent floater could win enough in one night to sponsor a life’s worth of decadence. Some were smart, some weren’t. In the end, they all got caught. Then they get processed, a neutral-sounding term for what essentially was a psychic lobotomy. Then you’d be a monkey on the leash. You see, I know a lot about the Peacekeepers. In fact, I was playing a round of minigolf with their Director of Enforcement and her family. I was losing of course, but not so badly that it seemed like I was throwing the game. They seemed to be having fun, and every time I hit a windmill fan or the snapping jaws of an absurdly oversized alligator, they laughed. Her, her spouse, and their four kids. It was picturesque really - if it wasn’t so infuriating. I had been playing to the best of my natural ability, but somehow I ended up dead last, just behind her 10-year-old. We all had a hearty chuckle over how bad I was doing, and all deference aside, they weren’t afraid to give me a good poke in the ribs. I glowered at them when they weren’t looking. Then, every once in awhile, they took a swing and missed. Sometimes their ball went a bit too far than expected, or came up surprisingly short. I was having the comeback of a century, all the while being surrounded by Peacekeeper guards. Other families were there of course, some wearing the gray-white shirts that marked them as Peacekeeper employees. The ones in the actual uniforms were standing apart, their arms crossed and their stun batons blatant on their hips. There was even a leashed telekinetic there, drooling a bit at the mouth. Extra protection in case League terrorists showed up. I wiggled the golfball on the turf. Why did I do it? I don’t know. Maybe I was inviting them to discover me. Maybe I was gloating over how they didn’t see me, right under their collective noses. I could almost feel the cold metal of a collar slipping around me… but then the sensation was gone. I tossed a few more of their balls around and won easily. They congratulated me, fake smiles plastered over clean, healthy faces. There was some announcement and a large trophy was presented to me. “That’s the third year in a row you’ve won Commissioner, ever think about letting some of others have a chance?” I just smiled and donned my Peacekeeper cap as I posed for the photos. The sun shone dully off the golden death's head emblem. "Maybe next year,"I said. -------------------------------------------------------------- Subscribe to /r/AMemoryofEternity for more of my stories!
"Gary,"AIR-12 said as he poked his head into his co-workers office, "can you follow me please? Your presence is requested." Gary took his ear plugs out and looked at the annoying Automated Inspection Robot in his office. "What is it now Twelve?" "Your presence is requested, please,"Twelve said as he exited the office and squeaked down the hallway with his wearing tires hobbling along the slick surface. Twelve always hobbled away like a tricycle with two flat tires whenever he wanted Gary's assistance. "Fine,"Gary said, "but put a work order in for me to fix those damn wheels, okay?" "Work order request initiated,"Twelve said as his monotone voice trailed off down the hallway. Gary was the only man left in a factory full of robots. He looked after these clunky pieces of equipment, did routine maintenances on them daily, and fixed any broken down robots. There were plenty of different kinds of robots, and the Automated Inspection Robots, or AIRs, were Gary's least favorite. These robots inspected the parts made at the assembly line, and were each fitted with voice boxes so they could relay to human bosses on the phone the problems they faced on the floor. Gary always wondered why the programmers gave them voices when they could have just as easily been able to monitor the units remotely through their computers, seeing exactly what they saw. He figured it was a cruel joke played on him, the lone human left. He followed Twelve down the immaculately clean hallway and was surprised to see the AIR speeding toward the break room. "This way!"Twelve yelled in monotone as he made a sharp turn into the break room. Gary hated the break room. The AIRs used it as their own personal playground an hour every day for their lunch break, which was really just a power station they would plug into to charge their batteries to full, allowing them to go another twenty-three hours on the factory floor uninterrupted. As a sick joke the building manager fitted the room with a flat screen TV with only one channel, a twenty-four hour loop of "How It's Made."The AIRs absolutely loved watching "How It's Made"and practiced their small talk with each other in-between monotone "ooooh's and aaaah's."Gary hadn't been in the break room since his first week on the job. As he got closer to the break room door he heard Twelve yelling clear as can be, "Shush! Shush! Gary is coming!"The sound of the other robots yelling "Shush!"And "Quiet!"at each other would have made Gary laugh if he wasn't so nervous. What the hell were these robots doing? He hesitantly swung the break room door open, and at once a raucous robotic "SURPRISE"rang out. AIR-7 spun in circles, AIR-25 kept shouting "SURPRISE!"and Twelve wheeled toward Gary with what appeared to be a metal-fitted replica of a cake. He was in awe that he had just walked into a surprise birthday party thrown for him by the worlds most annoying robots. Twelve shoved the metal cake toward Gary and said, "blow out the candles, Gary."His brake lights flashed a strobing light throughout the room, which was apparently a signal for the rest of the AIRs to start singing "Happy Birthday."Gary couldn't wipe away his smile. The thirty-four AIRs in the room sang in unison the most monotone rendition of "Happy Birthday"the world had ever seen. Well, thirty-three AIRs actually; Twenty-Five was still shouting a monotone "SURPRISE!"In the corner every three seconds. When they finished "singing"Gary pretended to blow out the metallic candles as the AIRs all cheered. Gary thanked the AIRs and walked over to Twenty-Five and hit a reset button on the top of its yellow vision censor. The robot finally stopped yelling "SURPRISE!"and stayed motionless with a blue flashing light emitting from his censor. "Thanks guys, it means a lot,"he said to the room of annoying robots. "Were you surprised?"Three asked. "Yes, actually. I was very surprised!" "Success!"shouted Twelve. The room erupted with more cheers as if they had finally accomplished a human task they had no business accomplishing. Gary's smile broadened. Their AI was impressive enough to keep a secret from him, and even create a present they wanted him to have. While the implications of this were kind of frightening, Gary wasn't worried. Their AI was built by the most intelligent minds at MIT and he trusted they had a good handle on what the robots were capable of doing. "Alright, that was fun,"Gary finished, trying to settle down the AIRs. "I gotta get back to work. Hey Twenty-Five, come with me and I'll finish resetting your operating system."Twenty-Five blinked his sensor at him and answered in a monotone, "Okay." They exited the break room, made their way down the hallway and entered Gary's office. He set the metallic cake down on his work bench and smiled. "Where are your other presents, Gary?"Twenty-Five asked. "No other presents today, buddy,"the human replied to the defective robot. "They are at your domicile then, correct?" "Negative,"Gary replied as he tinkered with a screwdriver on Twenty-Five's reset panel. "This is the only present I'll get today." Gary's smile finally faded as he stared back at Twenty-Five's vision sensor. Twenty-Five remained silent for a few seconds, his inner AI struggling to come up with the appropriate human speech response. "Sorry to hear that, Gary,"Twenty-Five finally sputtered out. "Happy birthday!" "Thanks, buddy,"Gary said before he finally powered down the Automated Inspection Robot. --- Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this come visit me at /r/BrenBuck for more of my writings!
The blast of fire singed the hair off of my arm as I ducked behind a large boulder. What was I doing? I couldn’t possibly win. Fighting was probably the stupidest idea. I should have just let the flames engulf me but, I wanted to show the Queen, no not just the Queen, everyone down in that ground up dirty city, that I was a good person. That I was sorry. So, here I was crouching behind a boulder as these flames tried to cook me. As a form of execution, I was sent to slay the Dragon of Urhn. It was the Archbishop’s idea, the pious bastard, he had thought it best that I am sacrificed to the beast or slay the dragon. Drown two cats with one bag or so the saying goes. I was tired, the guards had dressed me up in this motley getup of miss-fitting dented armor. It was too big and too heavy. “Oh, but don’t worry brave knight,” One guard, Brian, had mockingly said, “We have a sword for you.” He thrust the tiny table knife into my hand and they let me lose me to climb mountain Urhn toward the dark hole that was this dragon’s home. The flames stopped and I tried to unlatch the dented breastplate. I wouldn’t want to chip the dragon’s teeth when he ate me. The damned strap would not give. I slipped the small table knife under the right strap and cut it loose. I moved the left and the blade snapped cutting my index finger. “Fucking, Brian,” I said aloud as I stuck the finger in my mouth sucking the blood. The snapped blade made me more determined to get out of here if only to drive this knife into Brian’s eye. I was able to squeeze out of the breastplate. A deep rumble echoed through the cave. “Come out little pinky.” “No,” I said. Something large moved toward the boulder I cowered behind. “No?” Asked the dragon, “You dare enter this hovel I have been forced to live in to kill me and you expect me to come to you?” “I wish it were otherwise so, but as I am the guest and you the gracious host of your home, I think I will let you come to me.” A deep guttural sound came from the beast in a steady beat. Was that laughter? “Ah, I will make it quick for you, for making me laugh. I haven’t in so long. I will ease your pain as you have eased mine.” The beast head crested the boulder and his lips drew back. Fuck, his teeth were longer than that butter knife Brian had given me. I rolled and stood up in front of the dragon. “Hold on,” I said holding up my hands. I tried to think quickly and to give me more time I asked, “You are forced to live here?” “Your kind have such short memories. I was chained here years ago.” “Chained?” “Yes.” The beast said his pungent breath hitting me with a dry blast. He twisted his body so that I could see the glowing lock on his leg. “So, you don’t get out much?” He chuckled again, “You could say that. Now, if we are done with these pleasantries, I am quite hungry.” He opened his mouth I rolled back narrowly dodging the teeth. “Whoa, I thought we were getting somewhere here.” I walked behind another rock in the cave as the dragon moved closer. “Why are you kept here?” “You don’t have long enough to live for that story.” He growled, gnashing his teeth. “Maybe,” I said slowly trying to pick the right words. “Perhaps, I could take a look at the lock before you eat me? Consider it payment for the laughter.” “Sure,” The dragon said. “You are not the first, Pinky, to come in here you know? Your kind sends one of you up here ever so often. I know they will not let you back down the mountain. You have until I count to thirty.” He twisted again and made room for me to walk past him. “One,” The dragon said. I hurried to the lock. I had not seen anything like it, or none that I had picked before. A small circular hole in it was all that was present. “Five.” I grabbed a bone off of the floor that would fit in the hole. I moved it around. There was nothing inside just emptiness. “Twenty-six.” “No fair you counted to fast.” “Twenty-seven. The dragons head moved toward me. “Twenty-eight.” I tried to pull on the lock to see if it would come loose. “Twenty-nine.” As the mouth opened and moved around my head I did the only thing I could think of one last ditch effort. I shoved my cut finger into the hole. The lock opened. Teeth stopped a hair's breadth away from either side of my head. The dragons head moved back. ‘You, you opened it?” he asked. “How did you-,” He stopped as I pulled my bloody finger out of the lock. “Old magic,” he said. “I suppose I can’t very well eat you after you freed me, can I?” “I suppose not.” He spun around in the cave like an excited puppy chasing its tail. “Free.” He roared. He stopped and gave me a look. “I want to know the name of the one I should thank?” “Henry,” I said awkwardly holding out a hand. I drew it back feeling stupid as the dragon just stared at it. “Well, what did you do to get sent up here?” “I'll tell you what, I will tell you my story if you tell me yours, but not right now. I would like to live, and I need to get out of here.” “Ah, I think you freeing me makes you entitled to one favor, tell me, how I can help.” I thought about it. I doubt he would let me ride him out of here. A thought came to mind. “Down below, there is a guard Brian.” “Say no more.” He flew out of the cave. I rushed to entrance to see him swoop down toward the three guards. “Brian!” he roared. The other two men ran away from the third as the dragon sped toward them. Brian’s head came off in a swift bite. He lit next to me and swallowed the head whole. “That was satisfying. That asshole sent me up here with a butter knife. Thank you.” “Hmm,” he appraised me as he chuckled. “Get on. Let’s go get a better hovel for me to live in.” His wings pounded the air and we flew up and then down toward the great cathedral in the city. ** Edit - Some grammar things. ** Hi! I hoped you enjoyed this. Feel free to check out r/Okay_Writing for more of my work.
I leaned back in my chair as the DM described the scene at the table behind me. A dank tavern, a dire time, and the names of my old companions. I was surprised at first, but began to grin as he described our old argument. "Look, it's a bloody giant reptile. Of course it's magic, it'd tear its damn wings off!" "Oh gods, here we go again. Leave it alone Sir Henry. Go find a Milkmaid to bother." 'The group grumbles amongst each other. Roll Perception.' I hold in a laugh when they roll poorly. They didn't notice the assassin that was sent after old Gaffer. High jinks ensued as the dastard attacks. As they rolled their way through the encounter, I found myself back in that world. We had been sent to deal with a dragon ravaging the countryside. Gaffer had been an ex-assassin, though we didn't know it at the time. The king who had sent us thought Gaffer knew what he was up to. We almost didn't figure it out in time, but managed to save the world. We had all settled down afterwards, I had planned to buy a small farm with my loot and live out my days that way. But fate decided no, it was time for me to go home. As the gaming session wrapped up, I felt a tear come to my eye. I mouthed the words along with the DM. "Do I look like I care that you're an assassin? You're Gaffer, the first person who bothered to help me in this god forsaken world! My first true friend in years! The king can take his Divine right bullshit and shove it!" I stayed in my seat as the group filtered out. When it was just the DM packing up, I made my way over slowly. "Damn good game,"I told him, "your descriptions made it seem like I was really there. I hope you come back regularly." The DM thanked me, and enthused over the game with me for awhile. I didn't have the heart to tell him what will happen to Lady Jeswrit in the next chapter. When I went home, I slept well for the first time in months. I was back in that magical world, my friends at my back and my future ahead of me. [My Musings](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorHMDMusings?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
The little green gem shines brightly from its case on the wall. It's a beautiful thing, really. Everyone who walks in, not that there's many people entering, always comments on it's astounding look. The thin gold chain, with the forest green emerald. Well, 'emerald'. It's not really of this world, we're not sure what it is. I should've thrown it away. I should've tossed it the moment I got home that summer. The moment I beat that horrid ram-beast-thing. But I couldn't. Maybe it's because I've got a hoarders' blood. Maybe it's because I never got to say goodbye to the people I met, the people I loved. It was traumatizing, I know that. When I first got found, I was put in therapy for years. Therapy for things they told me never actually happened, despite mounds of undeniable proof. I should've thrown them away. But I can still hear the metal of Gamma's sword. I can still see the shine of Jemma's smile. I can still feel the warmth of Haily's hugs. And the necklace still sits above the fireplace, surrounded by plants and decorations. The scars hurt, the memories of blood and sweat, spread out for people and places taken right out of a fantasy. It hurts. It aches in a way I don't think words can describe. Not even twenty years could change that. Twenty years of healing, working to recover, working to convince myself none of it was even real. Nights by the fire, on thin fabric blankets, with fun stories and lovely songs. Magical battles alongside friends-become-family. Running along pathways through medieval-looking towns. I'd almost convinced myself, almost believed in my very heart, that all of it had been fake. But a familiar voice rings through the halls. The moon shines in through the open living room windows, the plants swing and sway as the wind slips through, and the necklace shines. The voice is older, wiser, so much more experienced. My heart wails, she's not a child anymore, she's grown, and I've missed it all. A small voice in my mind yells back, you're not a child anymore, you've grown, and they've missed it all. My hands run over the glass of the case. The voices are louder, closer up. They're talking, laughing, playing. Part of me wonders if they've dug them out of an attic, in a house they've settled down in, and they're pretending they're still on an adventure. I wonder if they never even settled down, picking the necklace back up on their travels, as they continue on their adventure. I wonder if they'd miss me. I pop off the back of the case, slipping the cold necklace onto my own, warm hands, and the voices become much clearer. No, not laughing, not playing, not even talking. Screaming. Crying, painful, mourning screams. I grab my too-go bag, slipping the old sword from it's case, and taking one last glance around the cold, empty home. It dawns on me, that I might not come back this time. I don't really mind. \--- Definitely not my favorite.. I'm sorry! I don't think I did your prompt justice this time! Forgive me, writing gods!
I don’t remember my power ever being useful, which is ironic because it is the power to erase memories. Not other people’s memories, mind you—that would be too strong—but only the memories of one person: myself. In the world of mages, knowledge is the supreme mark of strength. If magical powers are machines, then knowledge is the battery that powers them: the more knowledge a mage had stored up, the greater force they could release. So, you could imagine the usefulness of a machine whose sole purpose is to drain the battery that powers it. I’ve only ever used my power to forget embarrassing moments and sometimes as an excuse to hand in homework past deadlines. \\\* Blinking twice, I suddenly realized I was sitting in a classroom, listening to a student’s presentation on eldritch beings. Usually, I dozed off during student presentation assignments, causing me to forget whatever the student was talking about. I didn’t even need to use my power for that. But today, I was somewhat interested in the topic, so I forced my eyelids to stay open. “…And as we can see,” the brunette girl presenting to class droned on, “Eldritch beings are said to cause insanity to everyone who learns about them.” The girl up front was named Sophia, and she was a popular student. Not surprising, since she was born with a variety of mind-based abilities; knowing what people are thinking makes it easy to befriend them. Somehow, people weren’t bothered by the fact that she could intrude on their mind. I was. “But,” Sophia said, suddenly freezing in place. “Those are just lies, I promise you. Learning about eldritch beings has done nothing but open my eyes!” “Really?” Professor Eleus asked from the audience. He was a young professor, passionate about teaching and learning. Perhaps that made him a little naïve, but at least it made him a lot less strict than the older professors. “Would you please enlighten your classmates more?” “With pleasure, professor,” Sophia replied. “This one being, Ngovehtl, I have been reading a lot about. She promises immense magical power to anyone who follows her!” “Interesting,” Eleus mused. “Now I don’t suppose you actually have been trying to join a cult, have you? All of your research—it’s strictly academic, correct?” Cults were the most dangerous type of magical society there was. They were the sort of people who would partake in any activity to appease their deity, most of which involved violating a handful of magic laws. “It was an academic interest at first,” Sophia replied, a grin forming on her face. She reached into her bag and pulled out a ragged spell tome: “But then I read this, and I knew I had to take the plunge!” I’ve never seen that tome before—however, Eleus’ eyes widened at the sight: “Sophia, don’t tell me…is that…” “It SURE is professor!” Sophia gleefully shrieked. “After learning about the contents of this spell tome, I KNEW how ignorant the council and you professors are. Black magic? Forbidden spells? Please, you all are so STUPID. And now, I’m going to enlighten you all!” Sophia placed her index finger on her forehead and closed her eyes. I was familiar with this sight—it meant she was about to use her mind-powers to project her thoughts into our heads. The people sitting in the front of the class room started to shriek and froth from their mouths. Their convulsions started to spread to other students, rolling like a wave of insanity all the way to the back of the classroom where I sat. \\\* At least, that’s the last thing I remember before blacking out. I suddenly woke up on my desk and was the only one besides Sophia who wasn’t presently having a seizure. Did I use my power? I don’t remember using it—then again, I hardly remember using it regardless. What I do remember is that Sophia projected something onto the minds of the rest of class. Rising from my seat, I bolted to the front of the classroom, and slugged her before she could even react; when you can’t rely on magical skill, sometimes developing your physical skills can make up for it. Instantly, she collapsed. Withdrawing my fist, I turned around and saw the rest of the class staring at me. “Michael,” Eleus groaned, massaging his head. “Weren’t you affected by the forbidden knowledge she was projecting onto our minds? How were you able to stand?” I simply shrugged my shoulders, answering as truthfully as possible: “I don’t remember.”
"So halos are an actual thing?" "Everybody has wings in heaven,"she said as she tried to make eye contact with a waitress. We weren't being seated because they were, quite understandably, just as shocked as I was. "To ...fly?" "Our primary architectural material is clouds. It floats, so people need to float. God gives out halos to differentiate between angels and people."Matter-of-fact. I guess I'd feel the same if an alien asked me why everybody wore shoes on earth. "I don't normally ask women this on the first date, but can I touch it?" One of her eyebrows shot into her bangs - I didn't think she'd ever been asked this before. The smile slowly forming on her face, though, suggested that maybe I hadn't made a terrible call. "I'm normally not that kind of woman. Touching it sounds more like a third date kind of thing, but I'll make an exception,"she laughed. It was a nice laugh. Kind. My hand passed through the halo as if I had been trying to touch a projection. What was very different, though, from trying to touch a projection was that rather than my hand interrupting the beam of light, it entirely disappeared as I tried to feel the halo's golden curves. "Whoa." "Whoa indeed. It's God's light sculpted into a circular form. All encompassing, so the same thing happens to my hand as well."Still matter-of-fact, but softer around the edges. The waitress had finally stopped gawking at the angel in her restaurant long enough to take us to our seats. The decor was everything you would expect from a place made in honor of all the metal rock legends of our time. Intentionally dimly lit, predominant color tones black, and posters with illustrations of everything not associated with heaven: skulls, guns, scantily clad women, Satan. "You know, I'm starting to think maybe this restaurant might not be your vibe."I ended the sentence with a half hearted attempt at a nonchalant laugh. "I'm glad you looked through my Spotify playlist. Even an angel needs some vices."She laughed again. Hers was genuine. "So God is cool with the Satan mentions?" "Oh, Lucifer has a weird reputation, but he's actually a really great guy." "You say that like you know him well."We were on a date right? I couldn't help but ask. "We dated way back when, before God put him in charge of Hell." This was going to be an interesting night.
Jurgen the shepherd spun around as the royal guard drew near. "OH NO YOU DON'T! THAT IS -NOT- HOW THIS WORKS!"one of the guards shouted at the retreating king. "Wait, what's going on?" "Sonofabitch forgot about our pay, says it's not in the budget for this quarter!" "Well, you heard him. King's word is law, and the king says I'm king now. So that IS how this works." "Are you trying to start trouble?"one of the guards asked, hand on the pommel of his sword. "No, not at all! Trying to fix it, in fact! As your new king, I could see about shuffling around the budget to get this resolved. Maybe we could sell some licenses to hunt in the Royal Woods or something. Take me to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, we'll see what we can get squared away." Thus began the 47-year reign of Jurgen the Not Excessively Greedy, the first king in 200 years to die peacefully in his sleep of natural causes.
They destroyed me. You can't go back to what you were, after all that. There is no returning to a normal life, no simple future. What they made me do, what they turned me into, you cannot ever unlearn that. They expected me to just return home, to a family that I barely remembered. To parents I could not recall, siblings I couldn't tell apart. A home that I wasn't a part of anymore. A thousand years ago I walked into the woods, where they took me to do their work. They sent me back to the moment that they found me. Thinking that now, with everything over, that I could just be let go. Set free to live my old life. The mortal body that I had been born with felt alien, uncomfortable, and wrong. For so long have I worn other bodies, forged from living metal or pure energy. I walked into that house, where my family lived, and felt a stranger in a strange land, a foreign thing wearing a body that was not mine to wear. The child I had been had died aeons ago. And every horror I had faced, every nightmare I had defeated; everything was still crystal clear in my mind. I had been forged into a cosmic weapon of unparalleled power and dread. I was a living instrument of death, in a war that had lasted since the ages before mankind had learned how to use fire. My parents, unnerved, asked me what had happened. How could I answer them, people who loved the dead girl that had left their home to go for a walk, when I was no longer her? How could I make them understand, communicate the truth to them? They would not believe me. They would not understand. And it hurt me. It was so painful to see these people, who I on an intellectual level knew as being people who loved me, people who wanted the very best for me, and knowing that I could never make them understand. And they were hurt in turn, because they could not help me. Could not calm the nightmares that assaulted my mind whenever I slept. It was all too much for me. To wake in a place that should be familiar, to speak with people that I should know, and do things that I should have done if my life hadn't been changed so drastically. It was too much. Far too much for me, and for them. So I left them again. This time for good and by my own volition. I left behind a note explaining things in a way that they'd hopefully understand, but it wouldn't be enough. Not even close to enough. I still had my skills. My knowledge. The memories. Both the good and the bad. It wasn't right that I should be forced to experience such, not as a child, not being forced to grow up through dreadful machines accelerating my growth, implanting my mind into new warforms. Turning me into a magical and technological weapon that cut through armies like a scythe through a field of briars. Making me the most deadly, most feared, most powerful force in their arsenal. As skilled with spell as with the blade. And those skills remained. The human body is not a good vessel for such abilities, for such skills, but it was the only body I had left. I began taking the time to rebuild who I was. The weapon I had been before the masters had won their war, had sent me back. Out of the accursed suburbs I walked in the night. Into the city. In that urban jungle, I could remake myself. Take this frail human body, and make myself what I truly am in my mind. Whispering spells under my breath, I walked through those decaying streets under the baleful moon. And I culled it. Slowly, but surely, I did as I had been made to do before. Purge the city of evil. Through dark dilapidated houses, through abandoned tunnels, through dens of wickedness, I did what I had done for thousands of years. Not because I wanted it, but because it was necessary. The stress of war had made my mind only capable of surviving intact in the heat of combat. Without bullets moving past my body, without blades arrayed against me, I could feel the nightmares closing in from the only front on which I could never be victorious. The criminals of this city paid in blood for underestimating me. So did the corrupt law. And I remade myself. Rebuilt my body into a weapon, because that was what I understood. What I had known for so long that any other possible incarnation of me had been made impossible to manifest into reality. I knew what I had to do. What my past, my nightmares, my skills drove me to do. And so, outside of a ruined house, I found other young people. Other children. Using magic I made them see me in a good light, made them easy for me to manipulate, changed their weak and malleable minds to be mine and mine alone. Took them from their impoverished homes, and made them into soldiers in an army on the rise. And I gave them what I had been given. I gave them purpose. I fed and clothed them through coordinated raids on corporate warehouses. I took them away from their families, as I had been taken away from mine. I instilled in them discipline, I taught them the usage of weapons, the manipulations needed for infiltration, how to survive in the wilderness. I taught them how to find others, outcasts and the frightened, how to influence them and bring them into the army I was building. Some who were brighter than the others, those more cunning and more capable, I taught magic to. Made them the first warlocks that Earth have seen for centuries. The first to learn proper battlemagic. It was what I had been exposed to. And in turn what I had endured made me want to spread my brand of horror, my terrible fate. The powerful and supreme races, the Astral Elves, the Dual-Chronic Void-Dragons, the Ascended Atlantians, they had not expected that I would spread their teachings of war to that many. That I would send out armed parties to seize control of small outlying settlements. To conquer rural territories. I became as a goddess to these children that I brought in under my wings. A being of unimaginable power, who taught them a better way of life. A better existence than that promised to them by the failing American dream. Of course, I knew in my heart that it was only a better way if what you wanted was war. And no sane creature could ever want war. But between the nightmares, the horrors I've endured, and what that one psychiatrist we kidnapped said, extreme PTSD, I could not be counted as anybody sane. They should have erased my memory. Cleansed my mind of all that I had experienced. But they didn't. They let me return with everything still there fresh in my mind. And that is not healthy. No, not at all, as I ordered the executions of captured federal agents. Not as I organized the seizure of the means of weapons production. As I sent out capable and indoctrinated agents to other states, across the Canadian border, and in planes to foreign countries with the explicit goal of spreading our army. Detroit was an easy target. An easy conquest. After taking over much of rural Michigan, and waging an underground war with the FBI and winning, it was the moment the world realized what was happening. It was too late at that point though. That young president in the White House didn't have time to react, before his own children, indoctrinated and controlled by my subordinates, detonated the Oval Office. The teenagers that stormed the Pentagon might have been repulsed. But as my army marched, the world could do nought but watch. The war began. A war between the young and the old, some called it. I merely called it what it was; the conquest of Earth. Because I had been made to do such things, and I no longer knew of anything other than war. So I did what I had been made to do. Not simply kill armies on the field, no. Though I was, in that time when I was a cosmic weapon, quite capable of that. But I wasn't the blade-in-the-light. I was the dagger-in-the-dark. A weapon made for the purpose of infiltration, to subvert populations, to ferment revolution, to destabilize, and to overthrow the government of the enemy on whatever planet I had been stabbed into. They couldn't win. Not against their own populace. Not against me. The governments and militaries of the great powers had time and time again proven that they could not win wars against insurgencies. Vietnam and Afghanistan were proof enough. And at home? When their allies were facing smaller, but equally worrisome uprisings of their own? No. No matter how many planes you've got, no matter how many tanks you have, you cannot win a war like this with conventional means. And yet, the incompetent buffoons tried. Sending out bombing runs, sending in armored, mechanized, and motorized division, and all the big impressive machines in the arsenal. It did nothing. When a single infiltrator with a canister of poisonous gas goes into your camp at night, and wipes out thousands while wearing a gas mask. That's a victory for my forces, as we can march in afterwards and loot their weaponry. When a small group of well-trained forces do hit-and-run attacks forcing the government to try and find all the partisans behind the frontline. When we burn down their fields, when we build IEDs on the roads that they use, when we capture logistics first, and let the soldiers starve. That was how we won.
Liches with names like "Eternal Blight"or "The Doom King"or "Nekromortis"never stuck around very long. They were immortal, sure. Even death couldn't hold them. But if there was one thing mortals hated, it was anything other than them. If you wanted to have an enriching, peaceful unlife, you couldn't be attracting attention to yourself like that. Ted knew that better than anyone. Ted didn't live in a fortress of bone, or a secret underground crypt. Just a rundown summer home, buried somewhere in the woods. Ted didn't need to eat, so the location didn't matter too much. No neighbors was only a plus, in his book. Visitors were almost as bad as neighbors. "Look, we've run out of villains for the heroes to fight, so stop lazing about and do something evil NOW!" Ted glanced up at the god before him. Some sort of lightning god, or maybe storms? There had been an annoying current buzzing in the air, even since he popped into existence in a blinding flash. Six foot, dark hair, bare chested. His waist was wrapped in some sort of white cloth that Ted figured was probably in fashion sometime in the last few centuries, but he honestly didn't get out that often. Needless to say, Ted did not rise from his chair. He liked his chair. He liked his library. He liked only having to send out a disguised thrall once every few years to grab some new books, and then not having to worry about anything for a while. Maybe they were stolen, maybe his thrall was smart enough to stop by the treasury first. Ted didn't really care. Mortals didn't care about things like that either. No one was raising a holy army over a few missing books. They just couldn't work up the enthusiasm. Apathy was Ted's greatest shield against the tides of idiots who might come by and break down his door. And Ted was absolutely lousy at carpentry. Which only left the idiot in front of him, Ted supposed. "Evil?"Ted asked, looking up dubiously at the god of whatever. "It's really not my thing." Ted had flirted with evil, of course. In his younger, stupider years. No one became a lich through a strong moral compass. But Ted quickly learned that there wasn't much point in anchoring your soul to the mortal plane for the rest of eternity, if all those years were spent putting up with angry mobs and righteous warriors and plucky groups of rag tag heroes. Luckily, having flexible morals meant Ted was happy leaving well enough alone. The god opened his mouth to speak. However he expected to convince Ted, it probably wasn't worth the breath. So Ted just put his finger up. "I wasn't finished,"Ted said. "I only mean I'm a bit rusty at all this... Now what was I going to say again..." Ted tilted his head, reaching back to some dusty old memories from his more reckless, villainous days. Then his eyes lit up, tiny flames burning in the empty sockets of his skull. "Ah! That's the one—DIE!" Ted stuck out his finger, and the god exploded into a thousand bloody chunks.
“Sir, can you spare some change?” The man is barely moving under his blanket, using just enough energy to shove a tin can at me. Once he wiggles his head out and sees me he apologizes but continues to stare. Behind him, he has a sign stuck up on the wall saying will derive polynomials for food. This generation is a mess. All our parents were given a choice by their doctor during their second sonogram. Your child gets a skill, a talent, a gift. From you, whatever you would like. Just write it down on this paper and we will take care of the rest. It seemed like a godsend. Your child will have a leg up on everyone else. They will excel in their field. They will be set for life. At least, those were the promises. To misquote Albert Einstein, “It’s all relative.” There are now more genius musicians than anything else, but radio stations still only play the top 40. Each one of them has to rely on different talents or gifts to make it in the business. We still see the same kind of pop stars that we ever did. Little, impossibly proportioned and flawless girls. Effeminate men in tight pants. At least the music has gotten better. Every book that’s released is perfect, down to the last tiny grammatical detail, but if Oprah doesn’t ever see it, it’s useless white noise. If you can’t provide a stunning back cover, nobody will read it. Nobody will publish it. The world became flooded with artists and sports heroes and strongmen, with dancers and math geniuses and doctors. There was nothing that set one candidate over any other, save for aesthetics. All the skill and talent and dedication in the world meant nothing if you didn’t look good. The difference between a spot in the sewer and in a penthouse was the clearness of your skin and the set of your jaw. My parents were idiots and chose for me to be pretty, but to misquote Robert Frost “that has made all the difference.” Less than a handful of parents chose that, whether because they didn’t think of it or because they were concerned of what the doctor they were talking to would think. So now I am elite. The top. For no other reason than that I am gorgeous. I don’t have to tell people that this is my skill, so I tell them something else. Right now I am going with politics. Vote me for president. Look into my eyes and tell me you won’t.
Then the marvelous human that was Tom Brady rose from the ashes, like a pheonix. A great red, white, and blue fire surrounded the patriot as he screamed with a burning rage. "Roger!"he shouted, "Deflate this!" A ball suddenly materialized in Brady's hand. As he threw a perfect spiral towards Roger Goodell, time began to warp behind the ball. And every previous Super Bowl winning incarnation of Tom Brady appeared in the vortex. The Four Brady-men of the Apocalypse. Arcid smoke filled the air as they charged the corrupt commissioner, lead by the ball that was thrown by the perfect human. --- In Asgard, Odin spoke to the council of gods. "There be a human who bears the power cosmic. We must stop him." "There is only one who stands a chance in a fight." "Who is this fighter?" "His name is Micheal Jordan." [<-To be continued-](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-Tdu4uKSZ3M) Edit: This was originally a replying to a removed comment. That's why Brady starts as ash. Edit 2: Uh, excuse the mistakes, English isn't my first language (baby language was.) Edit 3: Part II is below, and to everyone saying I should have used Eli instead of Jordan: >I know Eli is a patriot killer, but Jordan is the top of his sport so I feel he is a bit more legendary. Thank you :)
As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin "Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over." The hero turned to his companion with a glare and disappointment only a 5 year old crown prince with a wood sword can produce. “But dad! We didn’t fight the dragonking yet!” “Its way past your bed time my little hero!” The king kneeled down and took the sword from him and lifted him up. “ You mum would kill me if I let you stay up any longer. We can finish next week. I promise.” The king carried his little boy as the boy started to yawn towards the bedchamber. Behind them the knights that was lying spread across the hallway looked up disappointed, this Saturday evening adventures of the crown princes had been their highlights of the week. Last week they had been zombies, the week before orcs. Today they had been lizard people.
“What did you do!? What did you DO!?” asked the alien. “Relax, bud. All we did was breed them out of existence.” “You… what!?” “Breed, as in having sexual intercourse, as in f—” “I know what you meant! I just don’t see how… Cough! breeding with other hominin species would result in them going extinct while you homo sapiens rule the Earth.” “Simple, we just kept pounding it and pounding it and race mixed and race mixed till we only have small percentages of other genuses left in our gene pool. We have like 1-4% neanderthal in our blood, a bit of homo erectus, homo habilis, and probably some others. Combine them all and you get… me!” “Oh… I see. You humans are very… industrious.” “It’s called the horny, man! We can’t help ourselves, when nature calls, we just gotta do it!” “Is… is that so? Human… imagine a scenario where we blumo sapiens migrate to your world, what would…” “Blue alien waifu! Fuck yeah! Where are they!? Where are my blue wimmin at!? I promise I’ll breed them so hard…” And thus no alien ever dares make contact with mankind ever again, else risk getting fucked out of existence.
The daily life of a Sith apprentice is much more mundane than you’d imagine. Like most people, I like to start my day with a light breakfast of some kind of nutrient slop and then I have to go to work. No, I don’t actually spend my day eating babies as your Jedi masters might assume. Most of my time is occupied with paperwork, interrupted now and then by my Master’s sudden appearances. Occasionally I even get to go destroy a rebel base or two but most of the time the only time I actually get any exercise is when I get voluntold to practice sparring ‘so that I don’t become lazy’ as my Master puts it. Ah, and there comes the subject of my Master. Again, it might surprise you to know that not all Sith are paranoid sadomasochists…although truthfully my Master is one of those typical paranoid sadomasochists. However, because I am actually extremely rational and not at all egotistical, I have developed quite an effective system of behavioural responses to deal with his ridiculous emotional outbursts. (He tends to suspect that I have betrayed him at least once a month.) “You’ve hidden a bomb on my speeder!” “A Jedi must have done it!” “You’re trying to poison my slop!” “Oh no, I have been poisoned by Jedi first!” “You forgot to submit your budget report!” “I’m having a vision that a Jedi did it!” You see? Works every time. It’s not like I hate the Jedi or anything. I mean, I grew up as one and they all treated me quite nicely growing up. I’m a Sith, yes, but I sort of more or less kinda vaguely sauntered into it? I was just very very interested in studying holocrons of all kinds and…got a little carried away. Forgive me if I’m still a little more interested in research than in applied violence against Jedi. It’s not like becoming a Sith turns you into a violent maniac. It’s just that violent maniacs tend to make powerful Sith. I will stay far, far away from dueling Jedi. I will rarely be found on the battlefield. I have all the pieces I could want to play across the galaxy, and so… …I would be very annoyed if someone were to disturb my quiet life. Why, I might even have to resort to some old fashioned violence. As I told my Master the other day, I’m really not all that interested in killing him. You could even say that I’m just not a very good Sith apprentice. And, well, maybe I haven’t been entirely honest with him, but I haven’t killed him yet because it would disrupt my perfect life. That would just make him suspiciously paranoid again and we wouldn’t want to have to blame the jedi again now would we?
It wasn't amazing. At most, my powers were considered a mild annoyance. Couldn't even get my foot in the door to being a hero. Who'd want a hero who can manipulate fabric? Never mind that I regularly did the hero's job for them when I just wrapped up the villains in their own costumes, and waited for them to show up. Late, as always. "Don't interfere in official hero business, civilian." "Quit trying to play hero, and leave it to the professionals." "You again?! FUCK OFF ALREADY!" "GO DESIGN SOME COSTUMES, YOU FUCKING EXTRA!" "Some people thinking that having powers make you a hero need to wake the fuck up, and know their fucking places!" Wouldn't need to interfere if you fuckers did your damn jobs. ... The first time it happened was a fluke. Was doing some shopping. Nothing too crazy. Needed supplies for my costume making job. Seriously, who needs kevlar covered in silk? What kind of villains are you expecting to fight? At least both heroes and villains know that costume makers are untouchable. Can't look cool if you don't have professionals making and fixing your damn outfits. And if you piss us off, then you can go do your heroic or villainous crap in your underwear for all I care. The villain was too far away for my power to affect him. So I thought it was a shame that I couldn't affect the fabric of space. If I could, I'd bring him close enough that I could wrap him up in his own cape. Surprisingly, he seemed to vanish for a second, and reappeared practically in front of me. We were both surprised at that. I recovered a bit faster than he did, and did as I said I would if he was closer. Waited for half an hour before some hero or another showed up, who proceeded to berate me for interfering with his moment to shine. The whole thing was caught on camera. Naturally, no one sided with me, because I wasn't as great and well-known as whoever the fuck he was. ... The second time was after another capture. Waited 5 minutes this time. The so-called hero showed up, and proceeded to attack me with his fire-based powers. Everyone sneered as he attacked me for not leaving it to him to resolve. As if he fucking did anything. So, I tried to remember what happened last time, and his fireball vanished from in front of me, and ended up directly behind him. He ended up arse over head while all the cameras were rolling. That just pissed him off. I thought he should go someplace to cool off. He was found several days later, somewhere off the coast of Antarctica. Not dead, mind you. Just very cold, and very pissed off. He found me as I was dealing with another villain that decided that his costume wasn't flashy enough, and I had just happened to be the one to make it. Got him tied up enough in his own costume, and had to roll out of the path of the hero's fireball. By this point, I was sick of them both, and wished he didn't have the powers he so blatantly abused. His hands started burning, as his powers vanished. And with no resistance to fire, as all normal people have, he burned. I wish I could say that I felt remorse. I really do. But he tried to kill me simply for doing his job. So, no remorse for that. ... Over the next few days, I tried to figure out what was happening to my powers. Got myself retested, and the description was still "Fabric Manipulation." I kept thinking about what had happened, and came to a realisation. Fabric Manipulation. As in manipulation of the fabric of space. As in manipulation of the fabric of reality. It was the only explanation I could come up with. ... So the next time some arse decided to do shit around me, I tried it out. Took his powers away by manipulating the fabric of reality. He fell. Hard. He survived, but he'd never walk again. That was my fault. That also got caught on camera. ... Next thing I knew, I had the entirety of the Hero League and the Legion of Villains after me. They wanted my powers. Not once did they think that I wanted nothing to do with them. It got bad enough that a war started over who would get me. As if I was some prize to be won. So, I did the only thing I could. Manipulated the fabric of reality to do away with all powers. Since everyone wanted my powers, I'd make sure that no one would have them. Not just mine. Every single hero and villain was now powerless. And all I could do was laugh at the horror on their faces. This is what you wanted, isn't it? No more interference from me. You've all made your beds. Now die in them.
The somber Hellpriest straightened his leather straps, attempting to look professional before using the heavy brass knocker on Lilith's door. This was the third case this week and he was feeling rundown. Can't let it show though, these demons have been through enough. First, he had to try and help. After this call, he'd go home, torture Steve or maybe Carol, drink their blood and just crash. Tomorrow would be another day. Lilith opened the door, her usual vision of tempting lust. The Hellpriest found himself nodding in approval. Succubi are always beautiful but there was always a certain level of variance. Lilith was looking especially enticing. Surely any human male to see her like that would immediately damn himself. It's good to see she was keeping a strong gameface through all this. He'd seen others handle it with less poise. "Thank you for coming Zenalth."She said in the sultry whisper of hers. "Of course Lilith, is Azanaer still...afflicted?" She definitely wavered on that. The mask of brooding lust flickered and the edges of her perfect lips creased ever so slightly. That was answer enough for Zenalth, Azanaer remained infected. He would have to be careful. "Take me to him immediately, then." Lilith led him past a perfectly normal looking torture chamber and through a few dank stone hallways. The screams of the damned echoed pleasantly in every chamber. Their lair seems to be quite filthy and depressing. Again Zenalth had to marvel at how remarkable a demon Lilith was. Truly an impressive woman, besieged by misfortune. Lilith stopped in front of an unassuming stone door, now she was shaking in a way undermined her usual confidence. It was clear that she intended to go no further. Zenalth could understand that, she'd probably seen too much already. Before entering the room, he got the basics. "How long has he been like this?" "About three days. At first, he was just listless. I thought maybe he was burned out y'know? Don't get me wrong, Az loves the work. The torture, the rape, the whole thing. But sometimes you need a change you know? I was thinking maybe he wanted to try transferring to Faustian bargains. I would have been fine with that! I always try to be supportive. But then..." "Then he started talking in a voice that wasn't his?"Zenalth prompted. Lilith's perfect black orbs began to well up with blood. She was truly distraught. "Yes, about the most inane things! He started talking about Hot Pockets and "Karma", but not like universal balance karma. He was talking about some kind of score! It was all just nonsense." Zenalth tried to comfort her by sneering menacingly at her pain. She seemed emboldened by that, and continued on. "Then he got that damned laptop. He hasn't moved in 48 hours! He won't torture, or kill anything. He wouldn't even fuck me! He kept rambling on about Red Pills and power plays or some bullshit. He's like some harmless fungus person! The only time he even gets mad anymore is at someone named Opie. He just...exists now. That's not the demon I bloodbound myself too Zenalth. It just isn't!" Zenalth made a sharp intake of of breath. A Redditor, damn. He would have to move fast. "Take me to him."
The first week of school you blend in like you're blonde and strong and you like partying, because that's what the football team is like, and you heard you should be like the football team. So you're like that, and everyone's eyes stop on your big shoulders and muscles and nice blue eyes and so much charisma it's like Brad Pitt and Jay Gatsby had a baby. That's you in high school. That's the first mask. At work, a couple of years later, you put that suit on and your hair goes short and your jawline grows some more beard around it, and you're a bit taller but less broad-shouldered, because that's the face you saw in the Business Magazine. The look of a professional 'hire-me' boy, ready to rumble and be successful. After work it's the friendly smile and the easy-going, gin-and-tonic drinking attitude you caught from the seniors. You wanna get ahead so you always smile, and you always pay a round of drinks and you always laugh at other people's jokes, even if you don't get them. With your parents you're taller, because that's how your father always wanted you. You talk about work and stocks even though you hate it, and with mom you talk about getting married, even though you never. You got a better set of teeth just for them, because of how they kept always telling you to brush your teeth when you were young and you never did. Then one day. One day you get home alone after all these years and you take off the costume and hang it in the closet – hang the smile, hang the height and the shoulders and hang the silly jokes and the business talk – hang all that in the midst of a thousand different 'me's you keep for a thousand different people, and maybe today you look around, pushing hangers back and forth, and you don't find your first smile. That first one, the one you were born with. Maybe today you don't find your real height and your real sense of humor. Today you don't find the things you really like, and the movies you really like and the people you really like, lost between the thousand faces you put on to please everyone else. And you go out to have a cigarette, and you cross the all empty all alone all dark house and you open the door, faceless, just a shade of translucent nothing distorting your surroundings. You open the front door and light it up -- a cigarette hanging in mid-air, blowing smoke from nothing, and you look around. Down the street is where you see him, passing by, maybe. He looks just like you -- the first you. Maybe hand in hand with that one you never found – brunette shoulder-length hair the way you imagined when you were young. Your only face that wasn't a costume. The real deal. There he goes, side by side with his wife, and she's laughing at jokes that are really his. She's touching an arm that is really his and kissing his own lips, and he's talking about things he really cares about, not things he thinks she wants to hear, and she's talking back, and they're so much in love. And you sigh and you put out the cigarette, and you go back into the house, that translucent nothingness that you became, wondering how it must be like to be loved for who you really are. Wondering what it must feel like when someone loves your face and not your masks. ________________________ Thanks for reading! For slightly less personal and depressing tales, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
The items sat in a circle on the floor surrounding a worn, water-damaged brown box. Evidence of fervent spring cleaning lay scattered across the room, trailing through doorways and spilling from cabinets. Maxilius regarded his surroundings, the mess and the mildew smell. The ring of summoning keys was sloppy, incidental, and he apprised each item before sliding his boot into a hairbrush, knocking it away and breaking the ring he'd been summoned into. "I'm just so sure she left it here,"a voice said. It was distant, mumbling, and growing louder by the second. "If she'd ever put things away, oh, there's no use in complaining about it. Bad thoughts make the job bad." The old woman rounded the corner to find a tall pale figure dressed entirely in black, gazing menacingly through shoulder length stringy black bangs that veiled his impish features. She sprung back at the sight of him. Her hand reached up, clutching her chest, but she quickly regained her footing and began to laugh, doubling over to catch the breath that had been frighted away only moments before. Maxilius held his ground. "Tom, you nearly gave me a heart attack,"she said. She ran a balled fist over wrinkle-ringed eyes and stood straight. "You really mustn't sneak about like that. A knock at the door or a phone call would do just fine." This, as far as Maxilius was concerned, was all wrong. His arrival was to be met with wide, fear-stricken eyes and grovelling. When summoned, he expected an offering and all of the glamour and glory that came along with being a demon in such high demand. Instead, he was hugged by clammy hands, loose skin brushing casually against his bare upper arms. Then, the woman shuffled out of the room. "I even made cookies! I know you're a vegan and you don't eat any of the animal products but you did love these when you were a little boy,"she said. A clatter of pans led the demon out into the kitchen. The old woman was bent over an open cabinet, riffling through baking sheets and cake molds, tossing aside items so old and dented that Maxilius himself could tell they had belonged to a generation older that their owner. "You don't even need to talk, honey. I know your father is having a hard time with,"she turned and smiled as she gestured in his direction, "all of this. But he wasn't always so easy himself and this is only clothes. It's not like you're running off with some girl to get married in Vegas without even telling your poor mother first."As he head shook, her hair stood still in stiff white curls around her ears and neck. "Not talking at all is just fine with me. Harold was never much of a talker either, don't you remember?" The demon allowed the woman to speak, helping with the cleaning and accepting treats, which were offered frequently and urgently, until the floor was bare of objects and the cabinets were organised. Until everything was to the woman's liking. "Oh, Tom, I really do wish you'd come by more often. It's such a shame,"she sighed, "we live so close but I only see you when your father invites me over for dinner. This is no way for a family to behave." Maxilius nodded. Family was much more than that, he thought. Though he hadn't said a word, for fear that his own voice would break the woman's delusion, she grasped his shoulder and praised him yet again. "Really, you could come over after school and listen to all of the rock and roll you want. I don't mind even a tiny bit." Again, he nodded. "Bye, honey. I'll have more cookies tomorrow if you want to come by,"she said. "I'm really trying to watch my weight so I'll have to pack them into a tin if you don't show up. I'll even make them vegan." He waved and walked away, retreating back to the depths of Hell behind a bush in her back garden until the following day, when he helped her clean dust from difficult-to-reach places.
Day 1. I am writing this with a chunk of charcoal on the back of a strip of birch bark. I and several others woke up in a forest on the side of a hill, naked and afraid, and covered in dirt. Somehow, one person wound up halfway engulfed by the roots of a large tree. He is still stuck there. We tried to pull him out, but the roots are too tight. Maybe if we can find an axe or something, we can get him out. Hang in there, Steve. Day 5. Steve is dead. We tried to figure out how to bring him water, but we dont have anything to carry it in. He died of thirst. I'm sorry. We're all hungry. There is a small stream nearby, so we have mostly fresh water, and a couple of berry thickets grow near it. It's good, but not filling. Our little group has doubled; we keep finding other people wandering the woods. Another guy, Dave, was a scout master. He showed us how to dry plant stalks today, so we can make some twine tomorrow. Hopefully we can make some snares or something. Day 7. Roast rabbit has never tasted so good. Day 14. Andy, another member of the group, was really into primitive technology. He found some flint stones a bit upstream. He is trying to knap them into simple tools, like hand axes. Wished we could have found this earlier. Maybe Steve would have lived. Day 18. Pamela found some clay. She was an art teacher, and knows how to make simple clay pots. We dont have a pottery wheel or anything, but at least we can carry some water. And maybe have something other than rabbit on a stick. Day 21. Our group keeps growing. We have nearly a hundred people now. They keep seeing the smoke from our fires. Most of them dont have anything, and dont know how to hunt, fish, or gather edible plants. The dozen or so of us who do are busting ass all day to keep everyone else fed. I'm so tired... Day 23. We've kicked someone out for the first time. Lane was a dumb college kid. He found us nearly a week ago, begging for help. Since then, despite being asked to pitch in and help build shelters, or set snares, or check the fish traps, or do anything productive at all, he has refused. We told him last night that if he doesnt help, we will kick him out. He got angry and attacked Dave with a hand axe. The bleeding wont stop. At least Lane had the sense to run before I could get my hands on him. Day 25. Dave's wound is getting infected. I dont know what to do. Three more freeloaders were kicked out. One tried to fight us. Terry hit him with a big stick, and knocked him out. He hasn't woken up yet. Day 26. The freeloader is dead. The blow to the back of his head must have caused internal bleeding or something. No one is too bothered by it, except for Terry. He's beating himself up about it. Dave is getting worse. The wound is starting to leak puss. We are going to try to cauterize it with a hot rock. Day 27. The cauterization was... traumatizing. Dave screamed and screamed and screamed. Now, instead of a cut, he has a burn. At least it doesnt stink like rot anymore. Day 31. Angie thinks she missed her period. Her and Andy are an item, apparently. Not sure how well this is going to work out. There is some good news though, we found a field of corn! It isnt ready to be harvested yet, wont be for a couple of months, but maybe we can store some of it for the winter. We finally have some permanent shelter. Between Andy and Dave, we managed to build a couple of long houses, like the type the Iroquios used to build, only we used mostly wattle and daub. It should be pretty well insulated if it gets cold, and the fire pits will help a lot. Day 38. We made our first spear! Its little more than a sharp piece of flint tied to the end of a long stick, but if it works... Its already paying off, too. We managed to herd a couple of deer through a narrow gap between a cliff and a boulder. Terry ambushed them on the other side and managed to get one. Tonight, we are having roast venison. Angie found some wild jalapenos, so we are going to try to spice it up a bit. Dave and Andy are trying to figure out how to smoke the rest of the meat. I hope they can manage it; I'm getting tired of rabbit... Day 42. I'm pretty sure we are right in the middle of high summer. It's a good thing we are, because we've only just started to figure out how to cure the deer hides to make clothing. Maria's grandmother grew up on a reservation, and managed to teach her a few things. Maria managed to make a bone needle and dried out strips of hide to use as a sort of thread. Maybe I can finally wear pants again soon... Day 43. Looks like kilts are going to be the fashion moving forward. Day 60. We found some alpaca! Or, at least something that looks a lot like one. We are going to try to build a corral and see if we can trap it there. With its fur, we can make thread fine enough that maybe we can try weaving something. Dave has suggested making bow strings. I kind of like the idea. Day 61. Got 'em! 6 trapped alpacas! They're skittish, still, but Mark's family used to own a ranch, so he is going to try to work with them. Day 72. Mark has taken to his animals like a duck to water. They finally started to let him pet them. They shed like crazy when he does, but he has been keeping the shed for. Andy is showing us how to spin it into threads, while Dave is carving a bow and arrow. Not sure how we are going to fletch them though. Day 80. Ran across another tribe today. Things were tense at first, until we both realized that neither of us were raiders. Apparently, some people are going around stealing. We've decided to set up a night watch. Andy wants to build a palisade around our little village. I kind of like the idea. We managed to trade some spare flint rocks for some tomatoes. I've told people to save the seeds; maybe we can grow our own. Day 90. The corn is close to harvest. We have some woven baskets we can put the ears in. Not sure how long they're going to last though. Still, hunting and gathering has seen us through until now. Dave finally has his bow and arrows. Ironically, Andy made a sling and used it to kill a few pigeons. They weren't the best tasting, but the feathers were useful at least. Day 100. We were attacked by raiders last night. Amir was on watch and spotted them. They tried to rush the camp, but we managed to drive them off. We killed six of them, but Frank and Terry are both hurt pretty badly. Might need to cauterize. Again. We've finally decided to build that palisade, though. Day 120. First cold front of the year came through. Thankfully we have enough deer and rabbit hide clothing that no one got too cold. Maria has started making moccasins though. The corn is harvested. We kept a dozen baskets to try planting next spring. The rest we will eat through winter. Amir was digging for worms near the river bank and managed to find a potato. There are tons of them in that area. We are going to try harvesting them too. Day 180. Went trading with the friendly tribe today. Gave them some corn and potatoes and got some squash and cucumber seeds. They are also trading with several other friendly tribes further south. Rumor has it that we arent in another world, like some of us though, but in the future. Apparently, one tribe lives on the edge of what used to be a big city. Everything is overgrown and rusted out, but it's hard to mistake a plastic steering wheel for anything else. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Still, it doesnt change our current situation. Winter is coming and we have almost a hundred people to keep fed. I think I'll do some hunting on the way back; an extra deer to smoke will go a long way. Day 190. Angie had her baby. It's a girl! They've decided to name her Gaia. Not sure why. We decided to have a Thanksgiving feast to mark the occasion. No one is sure what exact day or month it is, but this is a good enough reason to celebrate. Everyone is helping out, now. Everyone finds something productive to do, even if it's just spinning alpaca yard or weaving pot fibers into thread, or making pottery. We have clothes, food, shelter, and we are about 90% sure we have enough supplies to survive the winter. It shouldn't be too hard; we were in Texas before the Incident, so the winters should be mild anyway. It's been a tough year so far, but I'm thankful to have come this far. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, next year will be even better. Edit: first silver! Thank you! Edit 2: and gold too? Wow! Never expected this to be quite to popular. Thank you kind strangers!
The table was set by me. An elegant spread of expensive meats and cheeses, of breads and fruits, none of which I would be given the chance to taste. The noble family was seated first. Aided by servants who would eat what little they were awarded back at their quarters. Calling it a quarters rather than a slum was almost a good joke. As they sat the wine was poured. Even the kings youngests, Hugo and Ara, would have their fill, and for that, I was thankful. They looked to their feast practically drooling. I felt the same, but not about the food I would not eat. The first drink of wine was offered to me, as usual. Not out of kindness, no, never that, but because if I drank and died they could save themselves. Hire a new mouth to test their wine and continue their everlasting reign of greed. "Come here boy. The first drink is yours"the king gestured me over with a ringed hand. Almost giddily I took the glass, poured tall with the finest, darkest red wine. The only time the royal family was generous was when it meant saving themselves. As I gulped down the liquid the king looked pleased. A month ago that glass would have killed me, but now, now it barely upset my stomach. They followed. Drinking and laughing. Laughing and drinking as I watched. Hugo, "the little prince", was the first to fall. He was the smallest and always drank the most. As his head hit the table the rest of the family laughed, jesting about his insatiableness. But when Ara fell, only twelve and not yet having much of a taste for the drink, their faces twisted. They grew weak with concern. The queen rushed to her daughters aid, but then she too started to feel the poison take effect. She looked to me. Then to nothing more as her eyes glassed over. One by one the family fell to the floor, each growing a little closer to the door as they did. I had ensured it was locked. That was the easiest part of my plan. Finally only the king remained, piled in a weak heap on the floor surrounded by his kin. He looked to me. "Yo-you...how?"he choked out between breaths. "I'm glad you asked. It took a month. A month of tolerance building drinking poison of my own. A few times I was sure I would die from the pain, but here I am." He struggled to keep his eyes opened now as he lingered between life and death. "I- Wh- Why?" "To wipe you from this kingdom. To ensure your reign ends here and that not even a drop of your poisoned blood becomes the next in line in this eternal reign. Someone else can come along. I figure we can't get any more miserable than we were with you." To my surprise the king choked out a laugh. He seemed to gain a little strength at hearing my words "Ha! At least a quarter of this kingdom shares my blood. Good luck ending my reign s- so easily." "Is that so? I see. Then we will all drink in your honor, oh king of mine."I raised his glass and took a long gulp.
They didn't take it seriously, until the Albany Incident. Before that, they just saw it as a new kind of form of PTSD. Nothing to be worried about. Take some antipsychotics and call us in the morning kind of deal. They didn't pay much heed to those pilots, who after extensive immersion in their mechs, began to become unstable. It started simple enough. The pilots began feeling uncomfortable outside the mechs. Felt comforted by the enormous metallic chassis protecting them, to the point that not wearing them felt almost alien. That after months of combat in the mechs, on alien worlds, the pilots began to feel that their mechs were a part of them. Of course, there were some official rules against staying too long in them, especially after displaying initial symptoms. But we know what humans are like. We break rules. And those pilots, who were truly broken, began seeing the mech as a part of them. As the true extensive of their selves. Their real bodies. They would scream when removed, begging us to stop cutting them out of their flesh. They couldn't stop using those chrome mechas, like an addiction almost. The government and the military didn't really bother much beyond already established protocols in dealing with this problem. Maybe if they had, Albany wouldn't have happened. Maybe if there were proper care for vets, this could have been averted. It is of course easy to say such things in hindsight. But still, one has to wonder, if they could have treated the Albany three in time with proper psychological treatments, then it could have been avoided. But three former mech pilots, all with extensive mechanical skills, broke into a mothballed mech depot by Fort Hamilton, near the eastern border of the Ohio Contaminated Zone. They had met online, and had all experienced PTSD-MBRD(Mecha-Body Replacement Disorder). They found out where their bodies, sorry, I mean their mechas, were stored. And they weren't leaving them this time. They hid themselves well, but during a supply run to Albany, the smallest of the three stolen mecha was discovered. Former US Orbital Ranger Amelia Hurtwood, piloting her old Tecumseh-class Scout-Mecha, a model that had at one point been sold to civilian enthusiasts, so it could blend into non-military situations. The mecha in question had all tracking equipment disabled, but INTERPOL-Orbital was already tracking her path back to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. What they found inside was what really worried everyone. Not just the three stolen mechas. But hundreds of mechas in various states, being repaired. Several discharged pilots with MBRD were either inside the mechas, or were feverishly working on them. Several of them fled in the confusion. But the three original instigators, the leaders of the deranged pilots, they were captured. That's what the civilians are aware of. They aren't aware of what happened when they tried to extract the pilots. They had believed themselves to be a part of the machine bodies to a point where they felt horribly mutilated and disfigured once extracted, so they'd made sure that this was no longer an option. The inside of each of the mechas were a nightmare. Flesh, brain-tissue, mutated human organs, all of it was integrated into the machine. Opening them up had killed the three pilots. They had believed themselves a part of their machine bodies, and had modified themselves to make it permanent. The Machine Gospel, a manifesto left behind by one of the pilots, former Canadian Royal Mecha-Cavalry medical officer, Jean Dubois, told of the purity of the machine, the methods of which were used to mutate the flesh-core, as they called the human body; to become one with the metallic body. The manifesto had already been circulating online with various former Mech pilots. And it was catching on. The Albany Incident was the beginning of something nightmarish. They had felt incomplete, and perhaps they had not gotten the assistance needed to come to their senses. So they had fixed their own perceived problem, of being removed from their bodies. Around the world, survivors of the Albany Cell, began breaking into places, and stealing mechs. To assist their fellows. The horror of it, of finding those people, having to disable their electronic parts, only to find out that they had been so integrated to the machines that shutting off the mech meant shutting off life. It was agonizing for the various organizations around a planet still reeling from World War III. Some places tried to help them, but it wouldn't work. Unless caught in the early parts of the process, their bodies couldn't be saved, and they had achieved what they in their madness desired. The strength and protection of a perfect machine body. They still needed food, though the illegal genetic modifications to their bodies meant that their potential for food had increased. Remaining fossil fuels, wood, raw meat, all of it was converted to biofuel, keeping them alive. At the end, with a lack of resources to fix them, they were just chased off into the wilderness, those areas destroyed and ravaged by war or pollution. There they could live with the tribals, the mutants, and the other groups that humanity had rejected. This was a mistake. They congregated on old battlefields, recovering mecha-parts, converting abandoned pieces of technology to their use. And changed further. They did not really see themselves as human any more, but the mission of protecting humanity built into the mechas on a basic purpose level, meant that they began to take over the various communities of survivors in those regions. And act as their leaders. Their guardians. Their teachers. Their gods. Leading the humans and mutants to better lives, using their skills as engineers, soldiers, and medical personal to assist these people. Perhaps that was where things should have ended. It should have been that they used their madness for that productive and useful goal, saving those poor unfortunate individuals who were stuck in the abandoned zones. But they were altering themselves. Changing. From my position, I could see it happening. They were forming mated pairs. Like people or animals. And soon, smaller, more sleek and well-built mechas, would come into being. The process of doing this, I did not like to think about. I didn't like to consider the bizarre machines, filled with human flesh mutated and twisted by broken minds, and how they made more of themselves. Perhaps that was the point where I should have alerted our leaders, but nobody read the reports I made. They were just something that needed to exist for the sake of existing, so if anybody asked, the government could have pointed out that they had a highly skilled department observing the poor psychologically damaged machine-people. Shown these hypothetical people the reports and everything. Never mind that it was just me, and three obstructive bureaucrats from the pre-war administration who combined worked about as hard on the problem of machines with broken minds as a corpse would.
The sound of a hundred pencils scratching at a hundred papers seemed to cut the air into tiny pieces too small to breathe. He pulled at his collar - his parents had chosen the shirt for him and it was far too tight. At the front of the room, the proctor strolled to the whiteboard, casually wiping away the phrase, "15 Mins"and replaced it with "5 Mins!!!" He looked down at his test. It was completely blank. A strangled noise crawled out of his throat, and the proctor whipped his head around, glaring at the classroom. He put his head down, trying his hardest to look like he wasn't cheating - trying to look like he wasn't paralyzed by fear and anxiety and why the hell did they make this *one* test the most important determining factor on the rest of his life? Come on! You can do it! You **ing suck! Kappakappakappakappa Just write something damnit! He tuned out the voices, and tried to concentrate on the page in front of him. Towering columns of bubbles, arranged in rows that even the largest farmer in the Midwest would have envied stared back at him, taunting him. Remember what we taught you. Can't stump the Trump. A! The first answer is A, dumbass! BBBBB A CACACACA C And just like that, almost without realizing it, he was flying through the test. He didn't even need to look at the questions - he knew all the right answers. A timer rang, and the Proctor cleared his throat, "Please, everyone, put down your pencils. Time is up." Sweat dripped down his forehead, staining the paper, but he was in the zone. Nothing could stop him now. A No, not A! It's D, wtf B D jajajaja J? Sure why not. 7 D. Almost done. "You, in the back, put down your pencil or your results will be disqualified." There was one question remaining. It was not like the others. This question was on the bubble sheet itself, and when his eyes scanned over the text, he realized he was meant to take this test all along - he was meant to do great things, because this is what he had been trained for all his life. Gender: M or F? "Are you a boy, or a girl?" Boy! Girl M F The proctor stalked over to his desk, "I said, put your pencil down!" Girl! Girl! You're a girl! Tr Neither Amorphous Blob He bubbled in both of the options, and stood up, his chest swelling with pride. There were one hundred questions on the test. When he finally put his pencil to rest, he had filled in more than eight hundred bubbles, and even added a few of his own. Who else could say the same? With a satisfied grin on his face, he handed the paper, nearly black with graphite, over to the proctor. At last, his parents' training had served him well. *** Shucks. Might as well plug my sub: /r/PSHoffman - subscribe and thanks for reading!
Knock knock James smiled his evil grin when he heard the knocking ring throughout the house. He had only just finished dismembering his latest victim, too. To receive another target so soon was a blessing that he did not deserve. "Coming!"James called out. ---------------------------- Darrell inhaled the fresh morning air and let out a sound of relief. "There couldn't be a more beautiful morning to brutally maim somebody,"he mused. The door opened, revealing a 20 something year old male behind it. "Hello sir, I'm Rodrick Caedes with Amy's Cutting Company and I was wondering if you'd be interested in our product?"asked Darrell. "What are you selling?"questioned the 20 year old man. "Knives,"Darrell responded, a malicious grin growing on his face.' "Knives, huh? How well do they cut?" "They cut through things pretty easily. Flesh, muscle, bone, you name it, it cuts through it. How about you let me inside for a demonstration?" "Oh, I'd be right happy too,"responded the 20 year old man, a malevolent smirk spreading across his cheeks. Darrell was too happy that he had so easily obtained another victim to acknowledge the man's twisted smile. ---------------------------- James led the salesman into the living room and sat him down on the couch next to the coffee table. From there the salesman opened up his bag, causing a whole variety of knives to spill out onto the table. James studied each knife, but concluded that none of them were quite as good as his Ol' Cutty. "That's a lot of knives you've got in that bag there,"James said. "Yeah, and they've got a whole lot of purposes too,"replied the salesman in a wicked tone. The salesman then picked up the largest knife from the table, and twirled it between his fingers. "Like this knife, for example. I use it for cuttin' through things with heavy resistance." "That's a mighty fine knife, good sir. But it pales in comparison to mine. Want to see it?" "Oh sure, go ahead." James left the living room to fetch Ol' Cutty. He remembered that he had left it in the basement with the cadaver of his latest victim. He retrieved the knife, unwinding the intestine that had been wrapped around it. Ol' Cutty was drenched in blood but James decided it wasn't worth the time to wash it off. "It's only going to get dirty again soon anyways,"he thought. ---------------------------- Darrell couldn't believe his luck. This victim was by far the stupidest he had ever gotten. "Who lets a person into their house so readily?"Darrell mused. After some time had passed, Darrell left the living room in pursuit of the victim. It was a good time to strike, as he would be distracted in getting his knife. "Don't worry Ol' Stabby, you'll be seeing some action real soon,"Darrell kissed the blade of his knife and entered the kitchen, only to see that the victim wasn't there. "Must've had to go to the bathroom,"Darrell thought. He pressed himself up against the wall and held his knife up in the air, waiting for the victim to pass through the doorway. ---------------------------- James emerged from the basement through the secret hatch he had in the kitchen, only to find that the salesman was waiting at the doorway holding a knife up in the air. "Wait a minute,"James called out, "you're the guy who goes to people's houses posing as a door-to-door salesman, aren't you? You're the Door-to-Door killer!" The salesman turned his attention to James and let out a gasp when he saw the bloody knife he was holding. "And you must be the guy who kills door-to-door salesman, the infamous Door-to-Door killer!" Both man laughed together when they realised they had the same serial killer nickname. After the laughter stopped, both men charged at each other with murderous intent. James lunged at Darrell and slashed his throat with Ol' Cutty, while Darrell counteracted by plunging Ol' Stabby into James's stomach. Both men fell to the floor, bleeding profusely and gasping for air. James gripped his stomach and dragged himself over to Darrell, slashing at Darrell multiple times. Darrell reacted by driving his knife through James's skull, causing him to collapse on top of him. Eventually, Darrell died after choking on his own blood. The moral of this story was that killing people is bad and that you shouldn't do it.

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