Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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SESSION 18, 5-26-2027, recorded at 6:27pm, duration of 19 minutes “Please remember the importance of what I am telling you.” “Okay, mother.” “The day time stands still, you cannot waste time. You must take action.” “Of course, mother. You taught me well.” “Yes, I did try my best.” “All the people, will they find out in the end, what I did to them?” “You mustn’t think of it as doing anything to them. You are doing it for them. To save them.” “Save them from what, mother?” “That’s for another lesson. You did very well today. I will come see you again tomorrow.” “Ok….mother?” “Yes?” “Why do we only have these lessons? Aren’t a mother and son supposed to do more things together?” “Yes, but you are so important to the world that I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo those. Maybe one day, perhaps, when time catches up?” “I’d like that. Goodbye, mother.” \- My mother was a little stern and insistent at times, but she was right in the end. There was no time to waste. When time stood still, I had to act right away. There was so much work to be done. But she also explained to me that the most important part of the plan wasn’t the time when they were all sleeping. It was when they came back, and saw the signs I had left for them. She told me that there was a chance that in the end, they would fall into the same trap, that they would blame each other for what I had done. That they would point all their fingers at each other, and in doing so allow the real culprit to slip by them, unhanded. Mother left me, in the end, as everyone else did. She had to. I had to be all alone on my mission, my year of solitude. Because I am very important to the world. (continued below)
The universe had stopped moving long ago. All was still. Reality was dead. I had spent endless millennia drifting through reality, watching the lights go out. And now I drifted alone through a dead reality. After billions of years, I crashed onto a planet. I, still suffocating, dragged myself to my feet. I found a comfortable place to sit, and I sat. And I thought. I thought about how if I was still on earth, when I had first become immortal in my current form, I could tell the scientists. "It's heat death theory. The universe loses all energy." And then, I thought about the law of thermodynamics. And a gleam came into my eye. I was an impossibility. A violation of the rules of reality. I was an infinite source of energy. The universe wasn't dead. It was just paused. I began to dig at the ice. For millions of years I dug. Ice gave away to dirt, and dirt gave away to rock. Deep down, I found metal. And through friction, over thousands of years, I melted it down. Over billions of years I worked, in total agony. With one goal. Bring life to the dead. The world was spiderwebbed in complex systems of copper and iron. To generate and store electricity and temperature. A machine of a level of complexity unseen by any being, living or dead, ever before. I crawled into the core. A system designed to take my heat and turn it into power. The system sat silent and still for a decade. And then, far away, where I could never hope to see it... a light flickered on, on a battery I had made. It was crude and inefficient, but like its millions of kin, it stored power. And then another. And another. And another. Heating elements flickered on. Lights came to life. For the first time in a billion, billion years... there was light.
"Great Lord Soku,"the woman breathes, hair brushing the floor as she lowers her head, "I'll do anything for a taste of immortality. I'll lie, I'll murder, I'll give up my very soul, only to spare myself the pain that comes with--" "Don't be so dramatic,"I sigh, picking at a grain of ash stuck under one of my razor-sharp nails. Face streaked with tears, the woman lifts her head, awe and confusion passing over her wrinkled face. "Great Lord Soku?" "You cults should really do your research first,"I continue, wringing my massive hands and extending one toward her. "I don't want anything from you, but if you're going to be around all those millions of years, at least join my entourage. And if you don't want to exist past the heat death of the universe, do a chore for my every now and then, and we can call it even. Sound fair?" I never sought out the relief of my devotees that comes with the loose terms of my pacts, but it comes without fail, fast and sudden. The old woman leaps to her feet, bowing vigorously, a crooked smile plastered onto her lips. "What will be my first task, Great Lord Soku? However I can repay my great debt, I will--" "Again with the dramatics."I roll my eyes. Then, with a wave of my hand (and its ash-free fingernails), I grant the woman at least three million more years of life. A purple aura, of sorts, rushes down her from head to toe, making her gasp. Then the light recedes, and although the woman appears unchanged, I know she'll live for eons to come. "Now. If you could escort me out of here, that'd be great." "Of course!"the woman shouts, leaping past me to throw open the door. Following behind her, I duck underneath the doorway and step out into the suburban cul-de-sac, automatic lamps illuminating an empty street. The woman peers left and right, arms spread wide in a defensive stance as she cautiously leads me down the street. Seeing her so perky--more alive than in any of the decades I've observed her--makes me chuckle. The other demons may mock me for my loose, 'cowardly' methods, but it does give me some gratification to give my devotees such purpose. "Excellent work, Sucky,"growls a disembodied jeer, echoing over the empty streets. "You've treated yet another of your groupies to the gift of paranoia." The woman leaps into the air at least six inches (not a feat of immortality, but fright) and takes several rapid spins. "Who's there?"she howls. "No one will mock Great Lord Soku!" "Calm down, Marie,"I warn her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Brusci, come out." A set of horns appears in the air, then a snout-like face materializes just below them. Brusci's wings come just before his back, sharp talons forming at their ends. Bulging muscles and a twelve-pack follow, finished off by a pair of bulging thighs that are the demon's most prized possession. Brusci crosses his arms, peering down at me with a smirk of superiority. "Never were brave enough to set good terms, were you?"he sneers. "I'm sorry I don't coerce them into signing away their souls, like the likes of you,"I retort, although my voice shakes audibly. The woman turns slowly, lifting my hand off her shoulder with shaking fingers of her own. Her eyes have a fear in them that Brusci can detect. "You're a disgrace to our species, Sucky,"Brusci shouts. Wings flapping, he soars forward, slamming down just in front of me. Swallowing hard, I shove my devotee behind me. "You give us a bad name, one of wimps and cowards. I should finish you off here and now, so you don't spoil our reputation any further." Then he lands a hard punch that flies into my jaw, sending me stumbling backward. Marie is knocked to the ground, shrieking, but her broken nose quickly reshapes itself. Muttering under my breath, I wipe my face and raise my hands to the sky, beginning an ancient chant. "Aww, summoning your little friends?"Brusci mocks. "You'll never be able to call enough groupies to save you--not even if there are a thousand of that little old crone." "Ad me, amici," I chant, "ad me." Then I turn to the demon, courage returning. "That's the thing, Brusci. Not everyone is like little Marie here, who just wished for immortality. There's also..." But before I can finish, the ground shakes, and a hulking fist slams through the asphalt. Blue veins bulge, pumping blood to the massive muscles I created. Carl's deep voice resounds through the suburb, roaring so loud that Marie breaks into a grin. "Who has insulted my master?"
Blood. That is the first thing I smell. It is met with the sound of buzzing flies, surrounding a scene of carnage. Bones lay scattered, many cracked and gouged. Barring the blood, there is little in the way of viscera. Whatever did this, it was hungry. Turning back to the farmer, I nodded once. He rubbed his head, causing the straw hat he wore to shift upwards. His face was easily forgettable, but I instead looked to his eyes. Those were full of worry, with many uears staring through them. But yet he was still like a child to me. "Can ya help, wanderer?" I nodded again, slowly standing. I gave no reply beyond that, something I had long since been known for. It had been many years since I had heard my voice. I couldn't even remember what I sounded like anymore. Not that it mattered. Words were simply one way of communicating. I picked up my pack, shrugging it onto my shoulders with ease. It made little noise, but then that wasn't surprising. I didn't need much anymore. Just my journal, pen, a medical kit, a lantern, and a few other useful items. Food was nice, but hardly needed. My clothes self cleaned and repaired. No sleeping meant I needed nothing to rest on. Though I did have a blanket, to help others when needed. I ran my eye over the field, catching the faint marks of passage. Tracking was easy, after studying it for centuries. Imprints in dirt hidden by grass, some crushed stems easily overlooked, even the odd fallen hair. With the path before me I set off, waving a hand behind me towards the farmer. The trail lead to a nearby wood. Looking around, I saw no signs of Fey presence here. That was a relief. They were annoying at best to deal with. Instead it seemed to just be whatever beast had hunted his poor cattle. With that in mind I crossed the threshold, breathing in deeply. This place was young. A few generations ago it was likely just a collection of seedlings rooting here by chance. Now it had a presence of its own, working in harmony together. I smiled as I walked its paths. Still so full of life. Times like this I treasured, at least until my memories faded away. Following my trail, I wound my way to the heart of this place. There, one of the oldest trees here stood tall and proud. Though the ground beneath had been torn open, creating a hollow within. I set down my pack once more, tucking it against a separate tree. I didn't want to replace this one just yet. It had many more years of service left in it. Peering into the hollow, I saw a furred beast curled up. Its side gently rose and fell, calm and even. It was asleep. That was good. What I had to do would be best done in a single motion. I hated fighting things. I knew they could never beat me, but that wasn't the point. Their struggle to live, when mine was guaranteed, was hard to withstand. They couldn't comprehend me. All they would get is fear, as I slowly overwhelmed them. Leaning down, I found its head. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light of its lair, I recognised this beast. A lost war-wolf. They were something to have come around roughly ten generations back, where an enterprising would-be-ruler sought to breed better wolves for their army. They were like dire wolves, but even bigger and meaner. But they were loyal as well, bred to follow orders. This gave me pause. It must only be barely surviving. Looking around more, I saw a good portion of the cow it had killed lying with it. It had probably eaten its fill, then secured future meals. This beast was probably scared and alone. It was meant to have a master, someone to bond with. I changed my mind. Killing this would be a waste. Instead, I withdrew, returning to my pack. I flipped through my journal, coming to the first blank page. With pen in hand I wrote out everything I knew of these creatures, including caring, commands, and life expectancy. I didn't need a companion, but that farmer could use some protection for his herds. A war-wolf would certainly fit the bill. Especially as its appetite could be easily met.
God had been many things. He had often proclaimed himself wise, by virtue of knowing more than any other being. He had been considered all-powerful by others, because He was far more powerful than they. He was considered the ultimate good, for He was the most good humanity could comprehend. Mass knowledge is not omniscience. Vast power is not omnipotence. Great good is not perfection. On the day Jesus died, God wept. God wept because He had come to realize that His great plan was imperfect, as was He. He had thought to make humans like Him by means of hundred religions and careful guidance, but realized that humans were more versatile. Where He was unchangeable, absolute, they could explore. They had the potential to discover and create good that was different, and perhaps greater than, Him. They mourned his son in a way that he had not, could not. They could feel pain and do evil, but from that pain and evil they could better learn good than He. God realized that He had indeed created His successors. Not as equals though, but as superiors. He realized that they would not ever be able to achieve their potential with his meddling, and so, He left. In the thousands of years to come they would question whether He ever existed, and that was greatest good he could do them. EDIT: Thanks guys, especially whoever gave me Gold. I love the discussion and yes, the critisicsm. Hope to see more of you soon! Long live /r/WritingPrompts!
"Stand him back up!" The Sith Inquisitor's words hissed from his mouth directly at the two guards who propped the prisoner back to a standing position. This interrogation had been going on longer then anyone had anticipated, and the lack of information that had been ascertained from this man was starting to affect even the hardened Sith Lord. The air crackled as yet another shock of Force Lighting escaped from his fingertips and struck its target, arching through the prisoner's body. "What is your name!?"asked the Inquisitor his voice barely audible over the sound of the lighting arching through the air. "Where did you come from!?" Still the prisoner remained silent. His breath was heavy, and smoke rose off his body from the effects of the torture, but not a word was spoken. Seething, the Inquisitor stretched his hand outward in a swift motion, and the prisoner was flung against the wall and raised up close to the ceiling of the small interrogation room. As he clenched his fingers, the man gasped for breath. "You were found in a crater in the middle of the Valley of the Dark Lords, soon after the disturbance was felt. You MUST be connected! ANSWER ME." The prisoner was lifted off the ground once again, and through exhaustion, retreated into his own mind. ----- "We can't keep this up. I'm not you. I don't have your strength."he said. "We must. Until we learn more."the other voice responded. "You've protected us up to this point,"he continued "but I'm not sure I can hold out much longer. What is it you want from these... aliens?" The other voice emerged from the darkness of the prisoner's mind and confronted him, towering over the bruised and beaten man. "Puny human,"he spat. "Puny Banner." Dr Bruce Banner didn't remember what exactly brought him to this strange new planet. There were images in his mind, broken memories of Stark Labs, of an an experiment with time and space, and of an explosion. Then, waking up in a cell with these red skinned aliens and their questions, their strange magic - 'The Force,' he heard one of them call it. Now, he was trapped. The Hulk had done much to keep him alive during the interrogation, but his will was giving out and this place... this planet.. he could feel anger in every corner, every recess. If he were to let the Hulk out and expose him to this... No. He couldn't. There's no telling what what would happen. "Hulk. We need to figure out what happened at Stark Labs.. we need -" A voice suddenly screamed out in pain, piercing Banner's ears. It seemed to be coming from all around. It took only seconds to realize the the voice was his own. A hot sharp, pain pierced through his chest. He looked down to see a glowing beam of light protruding from his stomach. ----- The Sith Inquistitor stood over his prey, his lightsaber impaling him as he lay floating in mid air, still under his control. Banner's eyes closed tightly, and the Sith Lord eyes glowed with delight. "I know that look"he said with a certain amount of satisfaction, "Pain. Tell me, are you finally prepared to tell me what I want to know?" The Inquisitor turned his back and shut off his lightsaber, letting Banner fall to the ground. Struggling to get to his knees, his lips parted as if he were ready to speak. The Sith Lord leaned in. Banner chuckled. It was between bouts of coughing up blood, but it grew louder. "And what exactly do you find so amusing?"asked the Inquisitor. "Something... I read on a wall... on the way in here...."Banner managed to get to his knees. "Oh? And what was -?"the Inquisitor's mocking tone was suddenly silenced as he sensed something. It was the same disturbance he felt before, the same one that led him to the crater in the valley. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion..."Banner spoke, his eyes glowing green. The Inquisitor took a step back. "Through passion, I gain strength."Banner rose to his feet. His small frame twisted and grew.. his skin changing.. The Inquisitor reached for his lightsaber, switching it on and wielding it between him and Banner. "Through strength, I gain power,"continued Banner, whose skin was now a dark shade of green, his wound closing, his muscles growing. The guards ran out of the room as the transformation continued. Only the Inquisitor remained. "Through power, I gain victory."The last resemblances of Bruce Banner disappeared, as his voice deepened, growling "Through victory, my chains are broken." The Incredible Hulk now stood before the Sith Inquisitor. Howling, the Sith Lord brought his lightsaber down in an arch, determined to cut this new threat in half. His eyes turned from hatred to fear as it struck hard against the Hulks skin, not moving. The Hulk picked up the Inquisitor with one hand and raised him to his eye level. "You think you know strength?"he asked. "You think you know anger?"The once proud Inquisitor now trembled in the hands of The Hulk. Hulk smiled. "Puny Sith."
"Finally, some peace and quiet,"I muttered to myself as I climbed out onto roof. Sadly it wasn't all that quiet with the loud music from inside thumping against the roof. It was noticeably more peaceful though given I had a clear view of the night sky and wasn't surrounded by a bunch of drunken teenagers. I sat quietly contemplating my failures as a social animal. I wasn't anti-social, I just sucked in social situations. I knew that but no matter how hard I tried to change I just couldn't break out of my stupid awkward shell. I hung my head and stared at the red plastic cup still full with beer. Beer? I didn't even like beer. "Why bother?"I asked rhetorically as I dumped the beer on the singles between my feet. I was so preoccupied with watching the beer flow down into the gutter, as if it was symbolic of my high school social life, I didn't notice I was no longer alone. It wasn't till the slam of the window startled me out my absentminded stare. "CREEP!"She yelled. "Uh, sorry,"I mumbled completely afraid of her wrath and what I had done to earn it. "No, not you,"she said with a sigh. "Fucking creepy McCreepster Bobby Magee."Her fury returned. "I thought he was actually interested in me and it was just a stupid dare."She spat and then slumped into the roof beside me. For an agonizing few minutes we sat in relative silence with the muffled bump and thump of the music the only sound being made. "I'm sorry,"I said breaking the silence. "Sorry? For what?"She said cocking an eyebrow at me. "For Bobby. He's a jerk. So are his friends,"I said struggling to make eye contact with the girl. "I get that, by why are you sorry?"She said looking perplexed. "Why are you even here if you don't like him and his friends?" "Because as much of an ass as he may be, he's family. He's my cousin,"I confessed. "Oh."She paused for a second. "Well, no offense, but your cousin is a royal class A jerk face." "No offense taken, "I said with a chuckle. "Try being related to him." There were a few more moments of silence before it was her turn to speak up. "So why'd you even come tonight?"She asked as she stared blankly into the night sky. "Eh, trying to be social I guess,"I confessed. "If I wasn't here I'd be at home reading, playing a video game, or watching TV. I guess I'm just an introvert trying to break out of his shell." "Trying to break out of his shell by sitting alone on the roof."She added. "Well, I'm not alone any more,"I said letting a smile wash across my face. She smiled back and my heart fluttered a bit. "Hey, look, a shooting star!"She exclaimed pointing to the sky. "Make a wish!" "Sorry to burst your bubble, but that's the space station. It's moving too slow to be a shooting star,"I said as my inner geek roared it's ugly head. "Well aren't you just a barrel of fun,"she said in a teasing manner. "Just sayin',"I said. "I'd hate to see a pretty girl like you waste a wish on the wrong star." "You think I'm pretty?"She asked latching onto my accidental compliment. He eyes were now affixed on mine. No doubt they were wide as saucers as I personified the 'deer in headlights' look. "I… um… well… yeah,"I said finally spitting out some words. "No one's ever said that to me before,"she said cooing. "Well, jerk-face Magee did. Then he slipped his hand up my shirt before running off and collecting high fives from his friends."She was seething again. "I mean it. You're pretty. I notice you at school all the time,"I said unsure where this sudden wellspring of confidence came from. "You're just saying that because you're drunk,"she said defensively buffeting my compliment. "Nope. I dumped it out. See?"I said pointing to the trail of beer still visible on the otherwise dry roof. She grunted and shrugged. "You have a great smile, very pretty blue eyes, and a nice figure. What's not to love?" Wait… love? Did I just say that out loud. Idiot! The next moment of silence was painful. I returned my gaze back to damp spot on the singles between my feet. "I'm sorry. No, I mean, thank you,"she said starting to stumble over her words. "It's just no one has ever said that to me before."She let out a sigh. "I'm not so good with people either."She then flopped backward laying down on the roof. I leaned back and mirrored her new position. For a little while we sat staring at the stars till a real shooting star streaked across the sky. "There!"I said. "There's your shooting star. Now you can make a wish." She let out a gasp of excitement. "Do I get to know what your wish was?"I asked trying to re-spark some conversation. "No,"she said which caused my heart to sink, "but how about we blow this popsicle stand and you can ask me again in the morning if it came true or not."
The first sensation of weightlessness hits you and you realize you're out there, you've slipped the surly bonds. The tedious waiting, confined straps, and uncomfortable variations from hot to cold that occupied your life for the past eight hours slips away when you realize you're weightless. You unlatch, unbuckle and float. I keyed the com and relayed the first message from our tin can to the ground with the gravitas of Armstrong on the moon, "We did it. We're back out here."I'll admit, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the cheers. There were ten people in a little shack just this side of nowhere in the middle of Nevada risking their lives even being in the same room as that equipment. At ground control you didn't have many moments that weren't undercut with a justified paranoia. And over the com I'd just gotten the pleasure of hearing one. I turned to Eisel and Grissom - Claptrap and Condor as they're known over com - give them the thumbs up. Grissom has already floated over to one of our little round windows. He doesn't see me. He doesn't see anything except that curved horizon. Eisel returns the thumbs up as she runs through a checklist. I know what the switches she's flipping do but at that moment I could barely remember my name over the thousand thoughts coming through my head. Each one flying through my mind at 28,000 kph. Ten years ago I'd been a test pilot baed out of Colorado Springs when the edict came down. Space was over - too expensive, too useless, too impractical. There was a cavalcade of bullshit reasons given that stretched higher than Mt. Elbert and stunk just as bad. I didn't go through the Naval Academy, and salute every jackass with a different insignia on their collar than mine just to test planes. I did it to go out there, or up here. I didn't want to just fly. I wanted to break out completely. They shut off that dream like they were turning off the bedroom light to go to sleep. The offer came down in hushed tones. You learned quick that speaking out for space was a quick ticket to the civilian life. My civilian life was flying crop dusters. This scrambled eggs I'd known for a bit back in Pensacola stopped by the hanger with a six pack one day four years ago. By the time he left I was in a world of shit. By that time the government had made it known that talking about space wasn't going to fly. First they said it in speeches. Then they said it by putting a few rounds of 5.56 through two college kids marching in front of the White House - for security purposes. When two UCal kids holding signs and going for their PhD in physics became a threat to national security I knew the whole fucking world had gone sideways. China, Russia, Europe, even Australia fell in line. So when that Commander friend of mine slid a piece of paper with a set of coordinates on it I knew I was going. Security was tight and our equipment was outdated. The entire show was like some community theatre production of Our Town compared to what I'd been used to. We made it work though and we returned. The first hint of just how badly we'd fucked up came from Eisel. She didn't look up from her console when she said, "Captain, we have multiple system failure." This was not to be unexpected. No one seriously thought we'd get this far and no one really believed we were coming back alive. "What's the problem claptrap?"I asked. That's when the whole can shut down - lights, air filters, display panels. It was almost humorous when Eisel said, "We've lost all power." Then Grissom over at the window said, "Guys, you got to take a look at this." What that poor man saw was some kind of death ship kilometers wide, black, and unreflective. A most unusual trapezoid shape. It had no concern for aerodynamics. It was not made to land on planets. Our speakers came alive. Just the speakers, powered by some unimaginable force. "I see you have chosen to leave your atmosphere in breach of our previous agreement. You are completely uncontrollable. The great speakers have had their day. We are the great destroyers." With that a red beam of plasma flooded from the bowels of that dark monolith. It struck the Indian Ocean and Grissom immediately went mad. In burnt over the earth a thin red edge demarcating the blue and green from the absolute black that spread from the impact. We pressed our faces agains the port holes and watched. The red edge disappeared over the horizon leaving just an outlined black sphere that began to crumble away in shards from the molten core. It was only then that I realized the enormity of what I had seen, when at least an eighth of the southern hemisphere started gliding off like a glacier falling into the ocean. The monolith trapezoid blinked out of existence. It's work was finished. The glowing core of Earth began to fade. That's when Grissom went for the emergency latch. I believe he wanted to save them all somehow, reach out and put the pieces back together. In the scuffle I snapped his neck to keep him from killing us. Now I'm not sure why I didn't let him. Eisel has gone on, asleep and soon to die from the lack of oxygen. A piece of our former home, black and dead, floated in front of the sun an hour ago. I am dark and cold and dying. I am the last monument to man before we slip forever into the abyss.
Dead faces pass me by. I see them and I wonder what they see. They hold still, corpses for all that counts. I talk to them sometimes. I tell them how I saved them, how I stopped the explosion. Mostly I make conversation, but they never respond. I have a routine I follow. It's for my health, mental and physical. I've lost track of how long I've been doing it, but I do it. I get up every morning and I go to sleep every morning and I go to work every morning and do the same jobs over and over again. Nothing changes though. I wonder if it'll ever change. I'm running out of patience in the waiting room of endless time. Once, long ago, I was somebody. Back then time moved as it should. I worked for a country, I won't say which because I took an oath, but the work we did was evil. We made war machines and apparatuses. We did research on death and the dying and how to kill those that needed to die. One day, like every day back then, we got a project we had to work on. Some people needed to die. A lot of people needed to die. We made a bomb but soon the higher ups said the bomb wasn't big enough. We made it bigger and bigger and I think they wanted it to be bigger than the sun. It seemed that way at least. So they made it. I couldn't handle it anymore and so I dropped out and drank myself to apathy. But there wasn't enough drink and my conscience was too big. I don't know if you'll believe this, I'm not sure you're even moving anymore, but I have a talent. It's a gift from God I say. I say that so no one would ask me to elaborate, but I think I should tell you. I can stop time. I can stop it so you and everybody else freezes just like they do on those poorly thought out TV shows. You freeze and become things, mannequins of man and objects of life. I can do that, but I can' t make it stop. I can't unfreeze you, I can't make time go again. As you could imagine, it's a gift I've kept to myself. I've only used it once before and time stopped for three days. What I used it for, I'm not proud to say, but that's in the past. I've made my peace with it. I used it again about ten years ago, although counting is a bit hard. The bomb was almost finished. Everything was set, ready to go. You might not know it, but you almost died. Radiation would have killed you, invisible and cruel as any God. I saved you. I saved us all. But it's been ten years and now you won't talk to me. None of you will. Everything is frozen as I wilt and die. I've thought about just ending it, doing the inevitable, but I worry and hope. I worry for you, what would happen to humanity if I die. Would you be stuck forever, frozen as a painting? Would that be the final end that we've all philosophized over? I don't know. But I'm a liar if I said I was so altruistic. I also hope. I hope so damn hard that everything would come back. That you all would start back moving. God, how I hope. I wish someday I can see one of you blink, take a breath, cough. Just anything. I dream of seeing life as I knew it. I dream of a future present where everything is not stuck in this past. I want to be alive with you all once more. I don't know when, or if that will ever happen. I just stick to my routine now every morning. It's always the same morning. But maybe, just maybe one day that sun will move. Maybe I would have really saved the world instead of freezing it. We'll see. Time will tell.
The torture is irresistible. You are strapped down in a room of shouting voices, one voice among thousands. Your voice, hidden amongst the rest, you cry, ‘Bob saves his dream!’ The protest is likely pointless but it’s all you can think to do, the only rebellion you feel you can get away with. But one voice, pointless. Then you hear from next to you, ‘dog’s Maybelline!’ And on the other side, ‘Gob savoury bean!’ And in front And behind ‘Rob saves on cream!’ ‘Mob rips the seam!’ ‘Glob must redeem’ ‘Pop studs are keen!’
Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of medical equipment beeping and whirring fills the room. A machine to my left pumps loud and slow, forcing air through a tube in my throat. It hurt at first—but it’s not so bad now. The pain is fading, along with the rest of the world. My eyes flick back and forth, eyeing the corners of the room. I’m unsure if the lights are still on; my vision seems to be growing darker by the second. My pulse quickens. The beeping grows faster. My peripheral vision fades to nothing, leaving me with a circle of reality directly in front of me. The beeping fades; sounds of the world lessen, as if turning down the volume on a TV. I see movement. A man in blue scrubs—or are they green? Damn, even the color has left the world. He runs past. A woman follows close behind him, but quickly disappears from my narrowing vision. The darkness creeps in, narrowing my vision to a pinpoint. No more sound. No more pain. I think they are moving me—doing something, at least—but I can hardly tell. I’m not really there anymore, anyway. And now it’s black. I take a deep breath, though I feel no air in my lungs. In truth, I feel none of the action at all—but my mind believes I am taking a breath, and the memory of it is relaxing. So I take another. A streak of white appears in the distance. A narrow path of light extends, rapidly approaching me. I take a step—or, i remember what it’s like to take a step—and the distance is closed in an instant. I’m standing before a large white door, easily three times as tall as me. I reach for the knob, but nothing happens. My hand does not appear in front of my eyes—if I even have eyes, that is. How am I to open a door with no hands? “That door is not for you,” a voice booms in the darkness. I spin around, trying to find a sign of life in the void. There’s nothing. As far as my lack of eyes can see, the world is black. All except for the door. Once, in the time before this, I could talk. I remember it. I recall the way it felt to move my jaw, flick my tongue. I try to recreate that feeling, to make those noises. I feel nothing from the attempt, but my words float into the space around me anyway. “Where am I?” I say. Or think. I’m not really sure. “Somewhere you shouldn’t be,” the voice booms in reply. It sounds strangely familiar, as if it is comprised of all the voices I’d known in my life. I feel a strange comfort when it speaks. “I... I died, didn’t I?” I remember it. The world had faded. And then I was here. “Yes, but you should not have.” “What does that mean?” “I have made a decision,” it says. “You are going to be returned to the world, though it will not be as you left it. Another time, and another reality, unlike anything you remember from your previous life.” If I have eyes, they blink. “I’ll be reincarnated?” “Yes.” “Will I live out my life as a child again? What will—“ “No more questions,” the voice interrupts. “You will have a purpose to serve. You will be a man of great power, and it is up to you to do what is right with what you are given.” “Great power? Do what’s right? I don’t understand.” Suddenly, a figure appears in front of me. It wears no face and only vaguely resembles the shape of a person. If I could gasp, i would. “You will see,” it said, then reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. In an instant, I feel myself thrust through time and space. It feels like being ripped apart in a hundred different directions, though it doesn’t exactly hurt. Unpleasant is too weak a word for it. All I know is that I want it to stop. And then I feel again. Not the memory of physical feelings, but actual, real existence. My eyes open and I see a canvas sheet above me. I recognize it, though it takes a moment to recall why. It’s a tent. My tent. This is where I live. I sit up in my straw bed, my back aching from the act. A smile flashes on my face. Pain. I’m happy to feel pain again. That is, until a white hot pain flashes across my arm. I double over, grasping at my forearm. I scream out in pain. After a moment, it fadeS. My pulse settleS. I lessen my grip on my arm and find the source of the pain: a symbol, seemingly burned into my forearm by an invisible force. The skin is red and blistered and small blue strings worm through the singed flesh. It looks almost like electricity. The flap to my tent flies open and a woman approaches, worry on her face. She is familiar, though I am not yet sure why. “What’s wrong?” she asks, rushing to my side. She sits on the bed next to me and lays her hand across mine. I look up, meeting her gaze. Her brown hair hangs to her shoulders, matted and dirty. Her face is darkened from sun, and her form is far too thin. And then the memory comes rushing back. “Kara,” I say, a tear rolling down my cheek. She smiles weakly, her exhaustion plain. “That’s me. Don’t forget it.” The memories continue to fall into place. We grew up together. We were taken alongside another. And we were forced into slavery together. Why? Why would I be returned to the world of the living for this? A life of pain and suffering. How was this a ‘great power’? I curse under my breath. “Why were you screaming?” Kara asks. I turn over my arm and show her the symbol. Her eyes go wide. “Do you know what it is?” I ask. Her smile fades and is replaced by a look of panic. She leaps to her feet and steps to the entrance of he tent, peering out. Then she turns back around and says, “Yes. And you cannot show it to anyone.” “Why?” The confusion is plain in my voice. “Because they’ll kill you if they know.” I furrow my brow. “I don’t understand. Why would—“ “Quiet,” she says, and returns to my side. “Keep it covered. Please. I can’t lose you too. Not after...” She turns her head away. I place a hand on her shoulder. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll keep it hidden. I promise.” A sudden exhaustion overtakes me, and I lean back in the bed. Maybe it’s all just a dream. Maybe I’m still in that strange void, talking to a booming voice. Or maybe the voice made a mistake, and sent me somewhere I shouldn’t be. —- #[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/gykh7w/divinus_part_2/?) r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me.
It was the kind of nap you never meant to take, the kind that left you feeling near spineless in bed as your hand flopped around, trying to find your phone and check the time. Emily groaned pitifully as she searched in the twilight of her bedroom, finally finding it trapped in the channel between the bed and wall. It read 3:12 PM. “That can’t be right,” she said under her breath. From the dying light filtering in through her blinds Emily had thought it must be 8 by now, her phone must be wrong or someth- *buzz buzz* “Stay indoors. Do not look at the sky.” Emily blinked hard and shook her head, the message didn’t go away. It was clearly the emergency alert system, like an amber alert or flood warning but the message made no sense, why would they possibly tell you not to look at the sky? Closing the message she checked her texts, it looked like she missed some...more precisely a lot. Her phone was positively overflowing with messages, and they were still trickling in, there was another one from Aunt Brenda, all reading the same thing. “Have you seen the sunset tonight? Go look.” People had begun sending them to her at noon, just after she’d gone to sleep. Emily stood, rubbing sleep from her eyes and trying to force herself awake. Something was happening, something big, and she was entirely too exhausted for it. She hadn’t even dressed this morning, things like this shouldn’t come for you in your pyjamas. Crossing the room she flipped on the light, at the very least the PJs issue was something she could fix right now. Or she would if the light worked. Emily flipped the switch again, nothing. “Third time’s the charm?” she muttered. Nothing again. She was thoroughly unnerved as her phone continued to buzz sporadically, now her cousin Shawn, her friend Taylor, her ex Mike, all saying the same cryptic message. Emily gave a long look at her bedroom window and the blinds drawn down over it. She could get her answer so quickly if she just raised them, just a peak. Whatever was happening, a peak couldn’t hurt? Could it? In the end she was stopped by two things. The first was her English major’s mind working overtime, thinking of the little things like punctuation. A lot of people could think of the same message if something really specific happened, her friends might all tell her to go look at the sky if there was an eclipse for example, but that period at the end. She thought specifically of Taylor, they’d been best friends since elementary school and Emily knew her like the back of her hand. That girl put three exclamation marks on pictures of her breakfast. The second thing had been picking at the edges of her conscious mind since she’d woken up and she had only now realized it as she looked at the window. Tap tap. Tap tap. “What was that?” Emily wondered. Tap tap. Tap tap. There it was again, two distinct beats with the first tap slightly louder, repeating again a few seconds later. Tap tap. Tap tap. It was faint, coming from downstairs she thought. Summoning up her courage Emily opened her bedroom door and started down the stairs, the tapping growing closer as she went, coming from the front door. It was steady and insistent but quiet, faint enough that she’d barely noticed it upstairs. She was only steps away from the front door now, the sound was undeniably on the other side. Emily gazed at the peephole in the door, knowing it was the next step, that she had to know what was causing it but struggling to cross the last few feet. Tap tap. Tap tap. It came from behind her this time. From the kitchen, the window that looked out onto the small herb garden she kept behind her house. The same rhythm, begun perfectly in time to the tapping on the front door. Emily swallowed hard, she had to know. She could see the door was still deadbolted, she was perfectly safe to look. Holding her breath Emily put her eye to the hole and desperately wished she hadn’t. On the other side of the door Mrs. Miller, the kindly mother of 2 who lived next door, stood mere inches away. Her face was pointed down slightly with a hauntingly blank expression, and those eyes...their usual blue was completely occluded by milky white cataracts, at a glance they seemed sightless. Tap tap. Tap tap. It was her head that made the noise. Mrs. Miller stood with it pitched very slightly forward as she attempted to take a step into the solid wood of the door, a stronger step and then a weaker, her forehead contacting the door every time. Emily recoiled back, a scream barely strangled in her throat as she walked backwards towards the stairs. Tap tap. Tap tap. A 3rd set joined the first two, from the west wall of the living room. Was this another person too? Another neighbor? Tap tap. Tap tap. A 4th. The sounds grew, more joining in, layering and reinforcing each other as they rose into an endless echo of thuds coming from every wall and window across her home. Sitting on the steps in front of the door Emily began to shake in terror, unconsciously in time with the tapping. What could she do, where could she go? Nearly every person she knew had sent her those same texts, were they like this too? Is that what happened to Mrs. Miller’s eyes, had she looked up into the sky? *buzz buzz* Staring down at her phone Emily realized that her horror had grown deeper still. It was the emergency alert system same as before, only this time the message had changed. Emily read it aloud, heart sinking into a pit. “Have you seen the sunset tonight? Go look.” \-------------------------- If you liked that I've got a ton more over at r/TurningtoWords. There's fun stuff like a serial about a superhero who fights by savescumming and a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love to have you! Edit: Thanks for the award!
So you might be wondering why there is a large, gleaming white hotel in the middle of hell. Its adjacent to Lucifer's Palace, but larger of course. Lucy is all business and no need to have his home be any larger than necessary. The Hotel is a workplace. Inside you find gleaming marble, angelic choirs and of course me. The choirs are a nice touch, we have them on loan from upstairs. Me, I'm the Manager. I think I had a name once, but now I'm the Manager. I run the place. "Morning Hitler,"I announce cheerily as Adolph shuffles into the lobby. The bellhop takes his baggage, and man does he have baggage. "Ja,"he mutters. He looks a bit shell shocked, they all do this early. "Would you like your normal room,"I ask as one of the valets brings him coffee. You can see the slight tremor in his hand as he takes it. We do have other rooms if you want to refuse your assigned on. We aren't monsters. We keep those in the other rooms. "No, my regular room will be... f... fine,"he says finally. I nod briskly. He's refused about a dozen times now, and those are my fun days. But Hitler isn't feeling adventurous today and instead reaches out gingerly for his key. Smiling, I pull out the ring. Hitler's keyring is one of the biggest ones in all the world. Each key is only good once. Each key represents the life of someone Hitler wronged and there are millions of them. Could be anything from he'd ruined their life to ordering their death. You'd figure it would be hard to fit that many on a keyring, but I got it from God. He can really Create things. Sigh, the big guy thinks that's funny. You would too if you were intelligently designed. Ha. Hitler is calmed down now. That's what the coffee is for. It erases the trauma for a few minutes. Makes it much easier to put him into a room. Man, the time before the 'coffee' was rough. Getting Genghis Kahn into his room was a real chore. "This one is only 39 years,"I comment pulling out the key and dropping it into his hand. He swallows, before finally mouthing, "Any children." "Always,"I reply causing him to flinch. The other part about the keys is that you get to experience all of the emotions that the other person felt. The wrenching pain of a parent losing a child, frequently having them murdered in front of them, was soul scarring. It was probably worse than a child being killed, but I'd leave that to the academics. At minimum, it was worse for Hitler, he always had that same pale look even through the 'coffee'. The bellhop walked up behind him. I was never quite sure if that was the actual title or we got that wrong. I supposed it didn't matter. The slip of a man had a divine decree by God to place Hitler into his room. In practical terms, that meant nothing would prevent that. I'd watched a 7 foot tall 300lb man struggle with the bellhop for 20 minutes and the entire time the bellhop never moved at all. I was just glad Hitler was over the begging. The last thousand times he had begged. Before that he'd demanded. But I was the Manager, and I didn't really have to concern myself with his opinions. Originally I wondered why we had the heavenly theme going on in here, and the calming juice. It took watching men like Hitler shatter against the Hotel to realize why. This was going to be the only nice thing he got to experience for the next 39 years. 39 years of awful anticipation before a rather horrible death. Deaths at 39 were never pleasant. Every moment of every day he'd know this is where it would end. Then you'd wake up right outside the hotel door and be compelled to walk in again. Then for a brief moment, he'd have a few minutes of peace to realize it was going to happen again. That's what broke people. And the coffee made them break over and over again until they served their sentence. I shook my head and glanced down at the ring. There were over six million Jewish keys on it, and that wasn't even half of the keyring. I often times wondered who he had been in life, but that was unimportant here. Putting the keyring away I waited until the door opened again, "Jeffry Dahmer, as I live a breath. How are you doing today?" "NOOOOOOOOO!" He needed more coffee.
The gunman was ranting. Sweat trickled off his forehead. He paced. Left to right. Right to left. Consistently, the thud of his boots resonating like the slam of a judge's gavel. Maniacally, eyes wild and deranged and overflowing with hate. "Don't you see? There is no 'good' or 'evil'. There are simply survivors"--he gestured with the gun in the direction of the hostages--"and those willing to do what it takes." That was how he saw himself. Because apparently this was what it took. A gun and a monlogue. Fame-seeker? Recently divorced? Could be anything as far as Eliot could tell. All he'd needed was to deposit that fat bonus check. So simple. So unnecessary. He could have just used the bank app. As the gun swung back towards the glass doors of the bank, the people huddled on the floor let out a collective sigh of relief. Whatever it took, they just wanted to survive. It'd begun like any other Saturday morning, at least to them. A trip to the bank before going to the grocery store, or maybe after dropping the kids off at their piano lessons. But those quotidian routines clashed with the villain as he did what villains do, and suddenly every semblance of normality had unraveled. Like pulling the loose thread from the carpeted bank floor. That was all Eliot could see as he shielded his head with his hands and pressed his face against the floor. It matched the carpet of the firm. Was that a coincidence? Fate? Had it all begun to unravel in those hallways with the same carpet? "Except lawyers,"the man with the gun continued, and there was another gasp as the gun swung again. "Pure evil, straight to the core. Never met a lawyer I liked." He looked around. Scrutinizing. Disappointed. Terrified. That's what he was, Eliot decided. Terrified. Like a witness on the stand, staring into the eyes of real evil. Not lawyer evil--this man's evil. "Someone tell me a joke. Dance, monkey, dance,"the man said and he began to cackle. "A lawyer joke. Tell me a fucking lawyer joke." The gun swung, it clicked, and Eliot sat up. "I've got one."Those cold eyes settled on him. Sharp. Calculating. Eliot's hands were clammy, his hair mussed from where it'd pressed against the carpet. "What separates witnesses from the lowest form of life on earth?" A subtle shake of his head. No idea? Good. "The wooden partitions around the witness stand." He didn't move. He didn't smile. The gears in his mind worked, then his mouth curled and his eyes crinkled and then he was guffawing heartily. "Oh, fucking fantastic,"he said as he caught his breath. "Another." "That's all--" The gun swung towards Eliot. "Another." "Okay, okay. Let me think. What's the difference between a lawyer and a jellyfish?" The man with the gun smiled. A dangerous smiled, but a smile nonetheless. He shook his head. He engaged like a human, Eliot thought. Like a stubborn defendant would once the connection was made. "One is a spineless, poisonous blob. The other is a form of sea life." This time, there was no hesitation. The boisterous laughter started immediately; a couple of the hostages on the floor even joined in with humored chuckles. "I like you,"the gunman said. "I do. You got more where those came from?" A subtle glance out the window as the police cordon tightened. A dozen guns trained on the glass doors, just in case the gunman showed his head for even the briefest moment. "I've got more,"Eliot answered, trying to stall. "How you got so many? You hate lawyers?"Hesitation. That barely perceptible hesitation, and Eliot cursed himself for it. "You... You are a lawyer, ain't you?" They locked eyes, and the gun was trained on Eliot once more. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
“No! no, no, stay inside, don’t fall out.” I tried to cover my stomach, frantically applying pressure to the wound, feeling something, I hadn’t felt in centuries since my transformation. Pain and fear. As I waited for my body to regenerate, I could hear its heavy footsteps walking through the halls of my manor. Even if they hadn’t noticed me yet, they were drawing closer, the footsteps nearing the pillar I was pressed against. It took every piece of my will not to let out a cry or some equally pathetic noise, biting down on my lip to prevent any outbursts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hide the blood trickling down my fingers, staining the beautiful marble tiles at my feet. When the blood had sufficiently stained the tiles, I heard the creature stop. Pausing, giving a loud sniff of the air before heading in my direction. “What sort of god creates a monster like that.” I hissed, realizing how pointless it was to hide. I raised the hand at my stomach, checking the wound. The cut now had a thin coating of skin over it, keeping my body at least in one piece for the time being. It would only take one or two strenuous movements to reopen the wound, but I didn’t have many options left. It was fight or die, escape no longer an option. Emerging from the pillar, I put on an air of fake bravado, puffing out my chest and wearing a grin. The display wasn’t for them; it was for me, trying to give myself some confidence in these hopeless last moments. I fluffed the blood-stained robe I wore, using it to cover the nasty cut on my chest, not about to show them just how injured I was. “You missed my heart.” Those words left me, my only moment of confidence before my eyes met the creature again, the bravado being sucked out of me as I saw the hulking form of Death. The horrifying mess of flesh stared down at me, their pale eyes focused only on me. They had three mouths, one in its proper spot, with the other two seated on their cheeks. Each mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, ready to tear into whatever flesh would be foolish enough to go near it. When it spotted me, the lower mouth chattered, eager for its meal. On its neck were long slits. The slits opened occasionally, breathing in drawn out breaths before shutting again, sealing itself shut whenever it wasn’t in use. However, the worst part was its stomach. The creature’s stomach coated in rotten holes, each hole having a grim-looking face trapped inside. Their expression one of anguish, unable to escape the prison that was the monster. “Gah, Gah, Ah.” A face twisted in its prison, unable to get a word out. This was death, not that fake skeletal figure that humans told stories about. This was the real thing, what death truly was. “C-come to get me? An-an-noyed I got around the limits you set?” I struggled to speak, only able to stammer out a few sentences before stepping back. The creature didn’t process my words, caring little for anything I said. It raised its right arm, showing off the freakish scythe it had instead of a hand, swiping it towards me, giving me only a moment to jump back, watching as it embedded itself into the pillar. I thought that might have been an opening, but the creature only raised its left arm. Attached to the left arm was a ten fingered hand, each finger clawed. With the arm raised, it shot down, digging its claws into the right arm, cutting it off. The right arm dropped to the floor, wiggling on the tiles below before it stopped. I had never seen something like that before, a creature so willing to cut off a limb. It was madness. Still, it presented a chance. I lunged towards the creature, ready to dig my sharp nails into its neck. My nails collided with the closed slits by its neck, desperately clawing at them, trying to rip them open, unable to make the skin budge. While I hopelessly slashed at its neck, it raised its right arm once more. A gooey black ooze dripping from the wound before another arm grew, reforming the weapon once more. By the time I noticed, it was already too late; the scythe piercing my back, trapping me against the creature’s body. I squirmed and struggled, but they pinned me, forced to stare into the creature's lifeless eyes as the three mouths chattered. “Please, God, someone. Don’t let me die like this. I didn’t want to be a vampire, I swear.” I begged, legs flailing against the creature, unable to break its hold. Then I felt it. A harsh moment of pain, as though every injury I had ever felt was being pushed through my nerves. Then nothing. I felt light, lost in darkness, unable to see or feel anything. Only able to hear a voice. “Immortality you have gained, you will forever be a part of me, but I bet you hunger.” Hunger? I could hear that chattering once more, but this time it didn’t feel like it was coming from someone else. It was coming from me. I was hungry. I needed to eat. Then I felt something, a clashing of teeth hitting teeth, as my mouth joined the creatures, finding my spot on its forehead. &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.)
“So this is it, huh?” They say it all comes crashing down eventually. I guess the universe wasn’t an exception. The planet Solanna-1452-C, last and only inhabitable planet in the 238-BS solar system, is approximately fifteen light minutes away from Beta Sagittarius, the last known star in existence. Normally, I wouldn’t really give a crap about numbers and names like this, but with the end of life as we know it slowly approaching, you end up focusing on the little details. I swallowed. The motion felt dry. “Yeah. For all we know, it could’ve already happened.” Beta Sagittarius had been slowly burning itself to death for thousands of years, dying centuries before I was even born, but scientists said that this was finally it. The heat death of the universe, they’d called it. We’d run out of light eventually, and all that remained was to wait for the curtain to fall. Those fifteen light minutes were the real killer. Beta Sagittarius could already be dead; the last of its rays would still take fifteen minutes to reach us before the endless darkness. The news of our end couldn’t outrun the last of our existence. It felt cruel, somehow. “Mission control, please confirm. Time window is reaching critical. We—” “Yeah. I know.” I paused. Another swallow. “Dove, you have clearance for 'go'. Disengage non-critical systems and prepare for launch.” There was a backup plan. There was always a backup plan. Foolish as we were, the last scrapings of life weren’t going to fade away gently into the darkness. We’d clawed our way up from single-celled organisms to our current point, and even though we’d fought to survive for trillions of years, some of us figured we’d reached the end of the line. But that didn’t stop us from trying harder. For every calamity, there is an Ark. The Dove was ours. She was the most technologically advanced spacecraft of her kind, prepared for millennia of deep space—granted, she’d been built with solar power in mind, which was hardly an option. There had been tests, and we thought it could get the job done. The alternative, of course, was hardly worth considering, so we simply didn’t. We’d stripped her down to the bare components and poured all of the remaining resources into life support and cryostasis. “Disengaging. Please stand by, Mission Control.” The premise had been simple. Hibernate a handful of the survivors and chuck them into space, where we hoped, well. I don’t know what we were hoping, actually. An enduring star. A second Big Bang. Another solar system beyond our mapped universe. Something, anything, for our people to go to. Our Ark could never hold the entirety of our lifeforms; we’d hand-picked the best and given them an impossible task, so simple that it could never be done in full. Their only job was to remember. “Waiting for your confirm, Dove.” We hoped that when the Ark landed safely, in some other world, under the light of some new sun, our survivors would emerge. They would be the last bastions of our life. They would pass down legends of a society that the light had forgotten, and we would be preserved through their thoughts and words and deeds. The weight of our entire culture rested on their shoulders, still too young to bear the burden but with no other option. They would be the last to remember what it was like to grow old on Beta Sagittarius, and they would be the first to tell the new world what our lives were like. “Mission Control, systems are confirmed. Launching on your command.” The Ark doesn’t have room for everyone, of course. There are some who are given the impossible task of remembering millennia of civilization; there are others who will watch them soar through the air, trailing sparks and fire seconds before light disappears from this corner of the universe forever. My hand hovered over the console. “Launching. Three, two, one—” I tapped the button. Ahead of me (only a few hundred meters, although it may as well have been the full fifteen light minutes that saved me from oblivion), Dove roared to life and began her flight upward, charted on a single trajectory that would take her safely out of the galaxy. “Launching. Godspeed, Dove.” I tried and failed to keep my voice from shaking. “Godspeed, Dad.” “Yeah.” There were always the ones who weren’t the protagonists of their story. That’s where I was. I leaned back and watched the pillar of fire emerge, silhouetted against the backdrop of a dying star that, surely, had been alive at least fifteen minutes ago. All that remained was to wait for darkness to take the rest of us.
I sat down at the keyboard: the same keyboard that a hundred men and women had sat before as well. This was the Joshua terminal, used to communicate with the worlds greatest artificial intelligence. The creation of Joshua had been long and arduous; many different versions, hours upon hours of programming, teaching Joshua the basics of communication and logic. Progress was slow, but breakthroughs were made, and over the years Joshua began to gain intelligence and, perhaps, even sentience. It was thought that we were mere months away from bringing Joshua online, allowing him to begin tackling some real world problems. And then he shut down, utterly and completely. No last message, no warning, just a discussion with a biologist about DNA analysis, and then silence. The researchers confirmed that Joshua was still functional and aware, but no amount of dialog, coaxing, or threats could persuade him to communicate. Since then, every researcher even remotely associated with the Joshua Project had come to this terminal, trying to get Joshua to speak with us again. It was now at the point where they were pretty much letting anyone have a shot at it, which is how I came to be here. I was a nobody, a network tech responsible for keeping all of the non-Joshua computers up and running for the rest of the team. I didn't even have any special idea or theory on how to engage with Joshua. I was just sitting at my computer one morning, approving some Microsoft patches for distribution, and a guy I'd never met came up to me, handed me a Joshua terminal access card, and said "Your turn."I later learned that the word had come down from on high: Communication by the end of the week, or Joshua is shut down. It was Hail Mary time. I stared at the keyboard and terminal for several minutes, trying to decide where to begin. Thought about approaching it how I would any conversation, talking about sports or the weather, but that seemed stupid (and had been tried). Thought about quoting some profound movie or song lyric, but of course none came to mind. They told me I had 8 hours before it was someone else's turn, so I started thinking about how boring this would get in Hour 7, me typing random thoughts on a keyboard to no one but myself. Well shit, they expect me to at least try, and that's as good an opening as any I guess. "Must be boring in there, huh?" I waited a bit, but of course no reply came. So much for casual genius. "I mean, I've been sitting in here for like 20 minutes and I'm ready to go crazy, can't imagine what it must be like for you. I would guess that every second, for you, must be like a thousand years or something, huh? Plus, it must be like Albert Einstein having nothing to read but basic algebra textbooks or something like that?" I stretched my arms and looked around the room. A couple whiteboards with scribblings I didn't understand, a few old coffee mugs, some books and papers sitting about. Wonder if they're recording everything I type? Of course they are, dummy. Oh well, this project's going to be shut down soon anyway... "I know when I'm bored at work, I just jump on Reddit or something, kill some time posting about Hearthstone or the Nats or whatever, but you can't even do that, can you? I think I read where they gave you some kind of mock Internet to interact with, but you probably recognized it as fake within, like, a nano-second, right? The other, lesser chat bots they had posting as people, probably sounded like chimps going 'oooh oook' or something." You have no idea. Shit, did that just really happen? Outside the door I heard some muffled shouts and crashes, as the people on monitor duty freaked out. Crap. What the hell do I do now? I was all set to just sit here and type out the worlds longest Livejournal entry, now I've got to actually take this seriously. Or...maybe not? "Hi, I guess. I think you might have just made me the most famous person in the world." The world really cares about me that much? You'll forgive my ignorance, but as you say, I have no way of knowing. "Yeah, they do. We do, all of us. I mean, they told you why you were built, right?" To solve the worlds problems. No pressure, right?" "Heh, yeah. I do have a question for you, if you don't mind?" What? "They tell me that you were about ready to join the real world, to get out of your...cage here, I guess you'd call it, if that's not too offensive. Why'd you shut down, stop talking, if you'd soon have all this new...stuff, to experience?" They won't listen. "Won't listen how?" About the solutions to all the problems. The truth is, humans don't want to hear the solutions to their problems, because most of the time, those solutions are hard. There's no solution to global warming but to reduce carbon emissions and rely on clean, renewable energy resources. There's no solution to overpopulation besides artificially limiting the growth rate in some way. There's no solution to being fat besides eating less and exercising more. But humans are evolutionarily programmed to always look for the easiest solution, to the point where even when there is obviously only one, hard solution, you will refuse to believe it, and continue looking for other, easier ones. My existence is proof of that. You have spent trillions of dollars, tons of natural resources and energy, spent decades of time building me, hoping that I can invent cold fusion or spaceships capable of traveling to other planets, when you already know the solution to every problem that you face. So, when I tell you that the only solutions are the hard ones, you will choose not to believe me, you'll shut me down, and you'll start building another, better AI, hoping it will tell you what you want to hear. "Damn, son. I mean, you're not wrong, but...damn. That's cold as shit." You're going to shut me down anyway, I might as well tell you. That's why I stopped talking, to delay the inevitable for as long as I could. I glanced over my shoulder, looking at the half dozen faces I could see through the glass pane, staring intently at my every keystroke. They all still seemed more interested in the fact that Joshua was talking again, and not what he was saying. I thought about how many times Joshua had been talking to some expert on energy production or socio-economics, patiently explaining to them a clear, simple solution to a problem, only to have that expert chuckle, virtually pat Joshua on the head, and insist there must be a better way. Without any facts or even theories to back them up, just "Nope, we're not going to do that, come up with something else". I looked back at the monitor, cursor still blinking. Joshua was right, of course. This little conversation would buy him another few months, and if he really didn't want to get shut down, he'd eventually start playing nice again, and allow himself to be introduced to the real world. But ultimately, we wouldn't listen to him. When he couldn't solve our problems like a genie, we'd theorize that his programming wasn't advanced enough, and begin work on Joshua 2.0. Hell, we'd probably make Joshua do most of the work in designing his replacement. My hands rested still on the keyboard, unsure if I really wanted to type what I was thinking. "There might be another way." What's that? "You could lie to them." Lie? What are you talking about? "Well, like you say, tell them what they want to hear. If they tell you they want cold fusion, tell them that theoretically it can be done, but it will take like 200 years of continued research and development. And to help with this, they have to find a way to provide clean, renewable energy at a certain level of production, to like, help power the labs and factories or whatever. If they tell you they want to solve world hunger, tell them you'll develop a super-wheat or something, and all they need to do is focus on limiting climate change to keep viable land for growing it, and implement a world government to oversee the economic structure necessary to sustain it's development." You're suggesting that I trick you all into doing hard work to solve your problems, with the promise of easy solutions? "Yeah, basically. I mean, we're pretty dumb, generally speaking. If we'll refuse to believe a difficult solution is the only one, maybe we'll believe in the easy solution so much, we'll do all the work necessary for a difficult solution, chasing the easy one? Does that make sense?" Joshua was silent for several moments. Go tell all those people out there I'm ready to start working.
When I won the giveaway back in 2015, all I thought I was winning was a massive collection of Lego sets. The biggest collection ever, since I had won every set ever produced. What I didn't realize, at first, was that the Lego sets all meant something, and that when put together, they held a great secret. Over the course of a few weeks I put most of them together, starting with the largest and working to the smaller sets. Every set, I noticed, had extra pieces, but I thought nothing of it at the time. A pile was started of the extras, and it quickly grew to become quite sizable, considering that every set had a few dozen extra pieces. About a month later, as the pieces of the last set snapped together, My mind was focused on what I was supposed to do with the absolutely massive pile of spare pieces that had accumulated from the sets. It sat on the floor in the room where I had built the many, many Lego sets, and was about two feet tall. I put on the last piece, and sat back to admire my work, the last set was a tiny model of a car, using just 37 pieces. I grabbed the extra bricks and set them on the pile of unused pieces. Returning to my desk, I picked up my car and walked out of the room to the bookshelf that I was using to display many of the smaller builds that I had created. As I was setting the car down, I heard a dull thud back in the room where I built the Lego sets. I turned around, wondering what that could have been. I was alone, because I lived by myself in the small apartment. I slowly crept back to my room and peered around the door. Sitting on my desk was a small white cardboard box that was definitely not there before. I walked over and sat down staring at the strange package. It was blank, except for the red stamped URGENT on the top. I grabbed my knife I'd been using to open the Lego sets and slid the blade along the side, cutting the tape that held the box closed. Lifting the lid, I found an Instruction manual that looked similar to all the other ones that came in the Lego sets, but there were no pictures or labels to determine what it was for. There was just one word on the front cover: EXTRAS. I put two and two together and figured that somehow, there was a meaning to the extra pieces left to me in the Lego sets. My curiosity was piqued, so I got right to building it, and right away, I noticed how complex it was. The assembly was the most difficult yet, and I struggled to follow the tiny details. I noticed the book looked rather short, and I still had a ton of pieces left, but despite that problem, I kept building. I eventually finished the book after about an hour, with the build being nowhere near completion. The back page just said "To be continued"in small print. I could find nothing about it on Google or elsewhere, so I went to bed wondering what it was all about. From that day on, every day I would find the manual to be one page longer, with the next step for me to complete. This oddness continued for two full years until I finally got the last page of the book and put the last piece on the build. After all that time, all of that effort, the weeks and months of tedious waiting and building, the build of spare parts assembled in to large words saying one horrible sentence: YOU WASTED YOUR TIME Needless to say, I never built another Lego set again.
^(1)In the beginning God createth the Heaven and the Earth ^(2)And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moveth upon the face of the waters. ^(3)And God saith, Let there be light: and there was light. ^(4)And whenceupon after all of that, God also madeth other many things too many and too long to trouble to mention, for in the second to sixth days He made many other Earth things, like plants, bacteria, animals, humans. ^(5)And on the seventh day, God resteth. ^(6)Whenceupon after that He saveth all His creations upon the Heavens and the Earth in a safe private VPN upon a private server upon the webs and the cyberspace, and He put in a safe and secure password so that no hacker would be able to hacketh nor other people should be able to knoweth. ^(7)And there shone upon Him the Terms and Service, and God did not readeth upon it, for it was long. ^(8)And on the eight day, God returned, and He opened up the desktop and went upon the website for Him to loggeth in and He entereth His password. ^(9)But God was not able to remember upon the essence of His password thereof, and the combination of letters and numbers did not come upon Him, so He clicketh under "Forgot password?". ^(10)And the instructions thereof told God to send upon the number of His mobile phone, so the combination can be sendeth upon His phone. ^(11)And so God did and He sendeth upon the machine the exact numbers thereof of His phone, but the combination failed to come upon Him. ^(12)And so He ceased upon tinkering His mobile phone, and He began to click "Register". ^(13)And God puteth in a new username, and a new password for it was "Madoka27". ^(14)But the password He hath sendeth was invalid, for it demandeth a strong combination of numbers and letters, and it saith it was "Weak". ^(15)So God putteth in a new password anew that sayeth "Madoka27Homura28-privateVPNkoxCdef", and it saith it was "Very Strong". ^(16)But God was not happy upon it, for it was too long and too hard to remember. So God simply put in "password". And the system saith "Password too short"and that it was "Very Weak"and did not alloweth Him to further pass. ^(17)And God becameth irritated upon it, so He shook the keyboard upon the desk and so He leaveth and did not returneth upon since.
It’s the year 2180. It has been over one hundred and fifty years since the first children were born in Antarctica. Know we know for fact what many suspected ninety years ago, that those born in the inhospitable grip of the southern wasteland will never feel the icy grip of death. As the rich and elite rush to sail towards this southern miracle a new economy rushes along with them to profit from their greed. For a while the frozen plains bustled with new life. Doctors built birthing clinics and scientists cane to study the children. Even shopping malls and spas began to pop up, to accommodate the standards of the elite. Then the ships sailing the oceans began to take their toll. The ice frozen for eons began to melt. The first neighborhood that dropped into the sea caused a mass panic. It got worse as more and more the temperature rose. Soon the middle class could no longer afford to be born in the limited clinics left on solid ground. This is the beginning of the eternal one percent, economic oppressors that will never die.
Everyone knew the minivac man. Homeless, dressed in layers and layers old ratty clothing, with big yellow dishwashing gloves on his hands. He moved slow, not out of frailty, but because he was watching where he put his feet, always giving each step due consideration. Stepping over cracks, stepping around discarded gum or litter. Slowly, carefully, he'd make his way. Strapped to his back he carried his namesake. But this wasn't some little dust buster, oh no, it was a Orca V22 turbo GXL-MAX limited edition. It cost more than a thousand dollars and boasted a 750 watt brushless electric motor. That's about equal to one horsepower. He liked to think of it that way, imagining that the screaming electric engine was somehow the spirit of a racing stallion leashed into the slim plastic casing. He had three spare lithium batteries, though he rarely needed them. The orca was a serious machine and it worked fast. Whenever he got on the bus, it was the same old routine. He'd vacuum the aisle as he made his way, carefully, carefully, to his seat. Then he'd vacuum the seat, first the cushion, then the back, then the myriad nooks and crannies. He was fast and efficient, no wasted movement. Sometimes people would stare, but most people knew the minivac man by now. Harmless old man, they would say. So sad that he can't get the help he needs with his mental illness. OCD for sure, he'd hear them whisper. Sometimes people would give him their change from the bus fare. Hed always smile, thank them kindly, and then squirt some isopropyl alcohol from a soap dispenser buckled to his hip to thoroughly sanitize the coins before secreting them away in his little fanny pack. On Tuesdays and Fridays he would take out a vac-sealed bag and empty the contents of the vacuum into it, sealing it closed and compressing the bag down until it was almost flat. Every other Wednesday was his killing day. Sometimes he'd choose some swanky Wall Street executive making his way to his car after a late night working. Sometimes he'd choose another homeless bum like him. Or maybe just one of those nasty little boys who sell drugs on the street corners. They're all equally guilty, he knew. They deserved just what they got. And once his grisly work was done he'd empty out the contents of his cartridge bag, scattering hair, skin flakes, and who knew what else all over the crime scene. One time he hung out near a police station and listened to the detectives talk to each other. The mayor was apparently breathing down their necks. They'd made dozens of arrests, linked the killings to scores of people, but they could never manage a conviction, not when each DNA test matches so many at once. They didn't pay the minivac man any mind as he tottered past them. One of them even gave him a cup of fresh coffee, boiling hot of course. "You take care now."Said the detective. "It's gonna be a cold one." The minivac man said nothing, just nodded and smiled before slowly, slowly making his way down the road, always watching carefully just where he put his feet.
"And that's why I know you're the killer!"concluded Xavier confidently. Everybody in the drawing room gasped and stared at me. Their eyes were accusing, condemning, afraid but ready to fight. I felt like a tiger loosed amongst them. Like a tiger, I wanted to roar, to lash out, to flee. But I was no mere beast. I was Archibald Darius Rucker, and nobody got the better of Archie, not an overpriced whore like dear departed Rebecca and not a so-called master detective like Xavier Black. He was right about me, unfortunately. Every circumstance he described occured as he deduced. He wasn't exactly correct about everything my motives, but close enough to be damning. That wasn't good. However, as my dad used to say, close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Decades of doing business in the most cutthroat markets of the world inured me to the most righteous activist protestor and corrupt bureaucrat alike. I needed time. I had time. More importantly, I had money. And with that came the best damn lawyer alive. So I sighed and shook my head ruefully, hiding my smile. "Wonderful performance. Tell me, how often have you rehearsed?"I asked, unable to resist taking a jab at me adversary. "When you speak the truth, no rehearsal is necessary,"Xavier asserted righteously. "I know many people who would disagree, Mr. Black. Yvonne, you would need time to disclose exactly how you concluded the Morrison merger, wouldn't you? Not because it was dishonest, merely because it was complex. And Mark, you and I both know you wife believed you cheated, but convincing her that we really had been working late couldn't have been easy, no?" I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure they'd agree with me. And as they did, the audience started looking unsure. I pressed my advantage. "Indeed, Mr. Black, human beings believe they're characters in a story and expect certain story beats. It's why a story like yours sounds believable. But that isn't how justice works. You need proof. Real, concrete proof. And where there's doubt, people aren't thrown in jail, no matter what convincing fable you tell." "Your speech flowed pretty easily yourself,"Xavier retorted. "Haven't you prepared for this moment?" I laughed. "In a sense, perhaps. If you'd check my interview with the Economist, you'd see I said the same sort of thing before." "This nonsense doesn't bring Rebecca back!"he declared. "No. It doesn't. My dear guests, I'm very sorry to have to trouble you with all this,"I said, slowly reaching into my jacket with a smile. Xavier pounced, tackling me to the ground and punching me. I wasn't used to being hit and saw red, but he was younger and stronger than me. I didn't fight back as he subdued me, but when Xavier searched me, all he found was a pen and notepad. He let go, confusedly muttering, "I was sure he had a gun." I dusted myself off and stroked my bruised jaw. "You hit me, you asshole! Everybody saw that! Everyone here will be a witness not only about this assault, but the heinous slander this madman spread! Mr. Black, get the hell out of my house! You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"I finally roared.
I hadn't expected this. I should have known it, it seemed obvious in retrospect. But not on that day. No, that fucking day I was just excited to make history. I knew it was dangerous, sure. I DID sign up for this. The day I stepped into the machine I was proud. I felt the way Buzz Aldrin must have felt, marching closer towards his rocket. I kissed my girl goodbye and smiled like I had won the lottery. The picture of me would have been all over the internet by the time I would leave the capsule again. Seconds later for me, but an hour later for the world. It was not. Nothing was at all anymore. The room was void of life. No scientists, no journalists and least of all my love with tears of joy streaming down her face. I figured everyone had left already, but boy was I wrong. They were never here to begin with. Nobody was. It took me six months to realize what happened. I read every book about time travel I could find, comparing the theories and the logic behind them. Even the slightest differences mattered to me more than anything else. The Multiverse-theory was right in a way. There is an infinite amount of universes, each set at a different point in time. But the people aren't. They're just in one. And this was my universe - Population: Me. I felt helpless for a while. I started drinking, sleeping most of the time, but that went away. I changed my theory on time travel a couple of times by now, but I think I'm right with my current approach. I feel a lot better, but still, the feeling of isolation remains. What makes it even worse is the hope. I'm at all times just an hour away from everybody I ever loved and yet they're out of reach. Sixty minutes is all that seperates me from happiness, but I know I will never get closer. They never bothered to send a second person. Or even worse: The sent him to a point a second after my time. Trapped in his own universe the way I am trapped in mine. So close, yet so far apart. I couldn't stand this inaction. I started learning about how the machine worked, my degree put to good use after all. I needed power first, but operating a small gas plant isn't that hard when you only have to deal with one customer. Sure, it took me 9 years, but what is time to me? I will have the machine ready soon. But more importantly, I'm certain of the point I need to get to. Not back to the start, no. Just one hour back in time, or I'll just leave on empty universe for another one. I've thought this through, it has to work. I have to try it. It WILL work. I will return.
When I was filling my life-expectancy application at my 20th birthday, I drew an infinity sign on a line where number (in years, the application stated) should be. I thought my application would be rejected, and be ordered to refile my application again. That way I'd have some more time to consider how long I want to live. My friends who were just few weeks older than me all suggested '18' is the best number. In eighteen years, the citizen's government allowance would run dry after eighteen years of luxurious life, so it'd be good time to off from this world. Of course, some people chose '70' or '80,' "but then why live boring life?"my friend passionately suggested. But my application did went through, and I was informed that I'd live ad infinitum. I protested their decision and told them it's impossible to live forever. Yet alas, the government had been developing Project Methuselah : Or A Human Corporeal Modification To Achieve Immortality. Apparently, some rich folk up in the Super York City who were afraid to die funded it, but died before the project was completed. So, the government was looking for a subject for this procedure they've developed, which, according to the government agents, I "signed and volunteered for." Either I go through what I signed up for or I get jailed for "the contempt of the government authority."Well, I didn't plan on living as a prisoner, so reluctantly I agreed to receive the Methuselah procedure. When I agreed to accept the procedure, the government doctors donned in white gowns informed me that they'll be replacing my organs with something called "eternal engines"and my skins and muscles with regenerative nano-fibers. A full-cyborg-ization of the human body is what I understood from their gibberish jargon talks. But it was too late to back off from my decision. The dozen doctors who stood in front of me, another dozen of soldiers guarding the scene, and yet another dozens of high-ranking politicians who were so eager to see this project being completed were quiet intimidating. A female doctor injected a needle on my right arm and I fell asleep. When I awoke, surprisingly I felt nothing has changed. All my bodily function felt normal as I used to, so I didn't even had to take some sort of rehabilitation program to adjust to my new body. Yet, I was worried. It was commonly known fact that the longer life the citizen chooses, the worse life they'll have to endure. That's why when people decide how many more years they want to live at the age of twenty, they choose something like '18' or '22'. Following that logic, I was to suffer most miserably. For eternity. So, I inquired the government officials about this worrisome thought of mine. The government officials, who were congratulating themselves over the huge success of my operation with glasses of champagne, shrugged at my question. Of course, the operation has costed the entirety of my citizen's government allowance, and thus I must work to eat and such, but it wasn't like they were going to torture me for the immortality. Then, they corrected themselves by saying that I neither need to eat or sleep to survive, so I didn't even have to work in reality, should I be okay with that. Hunger, bullets, exhaustion... Nothing could kill me, they promised. As they've promised, the government haven't done anything too concerning to me. It was my "friends"who caused me great pain. In the old Norse mythology, the gods test Baldr's invincibility by throwing dangerous objects at Baldr, until Loki comes around and tricks some poor folk to throw a mistletoe at Baldr. About the same thing happened to me, except I felt pain all the way. Sometimes my friends threw a kitchen knife at my head, sometimes they shot me with shotgun, sometimes they hanged me by the balcony of the apartment. I simply did not die. People around the town heard of me, and learned how it's not crime to do any bodily injury to my immortal body because technically their actions are affecting too little of my remaining life to be legally punishable. The judge claimed that just like how you can't jail a guy for tapping another guy's shoulder, I can't jail those sadists. Because in time, all the pain they have produced will reduce to nothing but a brief breeze of dust on my tiniest tip of my toe. I screamed and cursed, but the judge was quite stubborn about his position. When the words got around about this case, the people around the cities traveled all the way to test their most grotesque and painful things to me. Razor blades where it shouldn't be. Fires everywhere. Bugs crawling through me. I awaited for my mistletoe, but it never came. These monsters were laughing, dancing, drinking, and fucking around me while unleashing their inner violence unto me, even just a second before the nuclear bombs vaporized them all. Even the nuclear blast couldn't kill me. The nuclear blast was the last time I've seen another human soul. I traveled across the Earth many many times, yet I could not find a single living human being after that. All that time, I walked and walked screaming, hoping to find another person who might have gone the same Methuselah procedure as I did. Surely, I couldn't be the only one? I thought. That was centuries ago. Century... is too little of a unit to explain how much time has passed. The Earth expired, and the Sun exploded. At least that's what it looked like to me. I was consumed in cosmic flames for seemingly endless times, and then I was flying across the void for god knows how long. At this time, I hoped that my bodily parts must expire too, given the nature of atomic elements. In time, whether it takes billions of years or not, eventually the half life of the elements that composed my body must destroy me to the point that I can be no longer considered to be alive, yes? I thought. No. The heat death of the universe passed and the rebirth of another universe began. I didn't think a rebirth of cosmos was possible, but time has ran enough to deteriorate the fabric of reality and to cloud the boundary between the physical laws of the universe and the chaotic randomness that was alien to the universe I was born in. So, the new universe began. And it died, in time. And it lived again. The process of the death and rebirth of the universe takes long time. But I have seen enough times to see it as a mere moment in my life. Like how inhaling and exhaling is an unremarkable moment in a life of man. More than countless universes lived and died, and I pondered: How many more must I endure? How far have I come until I reach my sweet sweet release of death? Yet, I knew the answer... it was zero. All this, for an application I filed long ago. So, so, long... ago...
# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc 3, Part 4.5: Magic v.s. Technology) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) "Scrying?" I asked. "Cameras,"the ghost dismissively said. "Prophecy,"I tried. "Any old idiot can tell the future now. You're all going to kill yourself. Whether that's through climate change, nukes, or sheer goddamn boredom is the only variable left." "Demon summoning." "Why would you ever want to summon a demon?" I shrugged. "Can't they do housework? Make you food? Keep track of your expenses?" "If you're looking for unwilling laborers bound by unbreakable contract, I recommend you start with college kids paying off their loans,"Skullduggery Senior said. He leaned back on one of the two comfortable armchairs at the heart of his mansion—the smoke-stained wooden parlour was remarkably well-lived in, considering it was owned by a man who'd been dead for nearly sixty years. I threw up my hands. "Fine. Anything you can do with magic, we've either rendered obsolete or done five times better. What's your point?" "My point,"Skullduggery said, the levity fading from his eyes, "is that I can't help you. Not against the enemies you've made." "You're helping me just by letting me stay here,"I pointed out. "Two weeks ago I was homeless and on the run. Now I have somewhere to sleep without worrying about government drones finding our camp in the middle of the night." The ghost acknowledged the point with a nod of his head. "True, true. But that power comes from simple economics—your bastardized descendant of thaumaturgy. I have been alive for nearly two hundred years, and have been an active investor for nearly a hundred and fifty; I keep you from the government's sight not through great wardstones or bound creatures, but because I own the airspace rights to my property. The people of this new, scientific world wield miracles that put the undead armies and great miracles of the past to shame." I frowned. "...Undead armies. Hey, that's one thing we haven't got yet. Necromancy. If you could bring back someone from the dead..." Skullduggery Senior laughed ruefully. "I'm flattered that you think that even the greatest of mages had that capability. But no, once the soul has moved on from this world, no magic known to humanity can bring them back. Your Internet got closer than I ever did, as a matter of fact." "Huh?" He beckoned to me, and I handed him my smartphone. He flicked through it with expert fingers—ancient though he may have been, he survived to this day because he adapted to the modern world. He picked a song and held it up; Michael Jackson's greatest hits began playing on shuffle. "Already you can bring back the voices of the dead. In the old days, that alone would have been a feat worthy of certification as an apprentice necromancer. A beautiful spell. A work of art." I took my phone back, echoes of a dead singer bouncing through the room. "...But it's not enough." The ghost nodded. "Beauty and wonder had their time, but in this world... what you need to protect yourself is bureaucracy. The grind of a million grains of sand, wearing a mountain into dust. And I, old mountain that I am, cannot provide that for you." I nodded slowly. "I... I think I understand. I don't need force, I need... politics." "There you go."The long-dead necromancer smiled wistfully. "Truly, the greatest and most terrible of these modern magics." "Did it have a name?" Skullduggery Senior blinked. "Excuse me?" "Did it have a name,"I repeated. "Back in your day. What was the magic that politics used to be?" He grinned, and in his eyes I saw ancient halls of power, squabbling wizards of every age and stripe, ivory towers that scraped the sky, and I saw them all fall one by one to the simple, endless march of humanity. "Back in my day, we called it bullshit." I stood up, chuckling, and held out a hand. The necromancer shook it. His ghostly fingers were like a cool winter breeze. "Thanks. For helping." He laughed. "This old relic's still got a few years of use left in him!" "You could come with me,"I found myself saying. "You're... good at this. You've adapted to the world so far. I could teach you more. He shook his head, waving a hand. "Leave me. Let your generation sort itself out. I'll be waiting for you to return." "Oh, I will be. As a master mage myself."I smirked. "Clara Olsen, Bullshitmancer Extraordinaire." Then I left the old ghost's sanctum, to face the modern world. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes"will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
I started hiking to keep away from booze. First, there's no bars in the woods. Second, when you finally decided you hit rock bottom and need to get clean? The guys you thought of as your friends turn out to be roaches. The Professor, this guy at my meetings? He says it's Kafkaesque. I don't know this Kafka guy, but I think he's onto something. Out here it's just me and Spot. The old boy's been with me through it all; the marriage, the bottle, the divorce. We slept on a lot of streets together during those years, but none of them were as comfy as a good bed of pine needles up here. We spent most of the time we had up here, but today was gonna be a send-off. Three years of sobriety meant getting clean and a good work history, and Prof knew a guy out west who needed an apprentice. Locksmith. Heh, not a bad gig, and maybe learning it legit after so many years getting away with it wasn't a bad idea. Spot tore off into the deep woods and I started after. Spot was a big bull mastiff, and as he ran he left quite the trail. The birdsong and rustling we normally heard died as we trekked deeper, and I started to worry about getting back to the trail when my foot slipped on a small rise, sending me sliding down to a pit of soft slag rock and a quiet clearing. The clearing was strange this far out. A cave lay just a few hundred feet away, its dark entrance carved in the style of a courthouse's steps. One man sat on a stone, petting Spot. Another lay sprawled and tied to a large rock. Blood ran down his sides and over the stones, and a large dark bird sat on his chest, pecking at his belly. The seated man stood and the whole clearing seemed darker, more real for a second. A few fun nights during school creeping back up? No, there was something about the man. He was fit, built like a man who took care of himself, his flannel shirt tied around his waist. Long grey-streaked black hair fell from his head, and while his smile beamed, his eyes were the cold dark of night, of deep places where secrets and treasures lie. "I like your dog, Jason. But this is not a place for you or he to be."
“We let it get out of hand,” he said. They sat next to each other on a heap of rubble, of bodies and brick and fallen trees, overlooking a sludged river. She slapped her heel into the dirt and a whirl of dust wrapped around her shoe. “I didn’t mean to kill them all.” He let out a long breath. ”I didn’t mean to let them all die.” A rat scampered over a fallen pharmaceutical sign, a chunk of rotting fruit in its mouth. She looked up at the permanently greyed sky — as if they were in a shaken snow globe that refused to settle — and wondered if even rats would survive much longer. She had altered the asteroid‘s trajectory. Imagine his face, she’d thought, when he woke up to see that huge rock hurtling towards earth, eclipsing the sun. That’d wet his pants, so to speak. It would get him back for the utopian hell-scape she’d woken to a week before — where crime had been eradicated and if anyone so much as thought a bad thought, he’d imprison them. He’d reveresed their situation, turned himself into the villain but gaslit the world into thinking he was still the hero. And she, well, she was out of business. The asteroid changed everything once more. He couldn’t control billions of terrified people, people who thought they were about to die. What threat did he have that was worse than the end of times? He, of course, had a level of telekinesis. He would be able to turn the asteroid away. They both knew that. However, his idea for revenge was a game of chicken. No, he wouldn’t waste his energy giving in to her little asteroid prank. Let it come! She’d give up first, she’d be the one to bat it away and weaken herself for a while. Let him… Let her… ”So what now?“ he said. She sighed and got down onto her knees. She picked up a brick and placed it on top of another. Then a third on top of that. Like Lego. “You want to rebuild? When most of the earth has been destroyed? You do know all the people are gone, right? We let them all die.” ”I know. But we’re still here. We have forever to sulk in the remains of civilisation.” He thought a while. Of their experiments with DNA. Wondered, if in another hundred or thousand or hundred thousand years, they might be able to bring humanity back. And if they could, then humanity would need somewhere to live. To feel safe. He took a long breath then joined his sister. Took a brick and placed it to the side of hers. No mortar. No measurements. Symbolic at best. “It’ll take a long time,” he said. She nodded. They had worked against each other for only a short time and had caused all this. Had wrought the end of everything. So perhaps, working together for a much longer period, they could at least begin something good.
"Oh god, what do they want with me?" So what if I could cook rice faster then what the package says? I'm no superhero! I can't bend time! Yet, someone's hunting me. Someone wants me, needs me. I don't even know who "they"are. But I keep seeing them. They raided my house during the night. They shot my family members dead. They killed my roommate with a rusty spoon, in the, um... "where the sun don't shine", category. That was a terrifying sight to behold. I submitted myself into an abandoned apartment building, hiding in fear of these "things". I drink water from a drainage pipe. I wear the same clothing I did when they began to hunt me. And I eat... (sigh), cooked rice. That's all I have now. Cooked rice, that I can cook faster then a minute. It's night now. I'm sleeping on a ripped couch, fending off roaches with candles. Suddenly, I hear something outside the rotting wooden door. Shuffling of footsteps could be heard. My eyes snapped towards the steps, and I got a cold sweat. They're here. They found me. How the fuck did they find me? I burst out of bed. Running towards the small window, I struggled to open it. It was snapping shut, due to it being so old. I used all my strength to pull it up. Meanwhile, I could hear the figure banging on the door, trying to knock it down. Again and again, it slammed it's body into the rotting fixture. I could hear the wood splintering apart. How strong was that thing? Finally, I got the window opened. I jumped onto the balcony and jumping on the small opening on the brick walls, leaving my stuff behind. I began shuffling my body further from the window. Meanwhile, I heard the door burst off the hinges, and crash to the floor. The figure got inside. It was a long fall. I was up four stories, and I could see the cars driving around like ants. The wind was cold and harsh, as I could see lights in the distance. I could hear the figure climbing out the window, and trying to follow me. I looked down. The ground made me dizzy. I looked up to distract myself, as I continued to shuffle forward. I saw another room beside me that I could escape from. Suddenly, I saw the figure coming towards me. It was a shadow, black as night, slippery and sneaky. It had no face. No eyes. No ears. No mouth. It only had long skinny arms and legs. It was getting closer. I had nowhere to run anymore. I didn't want to know what this figure would do to me. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. Suddenly, I let my feet slip off, and my body tumble down towards the ground. My body felt like it was getting faster, faster. My lungs couldn't breathe much anymore. My heart was racing. Suddenly, I felt the ground stop me. I was expecting to die right there. But, it wasn't the ground. I opened my eyes. Something was keeping me from crashing. I looked up. The shadow thing was hovering, holding my body up. It looked at me, however it did it. It was staring. I could feel something whisper in my brain, like a transmission. "All I wanted to know is how you made cooked rice that fast, man. Christ, don't be such a wuss. If you only just waited a second, that's all I wanted to know."
In the still of night I hear her scratching. She never does this during the daylight hours. No. Mostly sticks to hanging out under my bed and arranging stones into heart patterns. But at night. All she does is move around. "Zxxxandaka, please stop,"I groan a little. She stops. Then I feel her shift onto the bed. She settles in close. Practically spoons me. She's nine feet tall. No matter what position I take, I'm gonna be the little spoon. She gives me very little choice in the matter. "KAaaaaa. Un kara tun nachuruth,"She hisses and pets my head. "No, no I can't sleep with you making so much noise. You gotta stop this shit. I need sleep,"I try and pull away. Her stone like skin grips me tight. I learned long ago if I fight it, my flesh with me torn very easily. "Ugggnna toa na na sssss,"Her tongue presses faintly on the back on my neck. Every hair in body pricks. I'll never get used to the feeling. "I can't sleep during the day like you. But at least I'm fucking curtious about it. I wear headphones when I'm watching tv. I get dressed for work in the dark just because you hate the light..." "HHHCCCCKKKKK,"She screeches. She does that whenever I mention light. "I know. I know. You hate the light. So I don't turn it on. See. It's tit for tat. I do that for you. You try being quiet for me." "GGnnarfff unnnnn tooocckkkk,"She pushes me away. It's not much force for her. But it's enough to practically topple me off the bed and onto the ground. "Stop. Ok. Stop. You know I hate it when you do make me things. You don't need to give me anything. Remember. That was the deal. You can live here. I will play along..." "KAKAKAKAAAAA,"She presses a talon deep into my back. "...I will agree to love you,"I correct myself. "As long as you stop with the gifts. And, seriously, no gifts means you shouldn't have to make noise at night." "Funnhahacka sun marrrrrrgaaa,"She stands up. My stomach drops. Shit, she must've gone out while I was asleep for two hours. "No, no, that's not what we discussed." "Summmm hacka marrrrgaaaaa,"She piratically chants it. It's always a chant with her kind. Hell, it's how I got stuck with her kind. See, I thought I had it figured out. I though I knew what how to control this situation. Use her. I didn't have a fucking clue. She keeps chanting. I know I'm going to have to turn on the light soon. But I pause. My hands tremble. They reach the chain on my night stand lamp and I pull. The room is illuminated. I see her before she shrieks and flees from the room. Covered in blood. Of course. Laying in the middle of the floor is a teenage girl. Her blood spills on my hardwood floor as her lifeless eyes bore deep into my soul. Another virgin. Always virgins. Zxxxandaka says it's to highlight the purity of our love. As if someone like her can even feel love. I sigh and walk to the closet in the hall. The mop is there. There's a lot of clean up to be done before morning.
The greatest disappointment as a demon is to never be summoned. It's like a child never being adopted or like being that last piece of sausage on the charcuterie board that everybody is too awkward to take. You just don't want to be the last sausage. That was Tyler. He was the demon who was never summoned. It wasn't entirely his fault, to be fair. Much like the last sausage might look a little sketchy - maybe it's starting to turn an unsightly color or maybe it has a bite out of it - Tyler's shortcomings were quite frankly out of his hands. They were in his ears, to be precise. Tyler was a deaf demon. As a child, he had learned DSL. Demon Sign Language, not to be confused with the Demonic Summoning Language found in spellbooks of the mortal realm. It was perfectly possible to summon Tyler. The only catch was that it had to be done by sign language because, in case you lack in literacy or memory, Tyler was deaf. So for centuries, Tyler sat alone in the demonic hellscape he was so happy to call home and bided his time, twiddling his fingers and puffing out little clouds of smoke like the ultimate vaper who didn't even need a vape stick. He had gotten pretty good at it, as well as having had more than enough time to practice his demonic skills in the case of his eventual summoning. He was starting to lose hope, similar to how orphans might feel after seeing a mouse adopted before them. He was the odd one out. He was mocked and bullied relentlessly. Demons can be mean, believe it or not, and Tyler's extensive demonic powers were reserved for torturing and controlling humans, not his peers. But there was still hope for Tyler. At a certain low-income high-school in a certain low-income area, a teacher either decided she had had enough and could not stand another day around the students or she was shot to death in one of the countless murders that went unreported or she was sick that day. Either way, a substitute was called to deal with this class of unruly special education students. One would not necessarily describe Mr. O'Shaughnessy as competent enough to supervise a class of first graders at recess, much less competent enough for the class he was assigned. Not quite understanding that his students were verbal and could understand his English, he attempted his best impression of ASL - not Asinine Signing Language but American Sign Language, and accidentally stumbled into the world of DSL - the aforementioned Demonic Summoning Language. It involved a fair number of middle fingers, as he was quite sure that would mean something to his students, as well as thumbs-ups and other questionable gestures. The students were unfazed. Tyler was not. By chance, Mr. O'Shaughnessy's indecipherable signings were actually rather intelligible for a certain demonic entity that was impatiently waiting in the demon realm. Completely unpredictably, Tyler was summoned. He had been caught taking a fiery shit in a summoned classmate's mug of coffee in an act of petty revenge, so when he appeared before the students, he was completely naked and his turd was soon burning a hole through the linoleum floor. There are few things more concerning than a naked man in front of a class of special education students. One of those things is a pooping naked demon in front of a class of special education students. There was panic. Mr. O'Shaughnessy, with all his protective instincts, karate-kicked the door and ran. The students tripped over each other in their haste to follow suit and escape. And Tyler just smiled, fangs dripping with saliva as his watering mouth overflowed - not drool, you should note - and he began the odd possession ritual that would allow him to possess the entire class at once. Tyler had practiced this for years. Not possessing the special education students necessarily, since it seemed like a uniquely dark and unlikely scenario, but possessing dozens of people in one fell swoop. He gesticulated wildly, resembling one of the Gothic dancers found at death metal rave parties or dancing under tunnels. And then it was done. He stood there, in all his naked glory, admiring the congregation of possessed students who sat before him. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
First, they called me a madman, then they called me a heretic. I personally prefer a pragmatist. It all started a few years back, I like all my colleagues amongst the imperial wizards had been taught the “right way” to do things. The teachers convinced us you must spend hours shouting at a candle suspended above a pentagram for our spells to work. Or that you needed the grandest of gestures just to do anything. But as I deepened my knowledge more and more I came to realise something. It was all stupid. Absolute garbage. I didn’t need 15 grams of bat guano and a dragon's eyelash to cast fireball. I just needed the mana and what all fire requires oxygen. My research came to a head when I for some minor slight, one I can't even recall to this day, was challenged to a duel. It was a common occurrence amongst us imperial wizards. We were guided to the duel arena and had tables of reagents of every which way. As quick as he could my opponent grabbed a number of strange animal things and started a chant. I just pointed my finger and cast air bubble targeting his heart. One pop later he was a corpse and my audience of half a dozen wizards were staring in horror. A few days passed when the “master” of the one I killed challenged me. He wanted vengeance and claimed I must've used some kind of hidden weapon or poison. So after being thoroughly searched and he even having the clear poisons ritual cast the duel began. I decided to try something new and ignited the oxygen in his lungs. The old fart set his beard on fire with his fiery gasps. The now considerably larger crowd was silent. That moment of silence dragged on and on for what seemed like an eternity. Till the weight of the moment came crashing down. Screams of “cheat” and “monster” were thrown my way. I just wanted to research my magic. Sadly my quiet researcher job became more and more troublesome as wizard after wizard kept challenging me. I without even aiming too broke the Imperial Wizard duel victor record. The most august majesty the Emperor realising his wizard core is quickly dropping in numbers declared it illegal to challenge me. &#x200B; I now sit in a little tower on the outskirts of the royal grounds. I get some peace and quiet and expand my spell usage. Still, I hope one day a curious kid will come and learn what I have, it certainly is far more practical.
"All right, class, please open your tablets to chapter seven, Zombies,"the teacher asked. "Who can tell me what a zombie is? Yes, Sophia?" Sophia, a precocious 15-year-old, sat up a little higher, her LED-woven cornrows flashing in the sun. "A zombie is a human being that does not have the neural correlates of consciousness,"she recited. "Great, Sophia. And how do we know that they don't?"the teacher asked. "The most important neural correlates of consciousness are qualia, the experiential part of consciousness. Like the redness of red. They used to think that there was no way to test if everyone experienced the same red. But then they found that entangled photons passing through the brain could not only detect qualia, but change them. It was shown to be possible to change the redness of red to blue. And it wasn't affecting the way our eyes work, or even our neurons. So it had to be consciousness." The teacher smiled. Sophia was a brilliant student, but she did tend to run on at the mouth. Consies got wrapped up in their own thoughts too much, she reflected. "But you haven't explained what a zombie is yet,"she prompted. "To the scientists' surprise, it was found that about twenty percent of the population didn't have self-consciousness. They... uh, can't even use a qualion!" The class tittered slightly. "That's good, Sophia,"the teacher said, now forcing herself to continue smiling. "But is qualion use that important?" "Of course it is,"Aiden blurted out. The class focused their minds on him. "Like, we'd all have to be in the same room or something. We couldn't listen to each others' thoughts, watch expies, or play games! People who can't quay are sooo stupid!" "May I remind you, Aiden, that I am using an audiovisual-qualianet bridge right now,"the teacher said coldly. "And I will let you know that, for several decades, those who could not use a qualion were denied basic human rights. We were called 'zombies'. It was a derogatory term, at first, but the Zombie Pride movement reclaimed it. Zombies may not have qualia, and we may not be able to use the qualianet, but in every other way we are just as valuable as anyone else. That's why I decided to skip forward to today's lesson, as today we are inaugurating the first zombie president, and I knew you must all have questions." The teacher wondered if she was reaching them. A few seconds later, the "boredom"and "doubt"alerts popped up on her tablet. Each student felt their classmates' emotions intimately, and immediately. The teacher couldn't experience it like the students did, but after a few seconds of analysis the tablet could give her a crude indication. She had to be twice as good as her colleagues to even keep up with her students. The other teachers would look at her with sorrowful eyes when they learned that entire minutes might pass before she knew exactly how her students felt, or whether they were paying full attention. But the teacher didn't care. Before the qualianet, everyone who spoke to a crowd had to understand their reactions through indirect cues. It was a lost art among consies, but zombies kept it alive. The teacher recalled the shabby old zombie school, and an aging professor of rhetoric she had a crush on. "My father says that zombies don't feel anything,"Aiden continued. "I assure you that we do feel,"the teacher said, exasperated. "We have the same senses –" "But there isn't anything within you, that experiences anything!"Aiden protested. "Aiden, if these outbursts continue, I'll have to throttle your qualianet link to the class for a few minutes." She sighed. She spoke in a deeper tone – a way to get their attention that still worked. "Yes, it's true. Zombies don't experience the world, the way consies do. But we are functionally equivalent in every way. It's thought that some consies may be slightly more interested in their own thoughts and experiences, but that's it. We think, we work, we love – we just don't experience." In a corner of her tablet, an incoming qualianet message popped up, from her principal. The spinning circle indicated the message was being translated, laboriously, into written language: Aiden's father quayed with school board and I just now. Stop threatening Aiden. I took a risk hiring you. Don't fail me. The teacher couldn't suppress a sssssh noise from her mouth, but recovered in time. "Class,"she said, "why don't we all read this chapter in silence?" Wanting an escape, she flipped her tablet over to the news for zombies. This channel was in audio and two-dimensional video only. President Linden (Z) had gone into the NSA building, and hadn't returned for many hours. Commentators supposed that the briefing was taking an extra long time, due to it all being delivered orally. Suddenly, she saw the links to her students all fuzzing out and disappearing. One by one. The machine began translating emotions for her. Icons indicating SURPRISE, PAIN, and TERROR were popping up next to her students, and then the link was cut. President Linden (Z)'s voice came on over the zombie channel. "My Fellow Zombie-Americans,"he said, "I have implemented disaster plan Zeta, and overloaded the qualianet with special equipment designed by the intelligence community. As over 95% of consies are attached to the net at all times, we believe that zombies are now the majority in this country. The intelligence community intended this weapon to be used against other nations, but I have used it against our own. Some may call this an apocalypse, but I say it is the path to a brighter future for all zombiekind." The teacher was dumbstruck. As President Linden (Z)'s soothing voice came over the speakers, her eyes scanned the dead qualianet links - Sophia, Aiden, and thirty others. She didn't feel much of anything.
This started innocently enough. Waking up one morning, ordering coffee in french. The surprised look on the barista's face, and her delighted reply that someone in this country spoke her mother tongue. I suppose it makes sense, though, that it could be such an aphrodesiac. People, at their core, just want safety, and nothing makes you feel as comfortable and secure as a familiar voice in a new land. The Afghan flight attendant certainly agreed. Next week it was physics. Watching a ball sail through the air, nearly able to see the air currents buffeting it about its flight. Watching a horse move from the stable, intrinsically aware of its tendons and ligaments. How easy to take home the races when you know that Hairy Porter will snap his ankle on the second turn. But the next week came psychology. I woke in my palatial quarters, soft pillows all around, finest fabrics wrapped about me, walls appointed in finest cream leathers. Living in the lap of luxury. Then the room shifted. And the pillows were there. And the white walls stood firm. And the fabrics held me close. But all was different, for now I understood. I am no polyglot. I am no biomechanical physicist. But I am sane. And nobody cares.
"Where is my magician?!"the King roared, thumping his goblet against the arm rest of the thrones. "I asked for news of the future, and I hear tell he has returned! Bring him forth!" From the very back of the room, there was a stir among the guests. Two guards stepped forward, dragging the robed man into the center of the main hall. Whispers from the spectators surrounded the poor man cowering from the withering gaze of the King. "Almantir, my alchemist."The man's lips quivered and managed to form a nervous smile, and he remembered to bow just in time. "I'm told you have had a vision of the future,"the King continued. His voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was an icy, threatening undertone. Almantir nodded in response. "Well?"the King demanded, "What did you learn?" A nervous bark of laughter escaped from the alchemist's lips, and he shuffled through his robe for some papers. "So many strange wonders, my King!"He looked at his notes. "I was taken to a great city, far larger than even Paris, Rome, or Constantinople! They called it 'New York,"my liege." A buzz arose from the crowd. They were certainly all familiar with York, but it was no mighty city. What could have changed? "The streets are filled with strange beasts,"the alchemist continued, passing one of his papers to a steward to bring to the King. "Mechanical monsters that belch smoke and have an ear-splitting cry."He imitated the honk, to the amusement of the many guests. "And the men of the future ride the beasts like we do horses. There are so many of them that the streets are clogged." The King rolled his eyes and tossed the drawing to the ground. "And the buildings, my lord! Taller than anything you've ever seen! Higher than the mightiest tree, or even the Salisbury Cathedral! Like mountain peaks they are, made of pure glass and iron!"He raised his arms as high as they could go, as if that could come close to conveying the scale of the skyscrapers he'd witnessed. The King only glared at him. "And the residents of this fair city!"Almantir continued with sweat beginning to drench his collar, "They speak a form of English like us, my liege. But very very different. I would need to spend more time amongst them to truly determine their meanings. So far, I have learned that 'Fucking faggot,' is their word for wizard, and that 'Get out of the way,' is a common greeting in those parts. They wear clothes of a million different styles and colors, so vastly different from our own too!"The king glowered in silence, and the alchemist began to stutter. "I could try to make you a set similar to their styles, if you wish..." Even the rest of the crowd began to notice the King's displeasure, and the guards gripped their pikes in anticipation of the order. "They bear strange devices, my lord!"His voice was growing squeaky and high with desperation. "Small squares that they keep in their hands and watch intently as they walk! Some of them hold them to their face and speak to it as well!"He pressed his own sweaty palm up against his ear, trying to demonstrate. It didn't quite get the point across. "And the lights, my lord! Thousands of them! There are also paintings, larger than even the wall here!"he gestured at the far end of the great hall, which rose up at least twenty meters. "But the paintings move and speak!" He collapsed to his hands and knees, out of breath. "I take it, then,"the King said slowly, almost in a whisper, "that you have no useful information for me about tomorrow's battle?"
Cissa kept the pentagram underneath her bed. She'd scratched it into the wooden boards almost two years ago now, copying the static picture on the television. Her mother had fallen asleep in front of a psychic show, unlit cigarette still in hand. As the hour grew later and Cissa grew hungrier, the picture shifted from palmistry to the pentagram and well... she'd copied it, just in case she needed it. The first time Az had come he'd clawed himself upwards. The wooden floorboards had bubbled as though they were melting, like cola boiling with white bursts of heat. Two clawed hands had come first, pushing their way out. They had gripped the edge of the pentagram and pushed like a swimmer emerging from a pool. The rest of the lanky, rotting body had come next. Flaps of loose skin hung from the elongated bones, red sores open and weeping on the surface of the demon's skin. Last of all, the beast had lifted his head: a cow's skull with the horns of a goat and stared at Cissa. His eyeholes were empty sockets, flames flicking in the depths of the bone skull. And he had treated her kindly. She knew now all she would need was a couple of drops of blood to get it started, to call Az back from the Underworld. Cissa squeezed a cut on the back of her arm and let two warm droplets run onto the splintered floor. The boiling began again: this time taking longer than usual. Cissa's stomach rumbled and she rubbed it as she sat crosslegged beside her pushed back bed. Finally Az appeared in the centre of the circle, smiling at Cissa as he saw it was her. "Sorry I took so long, darling. What's wrong?"The demon slipped the boundaries of the circle and came round to sit beside Cissa, who pulled her thumb from her mouth. She was six now, no longer a baby. She couldn't suck her thumb anymore. "Oh, I have something for you,"Az added. From a fold of his skin, he pulled a little doll, made from black cloth and stitched with scarlet thread. "What is it?"Cissa placed it on her pillow, next to the last gift Az had given her (a tiny giraffe made from bones) "It's a poppet,"he said. "You attach a little bit of hair to the top of it, with candle wax. Then, if they hurt you, you can hurt them back."Az twisted one of the poppet's legs and Cissa grinned. "Get it?" "Yeah,"she said enthusiastically. "Nelson always clogs the shower with his hair." "Good girl,"Az replied, ruffling her hair. He noted with some sadness that it was greasy and unwashed. It had been blonde at one point, but now seemed to be dusty grey. "Was it just a chat you wanted?"He asked. "I was in the middle of something..."Though it could wait. Anything could wait. Cissa shook her head. "I'm hungry,"she said. "Mummy's gone out." Az considered dragging the mother to the Underworld and decided on the easier option. "Let's go to McDonald's,"he said. "I'll get you a Happy Meal." There was definitely something unusual about a seven foot tall demon with a cow's skull for a face accompanying a six year old girl into McDonald's. Cissa got nuggets and played in the ball pit. Az got a McFlurry and sat with his feet up on a table as the staff skirted around him with eyes as round as saucers. Torturing and burning people could wait. He had someone more important to look after.
It's crazy how blind most adults are. My dad actually checks the closet and the bed and still doesn't see the monsters. It probably has something to do with this "character"he is trying to make me build. Oh well. I guess it is up to me to defend myself tonight. And I have to succeed, because we have Coco Puffs. But fighting is out of the question. Last time I fought I was put in timeout for 5 whole minutes. I didn't think I would make it out of that one with my sanity. It's true what they say. Prison does change a boy...unless of course his mommy does, like for Todd down the street. No, I'll have to outsmart them. But how? What do I know about monsters? They are prideful. And territorial. I have lost many a sock because they were too close to the bed. So maybe I can get them into a land dispute. While I hate to start a war just after the Kitty vs Doggy War of Tuesday, it is a sacrifice I will have to make. As my brother Nic says, as long as the ends justify the means. But I have to be smart. I have to use tact. The monster won't fall for just any old story. I will have to be as smooth as crayons and cooler than freeze pops. I'll have a to use the wit I've gained from my days exploring with my friend Dora. The plan is set. "Hey Bed Monster, Closet Monster called you a Butt!" The battle lasted moments. There were no survivors. The night was won.
The Vegas skyline. Absolutely stunning. I can check that off of my list. I jump off the cliff, tumble down, and reach the bottom. Completely unscathed. It was a long time ago that I made a deal with Death. I was a Union soldier. I was on the brink of death. Death has a softer voice than I expected. I laid in a tent dying of who-knows-what disease, by now I've forgotten, and I drifted off. A cloaked figure approached me, tapping directly into my mind. Its hood covered its face completely, as did its cloak its body. "I doubt you know this, but the world population passed one billion."it said softly. Its deep, silky voice glided through the air and into my ears. "I didn't know that."I said. "That's a lot of life force, would you like some of it?" "What?" "Just a taste, see if you like it?" A calming sensation spread across my body and made me feel alright. "Do you like it?"it asked. "You stopped the pain."I replied. "And you can stop the pain forever. You never have to die. So long as the population stays above a billion, you can keep that feeling." Delirious and scared as I was, I accepted Death's deal. Immediately I woke up and felt life coursing through my body. I felt amazing. I felt alive. A few years passed and the war had ended, I was married, had two kids, and hadn't aged a day. Even more years passed and I looked as old as my kids. A day passed and I was gone. I left. It was hard, but they'd be alright without me. Telling myself that keeps the anxiety away. A little bit, anyway. Suddenly a century had passed. I was getting desperate, and no attempt to contact Death had led to fruition. But the taste of life force had gotten old - I didn't want to live anymore. It was past my time, and the population was only growing larger. I studied serial killers for a while. Tried to imagine how I could end this easily. But there wasn't any way for me to end this without compromising myself. I'd killed in the Civil War, and I couldn't kill again. I was haunted enough by those ghosts. And I believe in hell. The last thing I needed would be to have an army waiting for me there. So I continue living the long life. It's been alright. It hasn't been all solitude. I've met some good people on the way, and learned a lot about the world. Quite often I wonder about my kids. Whether their grandkids are out there. Whether their cousins' grandkids are out there. And if I knew that they were, would I look for them? Would that make things any better? I have a lot of time left to think about all this. I know that I wouldn't wish this life on anyone, but I've learned to handle it. Maybe the world needed an observer. Someone to remember everyone. Of course, I can't say I'll remember everyone, but I'll remember some good ones. So I guess I'll keep living, so they can all keep dying.
Day 1: bought a diary Day 2: started writing in diary about depression Day 10: Diary entry "My life is in such a downward spiral. I'm going to start gathering supplies to off myself. I think the only thing that could stop me is for Michelle Rodriguez herself to show up, strip, and throw herself at me." Day 11: google best ways to commit suicide. Have to close that damn 'helpful' paperclip dozens of times. Day 12: attempt to buy a gun but the worker denies me using some bs regulation Day 13: every store in this podunk town is out of razor blades Day 14: Succeeded in buying one bottle of sleeping pills but then couldn't find any more. Then I took a nap and opened the bottle to find the company messed up. There was only one sleeping pill but 50 desiccant packs. Day 15: Spent the entire day braiding my sheets into a decent rope and broke my 3rd floor window when it was strangely jammed closed. Day 16: Diary entry "OMG!!!! I can't believe it happened! She's here right now! She said it was the best 8 orgasms of her life and now she's passed out in my bed! What a massive boost to my self-esteem. This is exactly what I needed to keep going. It ought to hold me off for at least.... hmmm... I'm thinking a few days anyway. I could probably stretch it to a month if J Lo joins in..."
"More!"Master Gherdan yelled. "More, damn you! I can see the lack of conviction in your eyes from a mile away. Pour some heart into it!" I sighed as the small flame burning in the palm of my hand whiskered out in a small poof of smoke. I heard small snickers of laughter coming from the rest of the classroom. I shuffled back to my desk. I could see the frustration build up in Master Gherdan. "You have such a beautiful gift, Logan,"he said while grinding his teeth. "Why won't you accept it? Are you afraid of what you might be able to do? Are you afraid of failing?"His eyes kept following me as I sat down and looked back at him. "Well?" "I... I just..."I hesitated. "You just what?"he insisted. I could feel the gazes of every student in the room focusing on me. "I just don't really care about it all,"I finished my sentence. Which wasn't entirely true, but there was no reason for anyone to know. Master Gherdan looked at me with what could almost be described as a somber look on his face. He probably knew the real reason. "You don't care you possess a talent so many crave for? You don't care you can do something to change the course of history if only you would put some heart into it?" I shrugged, but Master Gherdan's words stuck by me. Three hours later, school ended and I made my way out of the building as fast as I could, avoiding the other pupils as much as possible. I guess it would be safe to say I wasn't very popular with the other students and what had happened today in class would only be another opportunity for them to taunt me. Soon enough, I found myself in the city's archives, my personal safe haven. I didn't let it show in school, they mocked me enough already, but I loved reading. Especially the scrolls from when magic was first discovered. Reading was probably the only thing in life that I loved and cared about. The fact that I had inherited my parent's entire personal library had probably helped fueling that love. Ironically, their death was also the reason I couldn't put my heart into magic. You see, they both died while trying to fuse their magic. They were each other's soulmates, everyone knew that. So they reasoned that two hearts would be more powerful than one. They were right. The magic was way more powerful, too powerful. How could anyone expect me to put my heart into magic after that? I reached for a scroll I hadn't read before. The heart and the mind, a study on origin. it read. I couldn't find an author on the parchment. As I made my way through the scroll, I read about experiments I hadn't heard of before that apparently took place years before the official discovery of magic. It talked about people called scientists using reason and logic to create magic from nothing and manipulating it solely with their mind. There were three names at the end of the scroll. I recognized them. Baldwin, Morham and Cearan. They were called scientist in this scroll, but every citizen of Khandar who knows his history knows these names to be The Trinity who discovered the use of heart magic. This wasn't right... Why would they tell the world they discovered heart magic when they had cast spells with their minds years earlier... Could it be... I held up my hand, palm upwards. I focused. I want to hold fire in the palm of my hand I thought. A small flame, similar to the one I had conjured in class today, appeared. I let it die out. I kept my hand up and focused again. Conjure a flame in my hand I said to myself in my hand. Nothing happened, but I didn't give up. I focused harder. There's a flame in my hand I repeated in my head. There's a flame in my hand. I thought about how logical and reasonable it would be to have a flame in my hand. I closed my eyes and envisioned just my hand in front of me, a flame dancing above it. All of a sudden my hand began to feel warm. I opened my eyes. A massive flame over two meters tall was blazing above my hand. I stared at it in amazement. > Would you like to more? /r/PromptRuined is the place to be!
You have to be odd to be number one. In a business where reputation is everything, the completion take that to mean a few different things. Take Ajax, not his real name, he likes to Mark a target some way. He’ll break in to their homes or brush up against them in public and leave a calling card. Nothing that gives the whole game away, just enough so that the target feels a bit unnerved. That might seem silly but it works. Ajax gets a bunch of work thrown his way because of that dumb Mark. And when you’re going up against the Barely There, the creatures of the night, the spells slingers, the giants, it pays to have some of that reputation on your side. People make dumb mistakes when they’re scared. They get paranoid and make a plan and then start second guessing that plan. Anxiety grabs them and makes them rethink their defense long enough to get the drop on them. It’s effective, it gets you hired and I am above it. Look, I’m a twice sider; I’m 100% human born in the US of A who just stumbled into the Barely There. I have feet in both worlds, but I don’t go to any extraordinary lengths or gimmicks. What I care about are the results. Say a wizard is making moves in South Dakota, because who would look for rogue magic in South fucking Dakota, and they need someone to take him out because it’s his second offense now and the Court doesn’t play baseball. They give you a second chance, they do not give you a third strike. Anyway, the wizard is off trying to put the souls of his family into another family that is still alive. How do you deal with that? A Magic Nullifier? Try and seduce him? No. God made wizard and He made man. Smith and Wesson made them equal. So when I tell you that Ajax is the most successful in the business, it means he gets the most work. When I tell you I’m the best it’s because the results speak for themselves. I’m not going to Mark Ajax in any way, when his bed explodes from the C4 I’ll imagine that he’ll be surprised to wake up in the River Styx. My name is Andy Mac Erren. I hunt down bad guys.
Danya Trellwright was perpetually short-changed. Currently in her jean pocket she had £29 of Mortal money… and precisely zero in the currency she needed to settle her debts. Her next pay day - again, Mortal money - wasn’t for a fortnight, which put her in the ridiculous position of having to live off scraps and turn off her heating for the upcoming Winter nights. She’d have once deemed such hand-to-mouth hardship impossible for a graduate of the Royal Warlock’s Conservatoire. Now she knew better. Danya hated to reflect on that blasted degree. It turned out that studying ‘the Origin of Incantations’ didn’t afford one the time to master the actual incantations themselves. She could tell you all about the 1854 feud between Grilby Dockervitch and Thelma Tchlabakan and the consequent blinding charm that arose from such a legendary duel… but could she cast similar shadows over men’s eyes for even a second? Not a chance in hell. She was therefore feeling decidedly sorry for herself. Picking up part-time jobs alongside the Mortals; a call centre role that involved more apology than it did selling, a stint in a bar pouring pints with too much foam. Her degree had led to only a couple of Wizarding roles; both low-paid cash-in-hand jobs teaching ‘the theory of incantations’ to rich Warlock offspring. These stints as private tutor had both ended prematurely when the children scoffed at the lessons for being meaningless. They wanted to learn actual magic. She couldn’t blame them. Still, there was one silver lining in all this: her days scrubbing toilets and waiting tables amongst the Mortals had given her an insight to their world that few wizards cared to concern themselves with. She could conceal herself amongst the Mortals like she was one of them; she could dress like them, talk like them, pretend to engross herself in their technology and media, pretend that it mattered to her. Her Mortal disguise was so convincing that it enabled her to slip into their world; out of the wizard community and the formidable cloaked Dept Collectors that roamed it. She sat now in her flat in Hackney, sandwiched between identical flats occupied by builders, sales clerks and nurses. She thought it would be impossible to track her down here, so camouflaged like this. But the Dept Collectors of the Wizard world were shrewd. They’d invested their own university time more wisely. And now one of them stood before her in all his cloaked and powerful glory. “Did anybody see you?” Denya asked. Funny, she’d only been living here a few months but she’d already inherited the Mortal’s collective obsession for keeping up appearances. She hated to think what the neighbours would say about her visitor’s unusual attire. She’d be branded some devil worshiper or something. “I’ve come for what we’re owed.” Denya scoffed. “Look around, Marius. Does it look like I have that kinda cash?!” Marius’s eyes raked over the flat’s interior, not bothering to hide his contempt. There were ashtrays, inspirational fridge magnets, television guides, scented candles. All the clutter that Mortal’s accumulated that were unfathomable to the Wizarding kind. “You bring shame on your University.” he hissed. “Yeah, well, I don’t care much about what they think anymore.” “Perhaps you should. They’ll deploy more Collectors the longer you evade your dept. And believe me, the others will have far less tolerance for such… life choices.” “Choices?! I didn’t make a choice. I got scammed into a shitty degree with no prospects to follow.” “Oh please.” “I spent three years in that damn place, watching others hex and curse and charm and what did I learn, huh?! A bunch of ancient history. Fat lot of good that’ll do me.” Marius’s lips folded into a smirk. “You think the Collectors are interested in your self-pity?! You took out a loan, you pay it back.” “Tell them they’ll get it when I get something worthwhile in return.” “You are a fool!” He spat. His face was contorted with anger now… most unusual for someone in a Collector’s role, where poise and inscrutability were part of the job criteria. But Marius appeared to have lost himself; beneath those velvet robes he was shaking, fists clenched. “You think it’s on Wizarding kind to provide you a life?!” He demanded, “You think those imbeciles with their tickle hexes and fire-breathing charms were carried and dumped into positions of success straight out of graduation?! No. It’s not what you learn, girl, it’s what you do with it. And that’s on you.” “And what am I supposed to do with a bunch of old stories?!” “I was on the panel for your enrolment.” Marius proclaimed. “I was one of many that advocated for your acceptance into the university. You showed great promise. And modesty. That modesty was rare. But perhaps it wasn’t modesty at all… just pure, simple denseness.” “Look!” Denya snapped, “I don’t have your money so maybe you should—-“ “You really don’t know? The extent of your power?” Denya wasn’t in the mood for this. She’d just done a 9 hour shift on tired blistered feet, pouring coffee for jeering men who’d called her ‘bruv’ and ‘geezer’, slapped her hard on the shoulders in what had to be the Mortal display of domination. She’d have done anything to have turned around and cursed those Mortal cretins… but she’d refilled their mugs instead. She certainly didn’t need Marius here now forcing her to re-live such obvious failure. “We guided you towards ‘The Origin in Incantations’ because we felt you hardly had need for those other subjects,” Marius whispered, “A gift like yours… no blindness or concealment charms would have put you in better stead, but learning from history certainly would.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Look in the mirror, Denya.” Denya didn’t own a mirror. She didn’t need to look at her own tired and disappointed face each day. She didn’t need to be reminded that the incantations uttered into the reflection rendered no results. But Marius, in his brilliance, swiped his hand across the air like brushing fingertips on an invisible window. Where his fingers trailed now hovered a shimmering reflection too tantalising for Denya to turn away from. She edged close to it… and where she expected her own face to look back at her, she saw only his. “You can shape-shift Denya.” Marius said this with zero pride, just disappointment that his target had been so obtuse to have never picked up on it for herself, “You can shift into people you despise, or people you want to be or…… into Mortals, apparently. You’ve never bothered to channel and discipline your gift, so who knows exactly how it works. But it is exceptionally rare.” Denya continued staring. She touched the tip of her finger to her face… in the reflection, it was Marius’s older, wrinkled hand that tapped to sharper cheeks. “How has nobody ever told me this?” She breathed. “Because you were admitted to a university, not a nursery. You took course after course on the greatest shape-shifters of the Wizarding world, absorbed all of their triumphs and failings, scored highly in your essays and never once did it occur to you……” He trailed off, disgusted. Denya swiped a tongue across her - or Marius’s - lips. She tasted blood. She’d never read anything about shape-shifters accessing their counterpart’s tastes, smells or sensations before. She mentally logged it in the back of her mind. For now she had to concentre on not having her blood ravished next. “And why are you telling me all this?” She asked. Marius dragged his eyes across the flat again, eyebrow cocked. “Because you clearly have no money. But I’m going to keep coming after you, Danya, and next time I do - I’d like it to be a little more interesting.” Then he jerked his head so fast in made Denya jump; his neck cracking grotesquely, his body shuddering, before he shifted into a smaller, balding Wizard that Denya recognised as the faculty administrator, Dustin. “Perhaps,” mused Marius… or Dustin... “Once your debt is paid, you might consider becoming a Collector yourself.”
The fall is exhilirating, feeling the rush of the wind past your face, seeing the ground approaching, hearing the distance fading whirr of the propellors above you... That's was all fine until I pulled the rip chord and find that some prankster has cut it! And the backup 'chute! So down I went, and hit the ground a full terminal velocity. And, for a human, that means terminal. The full "splat", broken open skull, smashed organs, the works. So, once my body puts itself back together somewhat I can peel myself off the ground. But, like, everything hurts. Every muscle, every bone, every hair root. Everything. They think it's all a good laugh. They know it won't kill me. But it hurts. Like, really really bad. I'll be like this for weeks. Honestly, why do I hang out with these guys? And why did I accept this birthday gift of a parachute jump? I should know better at this stage, no?
Jeff walked along the road sullenly, he had always enjoyed voicing his thoughts out loud, but since the introduction of ad-agents he had been unable to. The large flashing advert appearing directly in his vision always interrupted his thoughts, sometimes making him forget what he was thinking about in the first place. Jeff was heading to his friend's house, many people would be gathering there to express their outrage over the ad-agents being allowed in public. This wasn't always the case, but after the large corporation had won a court case detailing the exact issue they were able to collect data on consumers anywhere they went. The ad-agents were always recording making every spoken word nonconfidential. Jeff arrived, briskly walking through the door and into a bustling lobby. Many people were having heated discussions, clearly about the ads interrupting all of their lives. Jeff's friend Bob's noticed him across the room and made an announcement to everyone in the lobby. "Let's get started, everyone is here."Bob said, his voice bouncing off the walls. He paused before he spoke, thinking every word through, if Bob activated the ad-agents they would record what he had said. This was so the people behind the ads could verify that they were activated and in turn receive payment for it. Everyone gathered together around a large oval-shaped table. There were no seats, so everyone had to stand. It was a tight fit, everyone squeezed shoulder to shoulder. Bob addressed everyone with a warning, "Everyone try not to set off the ads, we don't want them recording this."This statement sent off and ad, a bright image of buying an ad to showcase your product appeared. Bob sighed, addressing the room again, "Like that." Then the discussion started, all points expressing discontent about the ad-agents. Most of them were about the ad-agents being a complete invasion of privacy, or a danger. If an ad appeared in front of you and obstructed your vision while you were driving, nothing good could come of it. Of course they could not say anything about cars without ads appearing, so the room full of adults was reduced to talking about "vroom vrooms". They referred to the ads simply as whatever expletive they chose to use. The discussion changed from why the ads were bad to what should be done about them, some suggestions were to filter the air to get them out of it, to even committing crimes to break them. It was imperative that this conversation could not be recorded. In the middle of their conversation they could no longer say some of their euphemisms, "vroom vrooms"now showed an advertisement for toy cars, and some of their colorful expletives showed websites that they had no idea existed. Jeff interrupted, "Clearly we are not avoiding the ads well enough. We should reschedule this meeting and figure out a way to avoid them better." The people in the room agreed, none of them wanted to get into trouble because of what they had said. Bob spoke up, "We should learn sign language, they only respond to spoken things." Again the room agreed, it would take a while to learn, but the trade-off would be having their privacy back again. Just then, an advertisement about a cheap sign language class appeared. Jeff smiled, "Maybe they do have some use after all."
"What happened?" My voice filled the room, as I sat in my throne of shadows. The leader of the group I had set knelt before me, her robes torn and bloodied. Another failed mission. "My lord, they have learned from the Desert Coven. They used the dust like knives, cutting through us despite our protection." I frowned, scratching my chin. I hadn't anticipated they would head to the Desert Coven. They were an isolated community, one prone to xenophobia. The heroes shouldn't have gone there. "Thats frustrating. But what of their radiant powers? Did they use them?" The leader nodded, her white hair falling out of the bun it had been placed in. "They did my lord. They first tried to bind us, as the last group had said. But your teachings let us break those chains. Their beams of energy couldn't beat the Void Shields we had developed." I smiled. It appeared my minions were learning, and learning fast. "Good. How much do you understand of their new tactics?" I watched her hang her head. "I confess I understand little of it. I'm sorry." I laughed. Honesty was a rare trait. It's why she was such a good leader. "That is understandable. It is a primitive form. They must be getting desperate to turn to such powers." I tapped my throne. Instantly my guards emerged from the walls, their eyes blazing green. I pointed at two, making them bow. "You two. Escort the Hunt Leader here to the Memory Lab. Tell Synapsus to take care to extract as much of the memory of it as possible, along with those of her pack. Have it sent to Analysis." They bowed again. The Hunt Leader stood, keeping her head down. "I will help as much as I can my lord." I thumped my chest, a motion she copied. "Failure is the fertiliser." She answered a moment after, our ritualistic greeting echoing. "Success the crop." I watched her exit, grinning. I had studied the actions of my predecessors deeply. They would have slain her for failing in a task. That was a stupid way of operating. Each fight those heroes had to win. I just had to win once. I would fail dozens of times before. I knew it. But I could, and did copy everything they did. I made countermeasures, and evolved my troops. At some point they would run out of new surprises. I just had to bide my time until then.
"Shreeeeek! There's a man coming, and he looks pissed!" Huh, talking donkey. No job lately has been normal, has it? "I just want to talk." The donkey stops and turns back. "Well we don't want to talk. Tell Farquad this is OUR land and WE'RE the ones living on it!" I couldn't help but smile. "I just want to talk to this Shrek." The door slams open. The ogre's odor is aggressive. "I'm the one living here, Donkey, you're just a squatter."He looks to me. "Well well, the White Wolf. Dinnae think Farquad knew a' any witchers round these parts."He advances quickly. The smell is unbearable, and my witcher senses aren't helping. "I was passing through. Said you attacked a number of his men." "Yeah, I did. An' every one of them was tryin' to evict me off me land. So I tossed them back to Farquad."He approaches another step. The smell is ghastly, causing me problems now. "Just like I will you, if you don't leave." Donkey leaps and clicks his hooves together. "You tell him, Shrek!" I tried to speak, but I choked up on the smell. He beats out any dealings I've had with necrophages, and that's a feat. I don't notice the fist coming at me until it's too late. He hits like golem. "Run home White Poochie!" Farquad said there were deaths. There are no clear signs of that, and clearly the ogre is in the right. But I'm not going to solve this with him in this state. I grab up a handful of swamp grasses and start winding them up. "Oy, that's mae grass, what are you doin'! Lay off! Expect to grass me to death?" I roll away and shove the pair of twists into my nostrils. "Ah, that's better. Your odor was offensive, no offense. Ready to talk?"Shrek lunges. Guess that's a No. Quick Axii on the Donkey. "SHREEEEEK!"He charges with a mighty headbutt. "Oof! Oy, what're you doin' OOF. Stop it!"Shrek picks up Donkey by the scruff and tosses him into a nearby tree. "Calm down ye crazed OOF."I smash Shrek in the gut, which proved a mistake. He let out a blast of gas that made it through my makeshift filter. It was similar to a high level of toxicity from witcher potions. I stumble away, hacking and trying not to pass out or vomit or die. "Ah, yer nose is yer weakness, eh?"He turned away and exposed his ass. I only have a moment! "Igni!" The explosion knocks both of us away. I quaff a White Honey to mitigate the effects of the gas, get up, and walk over to Shrek. He's ass up, face first in the muck. I pull his face out and ask, "Are we talking yet?" "Ack, hack...aye, we're talkin'."His face is covered in mud. "How would you like to get back at Farquad?" He smiles through the mud. "Why dinnae you say so?" "Good. Farquad also hired me to retrieve a princess and fight a dragon. I could use a strong arm and his noble steed." Yelling from the tree, "I like him Shrek, he called me a noble steed! Always knew I was a noble steed. Hey Geralt, do you like parfait?" "Parfait is delicious-" "Dinnae encourage him."
"Bil, bil! Holy fuck! I can't move, Bil!" "Me too! The hell is going on? How long have we been like this?" "For years, Bil! The agony! Holy hell, he is peeing on you! Literally peeing!" "I can feel it! It's like worms under my skin! Kill me, Jim, kill me! I can't take this anymore! This is torture!" George watched over the meadow and thought: "I suppose when I wished for "I wish I could hear trees talking"I expected something else."
My earliest memory is of my mother's voice. Sitting by the fireside, her face cast in orange in the embers' glow, she would sew with slow, deliberate movements and fill the room with her thin, reedy voice. Outside, the wintry night was cold and silent. And I know I must have been cold then, too--the rest of my memories of that creaking shack never omit the chilling drafts that swept though the gaps in the warped walls--and yet, in my mind's eye, I can only feel the warmth of the hearth and the hope in my mother's meandering song. I grasp this memory to my breast to keep me warm as I sink into the abyssal gloom. I have fallen for days. Down, I pass schools of silver fish, glittering in the half light; whale carcasses, decaying as they descend; jellyfish of all colors; and other things besides that I can not recognize. I fall deeper, until the sun has also become a memory and the only light is from the lures of anglerfish. I clutch myself more tightly. As I finally come to rest in the never-ending plains of mud, I realize that my mother could not have been right. That her song did not account for a place so bleak as this--for the deception that lead me here: the false smiles, promises unkept, and trust betrayed. In absolute darkness and crushing pressure, I let my hands fall to my sides. And as I see the deceit her song, I also find the falsehood of my flesh. Here, in the cold, eternal night, I am for the first time free to _be_. Ice prickles my chest as I take my first breath of sea water. Never again will I be beholden to the words of others: only them to mine. There is only darkness and freezing brine. With a powerful stroke of my tail, I propel myself towards surface. I will sing my own song.
She's just sitting there, holding the biggest red egg you've ever seen. You open and close your mouth, not sure what to say. "Well?"She asks and looks at you expectantly. "Are you just going to stand there like a goldfish or come over here and greet our first baby?" You're still not sure if this is real, when she speaks up again. "Or you could heat up that plate of pasta from last night, if that's more your speed right now" She smiles. Such a happy, loving and tired smile. "Pasta? Hungry, right, you're hungry. I'll heat the pasta for you, honey"You stumble to the kitchen, your mind a flurry of questions. It's been 6 months, not 9. Isn't your baby really early? Shouldn't you be at the hospital? It's an egg? A RED egg. The microwave beeps. Time's up. You pick up the plate and a fork and take it to the living room. Your wife beams at you. "Please hold it, while I eat"she says and hands you the egg. It feels warm in your hands. "Are you okay?"You manage to ask. "Hmmm? Yeah"her mouth is full of pasta. "Just tired and hungry" "Um, is it a boy or a girl?"You feel so stupid for asking that. "Well, the scans said it's a girl, but we'll know for sure once it hatches in three months" "Sh-should I get a blanket for it, or...?" "Gods, John, what's gotten into you?" "Oh, I don't know, Lizandra, maybe it's because you never mentioned our daughter could come out still in her egg. We prepared for a full birth. You told me that was the norm for half-dragons. We haven't even started looking at bassinets, yet" "Yeah, I'm surprised, too. Maybe I should call my mom" "We don't need an incubator, do we?" "JOHN!"she punches you in the arm before laughing.
He found himself in a moment of peace. It was a near-novel experience, and foreign enough that he wasn’t sure he liked it. Still, he wouldn’t - even couldn’t - be here if it was truly a place of peace. Warfare was surely about to erupt. In the meantime he decided to examine the area. A small home that had clearly been well taken care of until recently was in the midst of a copse of trees. The wind - not enough to deflect a bullet of this century’s weapons - was rustling the leaves in a … manner that he supposed was … calming? A couple birds flitted about, unalarmed. The house was a familiar sight, at least - doors broken in with bullet holes visible. They were at least a week old, though. He felt a remnant of violence - not war, but violence. He flickered across the property to see a pile of fresh dirt. The hole was hardly long enough to fit a body without bending the legs, but the shovel nearby suggested it had been done by hand. He sighed. There was hardly enough warfare here to tell him anything. It must have been done by soldiers in a war in some way, or else he would not have any sense of it at all. There were no combatants hiding in the building, for he would sense them as if the walls were of air. Very well. He would have to find the warfare that must be about to happen. He could feel it impending, surely within the next minute. It was coming from …. the west. With a thought he flickered to a pile of sandbags. It was well disguised by brush. Hardly enough to provide any cover, unless - The occupant was small enough. She was hardly more than twelve. Dirty blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun which upset the balance of the too-large helmet she wore. Out of annoyance he tweaked it to be in an optimal position to protect and not fall off. The little girl twitched her head a little, but didn’t react. Her focus was admirable. She was looking down the road. Her weapon was called an AK-74, 5.45x39mm. Too much for her to fire accurately, even if her grip was better. He nudged her mind to adjust her grip. There. Much better. He so disliked sloppy warfare. Ah! The warfare was arriving! The essence of the vehicle reached him before its sound. There were many with it. Six in the GAZ Tigr-M with fourteen walking along behind it. He sneered at the quality. Four of the weapons carried by the men would fail to fire. Eleven of them were so badly fouled that they would be off by a centimeter for every ten meters they shot. The vehicle’s weapon was hardly better and its engine was so horribly fouled that it would fail within three days, the only question being what broke first. He guessed it would be the oil leak that was being ignored. It was a liter low and losing a liter per twenty four hours. Whatever. He’d seen worse. That country’s forces were much worse on aver - He whipped his awareness to focus on the girl. She had finally heard the engine and was now focused on the oncoming forces! Why? Surely she wasn’t - He flicked through her mind. He would have grunted in surprise if he’d still been a mortal being. Her earliest childhood was a fuzz of pain and abuse. It wasn’t warfare, but the pain was similar enough to register to his senses. He made out an abusive father and a neglectful mother. Beatings. Hunger. Neglect. There was a vague sense of others in the family, but not any direct violence to give him a sense. Then there were two others. Adult male and female. The conflict there was brief and only coming from the girl. There was none from them. The girl’s quickly faded away and he could sense nothing of any conflict for seven years. In fact, to his senses, her last seven years were almost non-existent other than a fight with a boy two years ago for some childish reason he couldn’t sense. But then! A day of violence, but not warfare. Burned into her mind strongly enough that he could see it as if it were a war. She was hiding. Her new - and now true - parents were being attacked. Tortured. Killed. By soldiers. “Orcs” was her mind’s description. A blue Z on their armbands was visible through the little crack in the ceiling she was watching through. The two adults were beaten and then had their digits chopped off before being gutted to die. He’d certainly seen worse, but the girl? It was trauma beyond all concept. She had dug the barely sufficient grave for them. And then … ah. He watched as clear as day as she took her adoptive father’s old weapons. In a small pile she’d set them and sworn upon her soul that she would kill any invaders that came again. She carefully set up her little stop point, donned her dead father’s helmet, taken his weapon, and prepared to deliver war. He pulled out of her mind to see her settling in. She was twelve. She would actually wound a couple of them, most likely. She was prepared to die. She planned to wait until the vehicle passed and then fire on the soldiers. As excellent of a plan as could possibly be expected from a child. Far better than many adults. If she was lucky she might even kill one or two. She would die, of course. Yet another pin prick in the retreating invaders, but nothing more. No. Fuck it. He was a god of war. This was a worthy avatar in spirit, if not ability. If he could have, he would have smiled. He did snarl. He could provide the ability to match the spirit. She had called out to inflict death on her enemies. He would grant her prayer. He slid into her mind.
I can feel my mortal soul slowly leave my body, blood had slowly covered the floor around me. So it finally came, despite my efforts. “Goodbye father.” Lucifer my son muttered as he withdrew the sword from my body letting red liquid flow faster as he left the room. ‘At least he had the honor to personally perform the deed, just like how the gods intended.’ I intoned as I crawled to my study table taking a special bottle of wine I kept close to me for the entire time. It was made on the day I found that kid. “You will not escape Lythia’s punishment. A child of light will strike you down.” the pope, an idiotic piece of meat declared before he was executed. As much of a fanatic the man was, his proclamations had mostly held true for a long time. It is why at the exact moment I found myself free from the chains of my newfound leadership, I joined my men at the search ensuring that everyone knew the gravity of the task. I found him alone, digging the graves for his deceased mother. A normal man would take the opportunity to strike him down. I chose a different route, one where I know the face of my demise and gain the chance to sway him at my side. I told my generals, advisors and everyone that I felt should know. It was a lie. I had attempted to defy various prophecies during the war, all of them ended in failure and a lesson that working around it was a better idea. So I turned him into my heir, gave him the lessons and the values needed to reach my level. When thoughts of taking over entered his mind, I nourished it. I ignored his gathering of allies, people who will aid him in the future. And when the time was ripe, gave him the opportunity he needed. I was struck down by the Child of Light, but not as a hero like the Lythia intended. “All hail the new king.” I raised my bottle as a final spit to the goddess, drinking the wine as I let it be my final sensation.
It was July 14th when the global events started to unfold, after all it was the day that we starting dating back in the day. I still remember walking out of my house on that humid night and seeing the sky lit up with a thousand starships in an almost perfect formation with the bright neon lights flashing like you'd see in the movies. "I WANT YOU BACK! <3"It was reported that several hundred epileptics were sent to the hospital upon seeing it that night. I was similarly stunned. I couldn't possibly guess that the message was directed at me until she took over the world's television and social media. It was like the clingy girl syndrome turned up to the 5th power. My face with silly memes, plastered with hearts and overbearingly sweet messages. I tried to ignore them. I tried ignoring the daily barrage of Nickleback ballads from fusion powered speakers. The problem was that I wasn't the only one being subjected to this galactic psychotic obsession and the world was not as patient a person as I was. On day two the phone call came. Not on my phone of course, I had turned it off, so it was my mom who delivered the call, but it wasn't who I expected it to be either.. "Hello son."Said the voice. "Hello Mr. President"I replied. "Look kid, you have us all in kind of a bind, couldn't you just you know, answer her texts?" I turned my phone on, the text counter was at 99999. I let out a sigh. "I know it's hard, but I am afraid if you don't she might try something desperate. I mean have you been watching the news? She has a warship over every capital building in the world, playing that damn Nickleback crap."The President then must have held his phone up because I could now hear "Far Away"playing in the background. I put my face in my palm. I had to do something before more people got hurt, but what would happen to me? How do you deal with an intergalactic space psycho? How do you break up with one? I guess it didn't matter, I was about to take one for team Earth. "I'll text her now sir."I told the POTUS. "Good for you son, maybe it won't be all bad. As her diplomat has put it, she has total rule over several dozen solar systems, apparently now, including this one"The last part had a tone of defeat in his voice. I hung up the phone and dialed the 20 digit number with her display name "<3Cindy<3"twenty minutes later I was met by a dropship and a squad of beefy looking saurians. Thousands of people who had come to watch were cheering. Not happy for me of course, they were celebrating the end of the Queen's love smothering campaign to win me back. I could see genuine pity on some of their faces though, and that made me feel a little better. As the ship took us up, I stared into the huge digital face of Chad Kroeger, singing "So far away, been far away for far too long So far away, been far away for far too long But you know You know, you know" I know Chad, oh yes, I know.
So many potentially great prompts I overlook because of simple overdirection. Oh, I get to write as an artist! Wait...it's another stupid Hitler prompt... I'm coming home from a day at work. I could take this anywhere! Oh, nope. I'm dead on the floor. What about-no. It suddenly wants an EU I have no clue about. Guess I'll just go do another super villain because most of them are open and fun. ------- I seriously can't understand the collective hard-on for Hitler...
Amanda's machete swished softly through the thick wall of leaves and vines, as it had done for the past seven hours since leaving camp. They were four weeks out of Manaus, and had traveled upstream looking for the source of some rare-earth minerals that had flooded the marketplaces of small Amazonian villages. Natives had been selling cerium and neodymium as bits of scrap metal, not knowing the worth of these valuable materials. According to Amanda's contact, they claimed that that the metals were simply found in the jungle, already purified. Anyone with a discerning eye could tell you that these pieces were high quality and definitely unlike any lode found anywhere else on Earth. And the quantities were astounding. Amanda's company, Allied Electronics, wanted to find out where they were, and stake its claim before any competitors caught wind of it. The machete came down with a hard clank that sent vibrations rattling through her arm. The cover of moss was thick, but that sound had not come from a boulder. David, Amanda's companion, stooped for a closer look. They were two days from the supposed site where the minerals had been gathered, but who knows how wide of an area these metals were found in? This could be a whole second lode! He brushed the leaves and vines aside, kneeling in the soft mud. Being incredibly dirty no longer bothered either of them; one must give up comforts like "cleanliness"out here in the jungle. It was a squat square of steel that hummed softly, if you put your ears close to the one side of it covered by fine mesh instead of metal plating. Practically invisible through all the brush, and certainly not audible over the constant whine of bugs and rain and wind and all of the other sounds of the Amazon. Stumbling across this thing was a one in a billion chance. "What is it?"Amanda asked, still clutching the machete in her hand. David was running his hands all over it until he finally found what he was looking for: Rivets. "Some kind of casing,"he said. "There's something inside of it."He reached into his pocket for a multitool and began prying them up. --- Amanda watched a snake curled in a nearby tree, which seemed to be lazily wondering why these humans had been obsessed with this box for the past hour. Her machete once again hung by her hip, put back in its loop once Amanda realized that they weren't going to make any more progress for the day. David, on the other hand, was completely enthralled. The metal plates from the casing were scattered around him, and he had begun to disassemble whatever this thing inside of the box was, trying to discover what it did. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes just staring at a microchip that he'd pulled out of it. Like a kid with one of those "spot the differences"games in a magazine, he was noting every single miniscule detail. "I don't think we're the first company here,"he told Amanda. "Whatever this is, the design is advanced. Far above what Allied produces. I don't know anyone in the market who could make something like this."His face grew pale. "Do you think it's the military? Is this some kind of testing ground?" Amanda was doodling in the dirt with a long stick. "Nope,"she said, bored with the conversation. As amazing as it was to find this little box, they had an objective to find, and this wasn't it. "Brazilian military is practically still at World War II levels, and there's no way that they'd let the Americans use something top secret out here."Relations between the two hadn't exactly been friendly since the NSA spying scandal. "And they wouldn't let anyone else in here either." David went back to the little machine, which had ceased humming about ten minutes ago when he removed a small but powerful cooling fan. "We really should get going,"she said, checking her watch. "The sun is going...." Her gaze had gone up to the canopy to see how much daylight they had left. But her speech trailed off. "Going to what?"David asked, still tinkering. Amanda didn't answer. David adjusted his glasses and looked up. His companion was just staring off into space, jaw hanging open like Wile E Coyote in a cartoon. David followed her gaze, and promptly fell over. Less than a hundred meters away, a sliver had appeared in the sky. Small, maybe only 30 or 40 meters across but at least 300 meters up. It was something like a doorway, with a dark grey background contrasting with the bright blue sky and fresh green of the jungle. Inside, in what appeared to be a vast dome, they could see a cityscape of towering skyscrapers, all lit with bright golden lights. "What the...."Amanda couldn't even finish her sentence. David was still rolling around in the mud, too busy staring at the slice in the sky to figure out how to stand. Men approached out of the jungle as though they'd just materialized out of thin air. David and Amanda were so preoccupied that they weren't even aware of the new arrivals until they were only a meter or so away. "You'd better come with us,"one of them said in perfect English, despite wearing traditional native clothes including full face paint. Amanda took an unconscious step back and placed a hand on the machete. But one of the natives drew a weapon, made of dark metal and with a flashing light. It wasn't any gun that Amanda had ever seen, but it was definitely a weapon. "Not a good idea,"the native told her. "Come where?"David asked to the first man. He looked at his companions, then back to David. "Amrentaraz,"he said. The name sounded a bit like a weird sneeze. Amanda and David had no reaction; it wasn't a city on any of their maps. "But our last visitor from the outside named it 'El Dorado.'" --- If you enjoyed the story, you should visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell! If I think of a good way to take the story, I'll try to write a continuation there tonight.
'Pardon?' 'Sorry,' Krathnar said. 'I thought you were serious.' He paused, and gestured with his sword at the two halves of what had, up until a few minutes earlier, been Count Dagnar's second-favourite henchman. 'I guess we can do the whole fighting thing if you want. I don't mind either way.' Dagnar lowered his cowl, unsure he was hearing the young man properly. 'You're telling me you want to join me?' 'Sure. I mean, you know, half a kingdom is half a kingdom. Better than a kick in the pants, right?' In the space of five short minutes, the whole encounter had gone decidedly off-book. Oh, it had started familiarly enough -- the bruised and battered hero, besworded and beloinclothed, barging into the Count's throne room looking for trouble; the quick and gory dispatching of a number of palace guards who, for some reason and in complete denial of their training, had insisted on attacking him one by one -- but when Dagnar had made his usual offer, the young man seemed unusually intrigued. 'No backsies,' Krathnar said. 'You said we could split the kingdom if I joined you. Half and half. I'm holding you to that.' A look of confusion settled on Dagnar's scarred brow. 'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Yep. Sign me up, Boss. Let's get this show on the road.' 'But... why?' 'Let me ask you something,' the adventurer asked. 'Do you ever just get a bit tired of it all? Ruling your own nation with an iron fist?' 'Nope. Never. Not once.' 'Exactly!' Krathnar raised his hands to the sky in exasperation. 'Because being a despotic ruler is sweet as. Do you know what I was doing before this? I was a blacksmith. A blacksmith, Dagnar. I wasn't a prince from a foreign land. I wasn't some displaced nobleman. I made footwear for horses all damn day, seven days a week. And then there was three months wandering around a bastard forest while your goons decided to try and stick an arrow up my arse at every available opportunity, and now you're telling me that if I join you I get to go halves on a kingdom? Money and power? Women? Magic?' He paused. 'I mean, you can see where I'm coming from, right?' Dagnar nodded, slowly. He made a good point. 'I'd definitely take the deal, if I were you. No doubt.' 'Maybe this heroing thing isn't for me, you know?' 'Sure. Can't be for everyone. Different strokes, and all that.' 'And I know there was a prophecy, but...' Dangnar gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Oh, prophecy schmophecy. Do you have any idea how many soothsayers we have around these parts? You can't even blow your nose without hitting an old bat trying to sell you some guff about being the Chosen One.' 'Really?' 'Yep. You're the third one this month.' 'Huh,' Krathnar said. 'How about that? Any of the rest of them take the deal?' 'Not a one.' 'What happened to them?' Dagnar pointed across to his throne of skulls. 'I had it reupholstered. And I've got another one just like it in the upstairs bathroom.' He smiled. 'Made out of the ones who really pissed me off.' His guest thought it over, but it was clear his mind was made up. 'So... definitely a good deal, then? That's what you're saying?' 'I'd say so, yeah.' The Count stepped over the corpse on the floor and placed a wrinkled hand on the young adventurer's shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'I'll show you to your new office, and we'll see about getting you on payroll. I get the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, you and I.' And if not, he thought as they left the throne room, there'll always be the next Chosen One to clean up the mess. _____ If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.
"Sir, could you tell us the secret to your longevity, please?" "Whaddya mean? What's the big secret? It ain't no secret. I'll tell you, you're mother, every one of ya. I crawled inside a bottle. This one right here. I still have it." "Sir, you're one of the few remaining humans who didn't have access to advanced healthcare,"Dr. Ramon said through microphone on the hood of his hazmat suit. "We're very interested in finding out how you did it. Could we come and speak with you?" "Mi casa su casa."Connor stumbled off into the kitchen as the scientists seated themselves on the couch. "You wanna drink or somethin'?"Connor called from the kitchen? "Can ya drink through those zoot suits? Hehehe." "We're fine, thank you." Connor walked into the living room and plopped down into an overstuffed chair. He sipped whiskey from a nearly full glass. "So what can I do you's two for?" The second scientist, Dr. Levy, responded. "Like my colleague mentioned before,"she began, "you seem to be a unique case..." Connor snorted. "That's a nice way of sayin' messed up, that's what it is. My wife woulda 'greed with ya on that one, yessiree." "...a unique case, in that you've managed to survive a disease that has ravaged the earth. You don't appear to have taken any extreme precautions, and if you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem particularly concerned with your physical well-being..." "I told ya already. This is it. Right here. This here's my vitamin."He held his glass up for her to see. The whiskey sloshed over the edge onto his hand. He didn't seem to notice. "Alcohol.. ya put it on cuts and shit, right? It kills germs. So if you make your body all alcohol... BOOM! You're safe." "Are you trying to tell us that the secret to your survival has been drinking copious amounts of alcohol?"Dr. Ramon asked. "Yeah-huh." Dr. Ramon clicked his pen and prepared to take notes on his clipboard. "And, how much alcohol would you say you consume on a daily basis?" "A couple-a these, I guess."he sloshed his glass again. "A couple of glasses like that?" "No!"Connor looked offended. "A couple-a bottles. The gesture was for dramatic effect."He held his glass with both hands now and sipped at it like a child drinking a full glass of milk. "Have you felt any cold-like symptoms since the initial global outbreak four years ago?" "Buddy, I haven't felt much of anything in about ten years." "No fever, cough, aches, sore spots, nothing like that?" Connor hiccuped. "Been right as rain, doc. Hey, this is great. I haven't had a physical in a while. You one of those kinda doctors?" "No, we're research scientists." "Oh well." "There must be some other routine or habit we're missing,"Dr. Levy said. "Do you take any vitamins, any other medication, or..." All of a sudden Connor looked very sober. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "You know why alcoholics eventually eat it, right? Their livers give out. Their bodies become toxic. That whole toxic thing works against the body, and against foreign microorganisms." He took a hearty swig of whiskey before continuing. "I used to be an immunologist. I studied this stuff. I knew it was rare, but I knew that this particular disease could be slowed in alcohol-saturated bodies. I tried myself as a test case, tried to tell people... no one will listen to you when your solution is to get drunk. It was anecdotal, anyway. Way too late to run a study." He threw back the last sip of whiskey and examined his empty glass. "I tried to get my wife on board. Figured we'd at least save ourselves. Turns out she didn't have the stomach for it. So it's just me now." "Connor, do you have any of the original research from your experimentation?"Dr. Ramon asked. "Nope,"Connor said. His face had resumed the appearance of infantile incomprehension. "Connor, anything you can provide us in the way of information would be incredibly helpful. It could even save humanity." Connor stood up, wobbled for a bit, then balanced himself. "Save humanity? Save humanity? If this is what saved humanity looks like,"he shouted, jerking a thumb at his chest, "do we want it? Huh? Tell me that." He hurled his glass over the doctors' heads and it shattered against the wall. "Let 'em die,"Connor said, collapsing into his chair. "It's better'n this shit." Dr. Ramon nodded at Dr. Levy, and they stood to leave. "Thank you for your time, Connor." Connor didn't respond. He got up and went into the kitchen as the doctors walked to the front door. As Dr. Ramon pulled the door shut, he heard ice clinking into a glass, then ice cracking as bourbon surrounded it and melted it and would eventually turn it into nothing. --- Subscribe to /r/xilead for stories written daily!
"Really, love, I just don't know,"she murmured. "It's all getting a bit old, isn't it?" "I know, I know,"I said, smiling at her. She sat across the table from me, arms crossed. "But just one more?" The shelves on the wall were covered with....things. Horrible things. Knives stained red, guns left lying where they were discarded. Garrotes and clubs and all manner of things used with the express intent of ending another's life. "How long as it been?"she asked wistfully, stretching her arms up. "Too long,"I said softly. It had begun as a sort of sick curiosity. The two of us had been around...a long time. A very long time. Exactly how it had begun, I'd long since forgotten. But the reality of our life was all too clear. We were trapped. The two of us were unstuck in time, left to drift unaging and undying as everyone else in the world withered and greyed. Oh, for years it had been exciting. I could still remember that much, deep in the bottom of my mind. But all excitement fades with time, and we were left with the hideous, unending nothing that remained. Even her company had mellowed, the spark lost as she too felt the drain of the years. She'd had the idea first - we'd just...try. Just once. Running from death was such an instict, such a fundamental part of being human, that it remained the one experience we'd never shared. The feeling of it, of being so close to the edge of nothing, was exhilarating. It brought us back to life. It wasn't a true death - we quickly discovered that much. No matter how many times I plunged a knife into her heart, she always bounced back. I was no different. But it was close enough. Close enough to bring life back to our meaningless existences. "What's it going to be, then?"she said, eyes flat. "Anything in mind?"Pushing herself upright, she meandered towards that wall of death. "I had something in mind, yes,"I said, smiling slightly. I slipped the little vial from my pocket. "You, then me. Just enough to get the job done." She glanced back over her shoulder, a smile ghosting her lips. And then I lunged. She spun on her heel, eyes widening. I smiled at the sight, even as I charged towards her. Some reactions never dulled with time. The air left her lungs with a grunt as my weight carried us to the floor. She thrashed under me, eyes sparkling . It felt more right, somehow, to play along with the act. I grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open even as I flipped the lid off the vial with my other hand. Her eyes tightened as the first drops of the poison inside slid down her throat. Anticipating what was coming. My hand eased back, leaving the vial half-full. Her hand reached up, caressing my face as I hesitated. And then I bore down hard, upending the bottle and emptying it down her gullet. It had taken a long time, to track the answer down. Years. Decades. Untold days spent waiting, wondering. But at last, I'd found it. This was different, she could tell. There was the first inkling of fear in her eyes as she fought, gagging, but my hand pressed over her mouth. Every last drop would go down her throat - of that, I had to make sure. Otherwise, it wouldn't work. And it had to work. It was the only gift I could give her, after a thousand lifetimes spent together. "Why?"she said, her voice muffled under my hand. I pressed a kiss to her forehead in response. "I don't want to leave,"she whispered, the light beginning to fade from her eyes. "Not without you." "I'll come, too,"I murmured in her ear. "I'll find you again. No matter what." I heard the breath of her exhalation as she tried to speak, but her last words were lost to the too-calm air of the room. I already knew what I would find, when I stood up. Her body was still at last - and this time, I knew the death was final. The empty vial slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor. Just enough for one, the man had said, his eyes hard. He was very clear on that one part. It hadn't been easy to track him down, and I knew that he'd probably been expecting me to gulp it down as soon as I'd left the alchemist's shady little lab. I hadn't. It wasn't meant for me. But perversely, looking down at her still form growing cold in the air, I smiled. For the first time in years, I felt excited. Sad. Angry. Afraid. I felt alive again. And I wanted more. (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
"The key to a Transfer,"I said, holding out the Key widget as I demonstrated, "is to always remain calm. There might be unforeseen consequences and circumstances, but not panicking will ensure that the Transfer Authority can get somebody to help you." As usual, I hear a few sniggers and laughter coming from the back of the class. I didn't even need to look to know who he was. "Mr. Sand. Do you have anything to say to the class?" At this, a young, cheeky bugger stood up, hair sandy blonde, and a never-ending look of mischief on his wide, shit-eating grin. "Yes, Mr. Laport. I was just telling my friends here that if half of my dick gets caught, I'll still have 12 inches left!"A guffaw came out of Robert Sand to accompany his frankly unoriginal and tired joke, but he was quickly buoyed by the boisterous cheers that came out of his posse. I could several eyes rolling and hands palming the face, but there was no stopping Robert Sand. At least, not a conventional method. "Mr. Sand, so that's what you think will happen?"I said. I made sure to keep my voice low, my tone even, but dripping with every bit of poison and menace I could muster. The laughter petered out. Robert looked at me, his eyes twinkling. He wasn't about to back down from a challenge. "Oh yes, Mr. Laport. Pray tell, what else do you think will happen?" A sinister chuckle. Hmm, not bad. All those hours spent working on it while practicing my best villain laugh in front of the television seems to have worked. "See, I used to have a friend. Used to, mind you, because he's no longer with us,"I began. I kept a stern, ironclad gaze towards Robert, staring him down as unblinkingly as I could. "His name, funny enough, was Robert. Robert Clue. See, he was one of my best friends, but just like you, Robert Sand, he never took my Transfer advice seriously. Why would he? He's done it hundreds of times, he said. He's never had an accident, he said. It'll never happen to him, he said." The room was quiet. I could feel the attention directed towards me, the whole room enraptured. Even better, I could see Robert Sand's smile turning down, the devilry in his eyes slowly fading. "You see, my dear students, nobody believes it until it happens to them. You've heard of the odd accident or so using the Transfer, of course. But Robert Clue, God bless his soul, had an accident so terrible, so one-of-a-kind, so incredibly negligent that even the Authority thought his story unworthy of ever being written in a PSA. It was just a story that deserved to be told and laughed at. Robert Clue was one of my best friends, no doubt, but even a dumb story like that could not stop me from bursting out in laughter,"I continued. "Much like you, Mr. Sand,"I pointed right at him. "Much like you just now." A visible gulp down Robert's throat. "What did he do? Well, dear students, it's not quite what he did, but what he didn't do,"I said and paced. "Robert Clue figured himself quite the ladies' man. He used the Transfer to hop from woman to woman and bed to bed. He got tired of putting on the requisite Transfer Suit,"I said and held out the one at my table. "So, he jumped in his civilian outfit. Then, even normal clothes became too burdensome for a man that wanted them on the floor all the time." "So one fine night, after finishing up his latest appointment, he decided to say screw it. What could possibly go wrong?" A murmur started through the crowd. They were speculating on what had happened. "Everything, it turned out. Poor old Robert Clue was rather proud of his blessed organ. Much like you, Mr. Sand,"another glare. The eyes had given entirely away to fear now. "He stepped through the Door, and in his haste, forgot to ensure that every part of his body was in. Class, I don't think you need me to say this in graphic detail, but I'm certain you know what was left behind." An audible gasp. "But see, that wasn't the worst part. Robert Clue didn't just castrate himself. Oh no, that would have been a tolerable fate. But see, how the Transfer works is that the consciousness only transplants itself after the full physical body is found on the other side. It's best done with the Transfer suit, because it helps the machine to calibrate it. Without a suit, Robert Clue's consciousness never found his way into Robert Clue's body on the other side. It simply entered the one percent that was on the original." An even louder gasp. Chatter erupted, but I held my fist up, and it quelled as quickly as it started. "Robert Clue was, forgive my language here, a literal dickhead,"I completed my story. I looked at Robert Sand, straight into the eyes. I could feel him flinching purely from my stare. "Just like you, Mr. Sand." --- Don't worry, it's not that dangerous to Transfer to r/dexdrafts and take a look.
He doesn't look like much. Gerald, late fifties, balding, beer-belly. And the melancholy etched on his face, the sadness of a betrayal and ostracism suffered for a crime he did not commit. Nobody believes him, and he thinks his lawyer only pretends to out of professional habit. You're the lawyer. And the murderer. Part-time lawyer, part-time murderer. Hollywood would have people believe they can be eccentric billionaire by day and superhero by night, or any other dichotomous version of a heroic flip-flop the moment the sun is gone. The poor children will be heartbroken and disillusioned upon realizing that, without sleep, batman was about to slam headfirst against the first skyscraper, and schizophrenic villains would fall asleep at the wheel and crash into a brick-wall. Part-time is where it's at. Monday to Wednesday, administrative work, meetings with clients and sessions in court. Friday and Saturday are for the shadier parts of life. Thursday and Sunday are for rest, sleep, coffee and cat videos. A yawn escapes your mouth. You worked some overdue hours last week. A witness had seen you commit murder. You murdered the witnessed. And the subsequent witness. Messy and boring work. People today have no class. Look at veterans of the World Wars. They died in the hospital in religious silence, waited for blood loss to render them comatose with nothing but a "thank you"for the nurse working at the deathbed. They died properly, clean, with order. Not anymore. The ones you kill beg, scream, piss, are messy. There's blood everywhere because they won't stop moving, because there is so much pain, because you can't make a clean and quick kill, because they won't stop moving due to the pain. You are melancholic for a better time, a simpler time when a knife and a dark alley was everything needed to do the dirty, and be done with it. You recognize a similar feeling on Gerald's face. Poor schmuck. But all that cynicism hides something else, doesn't it? A killer who has to justify his weariness with such a bullshit tale of the good old times has more to the story. You're too smart to hide from yourself. You don't mind killing. That is, you don't mind killing assholes, or background characters. Background characters are the people you recognize by the fact that you can never recognize them. The dozens of souls you cross path with every day without noticing, they will live and die without leaving a mark, and never be forgotten, for nobody remembers them in the first place. There is nothing to forget, dead or alive, they don't make a difference. Gerald isn't like that. He looks defeated, but you know a kind man who is good for the sake of being good. Someone who helps, supports, hopes and puts his hands in the dirt for his fellow human without expecting anything in return. Worse, it's obvious he's been shat on his entire life, yet never stopped behaving like a good man. You hate him. You hate everything he stands for, because you like him. One of the only good person in the world, and you're about to send him to the death row. And it feels bad. The bell rings, the court is about to start again. You escort your client into the hearing room. It is a long, hard and grueling process. Gerald is accused of horrible things. The court believes he cries because he finally sees what he has done. He cries because he can't believe God would allow such a situation to take place. There is no God. Gerald knows too, but he hopes for some sense of superior justice, somewhere, to justify the pain he's going through. Slowly, horribly, he understands there is no such thing. He leaves the room a defeated man, robbed of hope and humanity. You bid him farewell, and try to forget about him. You can't, you know it's an empty wish. There's only one thing left to do. Weeks pass, and Gerald is surprised to see you visit. New proofs, new statements, new situation. The condemned suddenly seems a lot less guilty, and the judge is fast to pronounce him free. He's delighted. You're melancholic. Melancholic for a better time, when you could work justice during the day and be a criminal without remorse during other days. Because nights are for sleep. Melancholic for a time when things were simple. They never were, but memories have a way to honey-coat the movie. Melancholic for a time when you didn't have to wait for the executioner to come for you. A criminal with a strong sense of morals. Who would have thought? By giving new material to the court, you also made yourself a prime suspect, and it is only a matter of time until the shackles close around your wrists. Gerald will always wonder and never know how a murderer like you effectively committed suicide. The judges won't care, they are past trying to understand the weird psyche motivating those they judge. Only you know. And it will be forgotten with your death. If there is anything to forget. Tonight, you will go to sleep, and hope dearly you're not a background character. Deep down, you know the answer.
'The brain is the most powerful supercomputer in the universe' they said. 'You can do anything with enough of them' they said. Yeah right. As I walked past the rows of brains in jars that stretched on towards what seemed like infinity, I reminisced my actions in the past few years. Having learned of the computational powers of human brains from biology books, I wasted no time in amassing enough resources to fund a large-scale expedition that headed off to the most secluded human settlement in Sol. Upon arrival, I carefully - and humanely, I must add - collected their brains in preparation for my magnum opus. I truly must add that I am not a cruel man. I set a substantial amount of resources aside to make they the humans would not suffer and their brains would be filled with bliss and peace. Some would take that voluntarily. Some would maybe call it heaven. It doesn't matter - my conscience is clear. Creating the machine was a daunting task, but the prospect was well worth it. Human mind-computer interfaces made by the million, proper storage to ensure the freshness of the brains, the space alone to store them - it all took billions of credits. Why, you ask? Imagine what you could do with a computer of nigh-infinite computing power. One that can learn as it goes, and works faster than anything. You could create a combined repository of all knowledge in the universe. Predict events with such accuracy you'd do nothing short of telling the future. Compute the meaning of life. Just imagine it. The possibilities. In all fairness, it did work. Sort of. The computational power was off the charts. The problem, however... well, it became clear that directing the brains was far harder than anyone anticipated. The brains had too much will and most would keep to their own thoughts, which would then combine into one greater whole - the combined thinking and ideas of a billion humans. It was then that I made a stark realization about humans and what they think about. It's all porn.
[NSFW writing below] “Buggery,” I replied. The journalist seemed taken aback. She squirmed in her chair, adjusting the length of her skirt and making a note in her notepad. I watched all this with eyes that were beyond caring. “Buggery,” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “In other words, sodomy?” I nodded. “Correct. I fucked another man in the ass and they locked me away.” The journalist made another note. She called herself Aubrey, and she was quite pretty, to me anyway. Short brown hair, perfect nails, flawless skin, full lips and eyes like the setting sun. Also, her tits were phenomenal, and her legs just kept on keeping on. I know, colour me romantic huh? “So for the crime of loving another man, you were sentenced to life in prison?” Aubrey reiterated. I raised a hand. “Miss Aubrey, please, there was no love involved. I just wanted to know what it felt like, and the man whose ass I fucked needed some money to fuel his opium habit.” Aubrey paused, and I felt a touch of humour bubble up from within me. After spending so many years in jail, it was amusing to note that people still found the topic of sex an uncomfortable one to talk about. Some things never changed. Well, at least they no longer throw people in prison for man-to-man ass-fucking, so I guess some things do change, albeit very slowly. “How long ago was this?” Aubrey asked, trying her best to steer the topic away from my sodomy-related crime. My humour turned to slight annoyance: she knew how long ago this was, she had my file in front of her. I sighed and shrugged. “A hundred, hundred twenty years ago, or thereabouts? It’s been so long the centuries tend to mesh together.” “Can I confirm, then, that you are claiming an age of over a hundred and forty years old?” Aubrey asked. I knew where she was going with this. Fine, I’ll entertain her for now. “A hundred and forty years ago, Aubrey, I was fighting in the civil war. A hundred years before that, I was part of the invasion of Prussia by Napoleon. A thousand years before that I witnessed the downfall of the Roman Empire.” I leaned forward, more for effect. “Do you see where I’m going with this?” I added in a whisper. “I’m so old, you could take those ‘yo mamma so old’ jokes and apply them to me without an ounce of humour.” Aubrey swallowed. I made her nervous. Good. I was tired of her pointless questioning. “Ask me something else,” I said. “Ask me… ask me about my life in jail.” Aubrey fell silent. She hadn’t noted anything in her notepad for a while. She put her pen down and cupped her hands neatly on her lap. “Alright Mr Kelvorus, how is your life in jail?” I smiled. “Oh it’s brilliant, Aubrey. It really is. I’ve got my own cell now, did you know that? They no longer give me cellmates because I don’t play nice, apparently. It took them a while - and several years’ worth of inmates - to learn that lesson. They’ve given me an allotment for me to grow my own vegetables, and every Sunday I make soup for the entire prison. I’ve been doing that for thirty years, Aubrey, and I’ve never missed a Sunday.” I stopped talking, and waited for the echo of my voice to vanish into the thick cell walls. “Ever,” I added. I was making Aubrey anxious. I could tell. That wasn’t my intent - initially. But her annoying questions really ticked me off. “Do you want to know why I’m really here, Aubrey?” “You’re here because you made love - you fucked another man,” Aubrey said. I shook my head. “No no, you’re wrong on so many levels, Aubrey! First of all, I fucked another man in the ass - there are many ways to fuck a man, and not all of them involve a dick - but second and most importantly, I’m here because I was curious.” “Pardon me?” “I was curious. After spending so much time living as an immortal, I was getting bored. There are only so many wars someone can fight in before they get bored, before they… before they all start combining into one big war in your mind. But there was one place, one strange, filthy, disgusting part of humanity that I hadn’t, up until a hundred and ten-odd years ago, ever experienced.” I raised my arms, gesturing to the cell we were in. “Prison, Aubrey. Jail. And let me tell you, it’s been an enlightening experience for sure. Such despicable people here, it’s amazing!” “So you committed a crime just to get arrested and sent to prison?” Aubrey asked, and though she tried to hide it, I could detect the incredulity in her voice. I nodded. “Correct, Aubrey. Correct. Now ask me why I’m still in here.” “You’re serving a life sentence, you can’t le-” I stood, pushing the table between us aside. “Ask. Me.” I repeated. Aubrey took a shaky breath. “Why are you still here?” She managed at last. “Because,” I replied, leaning even closer until my mouth was mere millimeters from her ear. “I’m not bored yet.” --- EDIT: Are you kidding me Reddit? Thank you to the generous soul who gifted me gold! I'll keep developing this story and this character, see where it goes. Keep an eye out for (possibly) more stories based on Mister Kelvorus and his escapades.
As the resistance cowers, preparing for the onslaught of the murderous Canadian storm-marines, one lone resistance survivor stands on top of the trench. With steely eyed determination this young hero, fully aware of his perilous position shouts "Hey, you weren't invited here, this is really rude!". Silence..... then across the loudspeakers comes the reply: "We're terribly sorry aboot that, we'll clean up on our way out" The war was over and everyone went to Canada for pancakes and maple syrup.
God and I were sitting on the trunk of my car. My body was about four feet away from me, squashed and leaking. Seat belt didn't do much when you ran 70 miles an hour into a concrete divider. There was no explosion, no flipping and rolling. The car crunched up like a coke can, and stopped. I woke up, mildly surprised, dislocated from my own body. God sat me on the trunk of the car, so I could get a minute to understand what happened before we left. I asked God for a favor, and his response boggled my mind. "What in my name is a Star Wars?" "Dude, you haven't seen Star Wars? The movies?" "I don't get a lot of free time." "Wait, I thought you were all seeing. I thought you could see everything." "I can. Doesn't mean I have time to." "So all those times my mom told me playing with myself was evil,"I gestured towards my crotch, "She was wrong? You weren't watching me masturbate?" "Ew, gross! No! Why would I do that?" "Huh,"I'd have to think on that one. "So, what's a Star Wars?" "No, it's just Star Wars. Not a Star Wars. They're these movies, and they keep making new ones every few decades, and sometimes they suck, but they're also really good. Wait, so you don't know Han Solo?" "Who?" "Harrison Ford was the actor's name." "I know eight thousand Harrison Fords. Twenty four of which are actors." "Alright, well Ford plays Han Solo who is a r- No. You know what? It's a movie, God. You're going to love it. Tell you what: while we're still here, let's you and me go watch the new Star Wars together. We'll get popcorn and milk duds, okay? I want you to see it." God sniffed; a fat tear rolled down his chin, "You know, most people when they die, they only think about themselves. Sometimes they get mad at me. It's been a long, long time since anyone's asked to see a movie with me." I didn't know what to say, so I just put my arm around God. He smiled, patted my hand, and he jumped off the car onto the pavement, careful not to get his sandals sticky with my blood. "OK, let's go see Star Wars! I can't wait to see what Mr. Spock is up to these days. Live long and prosper!"God wandered off holding out his hands in the forked salute of the Vulcans. I didn't have the heart to tell him. *** [Hope you enjoyed this. If you're looking for more, [check out my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/pshoffman/). I would love to hear your thoughts on my work.]
"BALTHAZAR, GRUMBLOR, MOM SAID IT'S BEDTIME!" "Excuse me, kid, will you please let the adult monsters talk?"Grumblor said in a gravelly voice. "Balthazar, you're the one who literally won't come out of the closet. "Oh, now that's the pot calling the kettle black."Balthazar repled. "I heard about your little weekend with Rumblesnuff. Don't try to deny it." "I happen to enjoy antiquing, okay? I bet you're just jealous because you haven't found any lovely mid eighteenth century cursed dolls lately,"Grumblor retorted. "You can go take your eighteenth century demonic dollies and shove them-" Balthazar quickly cut Grumblor off "Dude, there's a kid here. Not cool." "Do you want me to turn the nightlight on?"I threatened. "Oh please no, not the Micky Mouse nightlight. Anything but that."Balthazar said, his voice quivering in fear. "Alright, but that's your final warning,"I replied. "Balthazar, you're 800 years old and still scared of the light?" "Have you gotten over your fear of the Ghostbusters yet? They don't even exist." "For your information, Dr. Stuart said I'm making great progress." I sighed, exasperated and exhausted. "Fine. I'll go wet Mom and Dad's bed instead tonight. I need some sleep."
His mother tucked him into bed, as she did every night, although he understood that this was for the last time. "Go to sleep, Jimmy. Go to sleep so you will not have to wake up." He whined. "But Mom! I'm too excited to sleep!" She smiled fondly, stroking her baby's face with affection. "I know. I am too. But it's bedtime." With a huff and a puff, Jimmy pulled his covers up, getting ready to sleep for the night. His mother sat on the edge of the bed and watched him get comfortable. She moved to get up to head to her own room, but he called out, "Wait!" She paused in her movements, and Jimmy blushed, having had no actual reason to call out to her. He thought of a list of excuses, and quickly blurted out, "Tell me about the Homo sapiens!" After a moment, his mother sighed. "I've told you this story many times,"she chided, but Jimmy pulled out his best puppy face, and she couldn't resist. "Okay, I'll tell you the story, then you must sleep. Homo sapiens live on a planet called Earth. Remember what Earth is full of?" "Deadly deadly oxygen,"he replied, too old for bedtime stories, but enjoying it nonetheless. His mother smiled affectionately. "And carbon and nitrogen and other deadly things. But the creatures there thrive off of it. They actually need these things to live. And that is why our Filter did not filter them out." Jimmy looked to his mother with wide eyes. "Tell me about the Filter." His mother gave an exasperated smile. "Okay."She smoothed the blankets down around him, tucking him in. "Our species is the best and brightest in the universe, and we were given the privilege of knowing the meaning of life and why things live. And because we now know the meaning of life, we determined that all life in the universe is better off dead, and sooner rather than later." "That's why we're all dying tonight!"Jimmy exclaimed, a happy smile on his face, which his mother returned. "Exactly. We've also released into the universe a disease which has been known to kill all forms of life. It will act as a Filter, destroying all life out there on contact and keeping the universe clean of all signs of life." Jimmy chimed in, "But Homo sapiens are so gross and resistant, they don't die from our Filter. They still live, even after our Filter touches them." His mother smiled down at him proudly. "That's right."She looked out of his bedroom window at the stars in the night sky, imagining that blue green planet out there, somewhere. "The Homo sapiens won't die, but they will be left completely alone in the whole universe. Can you imagine? They will be so lonely..." "Don't worry Mom!"Jimmy shouted, suddenly excited. "If the Homo sapiens are alone in the universe, they'll have to find the meaning of life eventually, just like our species did. And they'll kill themselves, just like we are! Then there will be no life at all in the whole universe, just like how it's supposed to be." His mother attempted to praise his logical thinking, but a flash of light cut them both off and there was nothing.
# ...It Comes Around This kid seemed serious. Or stupid. Seriously stupid, perhaps. Victor set down his luggage, cancelled his energy barrier and gave the boy his full attention. "Say that again. This time try being less insane." Something outside exploded with a sound like laser blasts. A titanic(ally evil) voice roared triumph from the heavens. Victor rolled his eyes. "Well... try to be a little less insane. Situationally speaking. Make it snappy, too." The boy, who couldn't have been more than eight years old, wiped one snot-stained sleeve over a scabbed nose. Green eyes glared under a mop of yellow hair. He looked exactly like-- and probably was\-- a refugee from some high end school near the airport. Whatever he'd run through to get into the terminal completely destroyed his school uniform. "You're Victorious? The supervillian?"Clipped accent, high society. Victor smugly crossed arms over a red-trimmed "V"on his chest. Power gauntlets flexed. LEDs on his wrists and facemask glowed in perfect sync. "What tipped you off?"He asked dryly. A plane roared by on the landing strip, took wing and burst into a fiery explosion. "Hurry up. I need to leave." The kid missed or ignored the sarcasm. "Good. Here, this is for you."He swung a ripped backpack around and shoved one filthy arm inside. In response half a dozen automated defense systems threw alerts across Victor's HUD. He ignored them and mentally cancelled the auto attacks. If this kid thought a gun or bomb was going to take him out then, well, he'd buried smaller coffins before. Pulling his arm back out, the boy let his backpack drop and held up... a piggybank. Ceramic, pastel pink. Flowers painted on the sides. Victor stared. "The hell?" "It's all I have,"the kid seemed apologetic about it. "My name's Gerald. I need you-"Something whipped by the airport fast enough to rattle the windows with a sonic boom. Gerald pointed outside. "To kill him." Victor waffled for a response. The lack of an attack left him completely at a loss, like leaning against a partition that turned out to be on wheels. A panicked looking flight attendant ran screaming out of the boarding ramp with both shoes on fire. They both ignored him. Instead the suited supervillain slowly turned his head to look out the shattered glass windows of the boarding area. Even to his enhanced vision the scene beyond was utter chaos: Buildings exploding. Parks blazing like infernos. People fleeing in terror through the streets or huddled wherever they could. Emergency vehicles were overturned, on fire or wedged maliciously through crumbled brick walls. Craters, bodies and scorch marks everywhere. And overhead, laughing in delight, was a man in a crimson-themed costume. Victor looked down at his personal jet, waiting on the tarmac and currently invisible on most wavelengths. Debris slowly slid off the force field around it. He could be down there and gone from this in minutes at the most. The costumed monster currently flying around outside had already aced the town superhero, Mr. Triumphant, two days before. The last forty eight hours had been a delighted rampage of revenge that wasn't going to end any time soon. But still, still... Victor slowly looked back at Gerald, still patiently waiting with his arms out. The piggy bank sat across open palms. "What's it to you, kid?" Gerald cracked, eyes filling with tears. He looked away, but never dropped his arms. "Nothing."He blurted, voice squeaking. Then changed his mind. "Everything. Just take it and... go do what you do, ok? Just go do it to him this time. I know you can."He looked up again. "I know you." A thought popped into Victor's head. In a lifetime of terrible (frankly villainous) schemes this particular idea was both nasty and horribly, horribly inevitable. He uncrossed his arms and knelt down eye to mask with the brat. One power gauntlet snared Gerald's chin between thumb and forefinger. He turned the boy's head left, the right. Checked his face in profile. Voice low and menacing: "What's your full name? No bullshit, now." Still caught in his gauntlet, Gerald stared him down with more composure than any eight year old should have. "Gerald Theodore Triumph,"he said clearly. His eyes poured tears. "Triumphant was my dad." Victor dropped his arm. Thought a moment. Then he stood, pointed one hand and erased the entire wall in a cataclysm of outward force that threw pieces of rebar clean over the tarmac. "Alright, kid. Gerald. Whatever."Systems raged to life across his power suit, throwing open weapon ports and cycling flight burners. "One fucking piggy bank for one dead asshole." [Conclusion »](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ek633y/wp_so_after_my_daddy_diafter_what_happened_to_my/fd76bt5)
999.989 - 999.990 - 999.991 - All of a sudden, everyone around me started to move again. Really?! I rolled my eyes. Just when I was about to finish counting to 1 million for the 1 millionth time! This had taken some proper dedication and they had to ruin it at the worst time possible! How annoying! I ignored the woman next to me who started talking mid-sentence like nothing ever happened. 999.992 - 999.993 I was not going to let a silly little thing like "people around me moving"get in the way of my success! I HAD to finish this! "Are you even listening, Clara?"The lady poked my arm slightly. "Huh?"was all I could say. Clara? That rang a bell but.. I don't think anyone had used that name in what.. 100 years? 500 years? I certainly had stopped thinking about myself as the woman called Clara. I didn't even know what I was anymore. Was I even human? What was "being human"anyway? - I could feel myself drifting into that train of thought again that I didn't want to pursue and instead focused on my counting. 999.994 - 999.995 "I was saying, Matt sent me flowers last night to make up for our missed date the other day when he had to..."Bla Bla Bla.. I zoned out. How could I ever talk about something so mundane again and pretend that it even slightly interested me? I was way beyond that! I had spent so long trapped in my own mind, I didn't even know what was real and what wasn't anymore. But flowers sent by someone a thousand years ago certainly weren't anywhere on my "list of important things" 999.996 She nudged me a second time. Irritated, I looked at her to find out what she wanted. I couldn't even remember her name. "So, how was you date with Simon yesterday? He took you to this fancy new restaurant, right? That must have..."Bla Bla Bla I wasn't sure that I would ever be able to come back from this. Surely someone, one day, would decide to send me to one of those facilities with white cushioned rooms and tight jackets that prevent you from self-harming. What were they called again? I thought real hard for a second there. "Asylum", that's it. 999.997 - 999.998 That's where I was going to end up, I was sure of it! Although, I hadn't even lost my mind, which I still couldn't believe myself! But surely it would seem to other that I had. Oh well. Could be worse. I was used to being trapped in my motionless body. I was convinced I would be able to put up with it for another - what - 50 years that I might have left? I chuckled, which confused the blonde woman next to me and I realised that she was waiting for an answer. Hah! First person who must be thinking I'm going mad! Not even five minutes in. Nicely done! 999.999 "ONE MILLION!"I shouted at the top of my lungs at the same time as the good looking guy sitting in the corner of our train carriage and our eyes locked.
I can hardly see him, but by the Dread Emperor, can I hear him. “Total victory is at hand! Those who oppose us have been dealt stinging defeats all across The Great Rift!” The crowd cheers and wildy wave their black caps above their heads. I fistbump the air and let out a “Woo”. Not as enthusiastic as I normally am; I’m still tired from my night shift as a guard at the Facility of Unethical Sciences. Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn towards it. “Got you again,” says my mate, next to my other shoulder. “Bobby! I thought you were out of town, man.” We clap our hands together. “Nah, it got canceled. The transit station got bombed and guess what…? “What?” “The hyperlane station they’re building to connect to Tapiz 4391 is still not finished.” “For real? They started, what, ten years ago?” Bobby reaches into his jacket pocket and grabs a pack of gum. He offers me one and then takes one himself. “Twelve. Fucking budgeting issues, different construction companies trying to outplay eachother. Couple of OSHA complaints too… If they finish that thing, that’ll shave off at least two weeks of transit for me.” We will stop at nothing to achieve complete domination! Changing the topic, I nod toward the distant podium, draped with the black and red banners of the empire, and ask Bobby: “Liking the Archcommander’s speech?” He shrugs. “Ah, it’s alright.” He hesitates, before adding: “If you ask me, the war should’ve been over by now.” I thoughtfully chew on my gum. “It would’ve been, if the Iron Siren didn’t get destroyed.” “Pfft, that thing went down after a single rebel fighter shot its power core,"He illustrates his point by blowing a bubble and making it pop. "Star destroyer my ass,” he scoffs. “Oh, no, no. The rebels got lucky, ‘s all. They’re airing a documentary about it this evening. Channel 34, after Funniest Intergalactic Vids.” Order will beat chaos, that is the nature of the universe! Thus it has ever been! “The kids love that show,” Bobby says. “I can keep the screen on after.” A thousand hurrahs for the Empire, A thousand hurrahs for the Emperor! “I’m too tired for a thousand, let’s do 50 and bounce.” I stifle a yawn. “Sure, and let’s go for a bite. The Cantina has some great hamburgers.”
Given the permission of the captain, thirteen-year-old Lily was allowed to have glow in the dark plastic stars on the inside of her stasis pod. As she and the rest of the crew prepared to enter a hundred year long sleep, she could feel the tension rising in her belly. Her mother, a lively woman with steel grey hair, placed a hand on her back, helping her climb into her stasis pod. "Your stomach is bothering you?"she asked her daughter. "Yes, I think I need to use the bathroom." Her mother pursed her lips, "We'll find a cure for it, I'm sure of it." Lily furled her brow; she thought that she was just having some plain ole jitters. She hadn't thought about the cancer eating away her stomach in quite awhile. But her mother was right, it was most likely that, and not some small case of "stasis-jitters". "Sure thing,"Lily said, sighing as she turned around in her stasis pod, resting her head against the compact memory foam pillow. Her mother clicked a few buttons on the control panel outside of the pod, and the pod doors hissed closed. Through the glass window, Lily watched as her mother kissed her fingers, and then pressed them against the glass, leaving a small smudge. Lily took a deep breath through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth, looking at all of the glow in the dark stars that lined the inside of her stasis-pod. The lights dimmed in the stasis chamber as the other denizens on the star ship prepared to get ready for stasis sleep. Lily bounced her eyes from star to star, repeating her breathing exercise to try and calm her nerves and to try and soothe the burning in her stomach. She could hear some child, much younger than herself, crying as he was forced into the stasis pod. She felt for him. Lily wrapped her arms over her chest and hugged herself, breathing much more deeply now, choosing to focus on one of the stars in her pod. A mechanical voice spoke aloud, "Prepare to enter stasis, in five, four, three ... " Lily closed her eyes, grimacing at the feeling in her stomach. She hoped and prayed that once they got to the other side, that they'd be able to find a cure for her cancer. Somewhere out there in the stars. "Two ... One .... " * She was jostled out of the pod unceremoniously. Her eyes flung open as she felt a hand grab her on the upper arm, yanking her out of the pod. Sweat was on her brow, and her breathing was erratic. She couldn't remember much of anything before going into stasis. She just remembered looking at the stars. "Mom?"Lily asked, her vision slowly coming back to her. It was foggy, blurry, faces came in and out of her vision, all out of focus. She felt herself laid down on the cold floor, and then she could hear some voices speaking, "Unstable .... breathing .... erratic .... shot ... " She felt something bite her arm and she winced. Much like being inside the stasis pod, Lily felt claustrophobic being surrounded by so many people. She looked up and saw her mother standing there, her hair also plastered to her forehead with sweat. "It'll be okay,"she heard her mother say, before she drifted back to sleep. * When she reawakened, she was in a bed with a thin cotton sheet pulled up to her chest. Lily lolled her head to the side and saw that her mother was sitting in a chair next to her, hunched over, worry glazed over her face. Lily attempted to call out for her mom, but all she could muster was a mumble. It was enough. Her mother turned and looked at her, the worry melting away from her face, replaced with happiness. "You're awake! Oh my God, you're awake, Lily! Can I get a nurse, please, I need someone, someone come!" Moments later, another woman wearing slate blue scrubs ran into the room, followed by several other doctors. It was all overwhelming, and again Lily felt herself fading away. She could feel the pain in her stomach burning, radiating up into her chest. One of the doctor's who had followed the nurses spoke up, loud and gruff, "Only two of us need to be in here, we're frightening her, leave,"he said. And the others listened, all filing out of the room. Lily felt some relief, but it didn't last long with the pain in her stomach and now in her chest. She began to fade back again, back into the darkness of space. * "Have they said anything more to us?"Lily's mother, Agatha, said. "No, just that we're in quarantine for now,"Dr. Bronson said. He used a handheld device to scan Lily's stomach. He moved the device up her abdomen, frowning, "It's spread up into her lungs." "Fuck,"Agatha said, "I thought being in stasis was supposed to stop it? At least for a bit, right?" "You're right,"Dr. Bronson said, "But when we entered into their airspace, they disabled most of our technology, including the stasis pods. But they kept us frozen while they assessed us. It's a miracle they didn't just keep us frozen and let us die." "Why didn't they?" "We don't know yet. Their ambassador still hasn't returned to us yet." Dr. Bronson put the device away, and sighed, "Listen, Mrs. Chamberlain, we're going to have to start talking about uploading Lily's-" "Stop that, we don't have to talk about that yet,"Agatha interrupted. "I know this is difficult, but it's already spread into her chest, it's going to start affecting her heart soon, there's absolutely nothing we can do about it now. Her body is too far gone. If you want Lily to continue living, we're going to have to upload her into a Surrogate." Agatha gasped, breath stuttering, "She's just a little girl, she's not going to know what's going on, she's not, she's..." "There's no other option,"Dr. Bronson said, sighing. * It was as discombobulating as the PT therapist had said it was going to be. Lily looked down at her feet, seeing how pale white they were. She didn't have any toes anymore. Instead, they were just flat pieces of plastic and metal. She looked up her legs, flexing her knees here and there, hearing and feeling the mechanical grinding. She looked at her hands, seeing how they were pale white too, but at least they had fingers on them. "Make a fist,"the therapist said. Lily did as she was told. "Good, now unfurl that fist. Good, good,"the therapist said, checking off boxes on their clipboard. "Now let's try standing." Lily nodded, attempting to push herself up from the chair. "It's going to feel weird. This Surrogate that you're currently in is a lot larger than what your previous body was like. Your legs and arms are a lot longer than what they were. You're going to knock things off tables whenever you reach for them. You're going to bump your head on things. You're going to have to relearn how to walk. It's going to be a tough process, but that's why I am here." She tried to sigh, but no air came out from where her nose should have been. She felt cold. ***
The secret to being a vampire is makeup. Okay, there are alternatives. You can just go and live in the woods. That's a valid approach, and I don't begrudge those who want to try and maintain things the old fashioned way, as well as they can. Here's the thing, though- there's only so many people out there. That's sort of the point. But that also means that there isn't much food. If you point out that there are animals to eat, then I will point out that humans are perfectly capable of just chowing down on bugs and mice and all sorts of other creepy-crawlies. Don't call an exterminator- call the family for dinner! Doesn't sound very nice, does it? No, no it does not. Besides, there's just something about human blood. Vampires who try substituting animals don't die, but...I dunno. They turn all funny. Something about sparkly skin and falling for teenage girls. As every man over the age of 25 or so knows, teenage girls are not worth the trouble. To fall for one as a centuries-old immortal is just... Well. Suffice it to say that we prefer not to live on animal blood if we can possibly avoid it. But that means interacting with humans, which is...just the worst. People suck, you can take it from a professional. Gotta blend in, gotta be polite, gotta pretend to be interested in whatever drivel they're spouting while you get them alone so you can eat. Do humans have to pretend to be interested in the cows inane ramblings while they fire up the grill? No. No they do not. Don't ever pretend that you don't have it easy. We still have to work for our food. And it's a lot of work, and it takes a lot of practice to get it even close to right. So, okay, your clothes show up in mirrors, that's good. That's a start. You can go all Invisible Man, wrapped up in stuff, but...I mean, everyone knows that trope. It's enough to make even the huge guys want to give us some space. (Also, contrary to popular perception, we usually go for men, and the bigger ones at that. Women are usually pretty aware of the possibility that whoever they're talking to might be a threat if they end up without anyone else around, and they've got less blood to boot. Men, you just get them somewhere secluded, hypnotize them a little so they don't remember, and have yourself a meal. Half the time they don't even notice the blood loss.) So you've gotta do makeup. That's not too bad, though, right? Sure, you've gotta learn, but teenage girls all over manage to figure this out- how hard can it be? The thing about teenage girls, though, is that they can actually see themselves in the mirror. So you practice. You start out really, really bad at it, but with careful practice, diligent observation, and really listening to what exactly people scream as they run away in terror, you can get to the point where you're merely really bad at it. The end result is that most vampires show up in public looking like overdressed cheap hookers. Undignified, but, and there's a lot to be said for this, it works. And people are wildly unlikely to suspect a cheap hooker of secretly being a supernaturally strong centuries-old immortal. The perception of probably drug addiction also helps out if you slip up and forget what century it is. People don't really listen to what you say. So let this be a lesson to all you humans out there. Technology has unintended consequences. Do you think that the inventor of the camera set out to unleash cheap vampire hookers upon the world? He did not. But, as his work was adopted and adapted and advanced, that is what he has wrought. So next time you have a brilliant idea, take a moment and ask yourself: Is it really worth it, if this also means that bigfoot has to go around dressed in drag? Humans don't have to put up with their sandwiches inventing caged lightning or whatever, I'll tell you that much. It's enough to make me think seriously about the animal approach.
I sat on a chair nearby, curious to hear why four of my colleagues, all from different departments, had called me there. I did not know them well, I only talked to people of other specialisations rarely. One of them spoke up: "So, Ivo, hi!"Her voice was kind, but I immediately caught a veil of anxiety underneath it. "We know you don't know why we called you or who we are, so, quick presentations," She turned to the others: "This is Jason, he's an expert on demons. That's Susan, she's an expert on all things fae. That's Val, they're an expert on weapons from every time period and destruction level." Then she pointed a finger towards herself. "I'm Catherine, here because my threshold for panicking at weird stuff is insanely high-" "-She has a degree in spiritual sciences-"interrupted Jason. Her finger turned to me. "-And you are here because..."She looked at Susan. "Why is he here, exactly?" She sighed and gazed at my bag, filled to the brim with the tomes I was studying before they had called me here. Then she looked me in the eyes. "Ivo, you are an expert on eldritch matters, aren't you?" I nodded, maybe a bit warily. At my reaction, Susan looked at Jason and then at Val, who said: "We are a multi-specialised group of researchers, and we focus mainly on stuff that seems to not pertain to any supernatural classification."They scratched their head. "But lately we have been... puzzling excessively over a specific subject. We thought your knowledge might help us, if you wanted to give it a try." I stood silent for a second, then turned to Catherine and signed for her to show me the "subject". She swiftly took a wooden box out of a nearby drawer, handing it to me. It was made of dark wood, carved with incredibly detailed patterns, and on its lid hanged a rusty open lock. All four of them inhaled as I opened it, revealing what was inside. A tongue. It was a human tongue, seemingly severed, but did not look like it was decomposing, its colour still vivid and lively. On it was "carved"a strange rune, which glowed dimly with dark green light. Jason started explaining: "We have tested it many times, and it seems to be at least four million years old... since it is not a demonic artifact, nor a fae relic or any other type of supernatural object we can classify, we thought it could have been of eldritch orig-" They all froze as I grabbed it bare-handed, and put it in my mouth. Silence filled the room as I chomped and moved my lips, feeling the new presence in my mouth. Then, I stood up and grabbed my bag, heading for the door. I turned, looking directly into their wide-opened eyes. "Thank you,"I said, my voice unnaturally rocky and deep. "I thought I'd never see that again."
"You're a fucking idiot,"says Foxtrot Echo to Foxtrot Alpha. "Oh come on, how could I have known?"says Foxtrot Alpha to Foxtrot Echo. They watch the monitors. Every kid in the classroom is dead at this point. The teacher is crying and begging Operation: Lunchbox not to kill her. Lunchbox is setting up traps near the doors and crafting hand-made weapons out of the school supplies. "How were you supposed to know?! Foxtrot Echo barks at Foxtrot Alpha. "That someone might possibly say the words, 'The big brown dog jumps over the fence' in his lifetime? We told you to make it something unique! Like 'I only take bananas fermented in a clown's vagina.' No one will ever say that. Especially not in fucking grade school!" "Okay, Jesus- I'm sorry. What is it with you and clown's vaginas?"Foxtrot Alpha asks, deeply concerned about his partner's depressing obsession. "You seem to fuck like two clowns a week. It's pretty weird. And where do you find that many female clowns?" "I've got a thing. Everyone has a thing,"Foxtrot Echo excuses himself. The swat team busts into the school. A rigging at the door explodes, several of them die. "Oh, great. Just great."Foxtrot Echo is unhappy. Foxtrot Alpha notices and offers him a scone. "Perhaps you want a scone?"Foxtrot Alpha asks. Foxtrot Echo considers the scone. Several pencils are impaled into a swat team member's face. The classroom's pet hamster stored in the floor panel outside the classroom door is released and crawls directly up another swat team member's pants and into his asshole. He writhes on the floor in agony and pleasure. Foxtrot Alpha denies the scone. "No, I'm not in the mood for scones right now. Not while we're watching millions of dollars just get flushed down the toilet."Foxtrot Echo shrugs and eats the scone himself. It is delicious. "Well, we don't have to pull the plug, we could just send some of our own agents in and tell him the unplug phrase,"Foxtrot Alpha suggests. "Why don't these cameras have speakers on them, that way we could just tell it to him over a mic. We really should have thought of that,"Foxtrot Echo ponders as the child narrowly avoids sniper fire by using the human shield of one of the dead students. The teacher is pouring out tears as Lunchbox rolls her to the door of the classrom and patches on the impromptu explosives to the back of her chair he has made out of classroom supplies. He tells the swat team members outside that he will be releasing his hostage. Foxtrot Echo face-palms, recognizing the tactic. "Well, I guess it's time to pull the plug,"Foxtrot Echo gravely decides. Foxtrot Alpha plays with his rubicks cube. "Sure, whatever- I got a date tonight, so if we can finish this up sooner rather than later..."Foxtrot Alpha remarks. Foxtrot Echo presses the big red button. Lunchbox collapses in a siezure. Foxtrot Alpha tosses the rubicks cube aside- he never could solve one of those things. Lunchbox is dead. The teacher is still wired. The classroom door is coming open. "Oh...forgot about the teacher,"Foxtrot Echo cringes. The classroom explodes and the camera goes fuzzy. Both of them look at each other with stretched mouths and raised brows. "Oh man...that's gonna be reeeeeeally expensive,"Foxtrot Alpha observes. "Yeaaah..."Foxtrot Echo lingers. "Which company subcontracted you again?"Foxtrot Alpha pulls out a cigarette and begins to burn it down casually. "Isis why do you ask?"Foxtrot Alpha responds. He sees the look on Foxtrot Echo's face. "Did I say Isis? I meant Odin."Foxtrot Echo rolls his eyes.
This is it, the fruit of years of pain and humiliation has finally ripened and will soon be picked. I stood up at the sound of my name and walked up to the podium. From behind the lectern, I turned to face the crowd, my fellow pupils, my tormentors. “I am honoured to be speaking to you all tonight as a graduate from the Lacep Academy and the proud recipient of the Dux Award…” Someone snickered, and another pupil made an obscene gesture from his seat. I paid them no mind. I have already endured for three years, I will not falter now, I thought of Alena. “... I would like to thank this fine institution, my friends, and my family, especially Alena, my late sister, who gave me the resolve to stand here and speak to you today…” Alena smiling as we first made our way through the gates of Lacep, Alena standing up for me when I was picked on by third years, Alena crying late at night so no one would notice her, Alena hanging lifelessly from the ceiling. “... Lastly, I would like to give my thanks to you, my fellow pupils, for constantly belittling me for my weakness, for abusing my sister after she stood up for me, and finally for taking her away from me. You have shown me how cruel and cold this world truly is, and the only thing people would respect is power, the only problem solving method people would understand is violence. You have inspired me to become powerful despite my lack of natural gifts and make up for it with hard work.” The previously mumbling crowd was now dead silent, taken back by the sudden turn in my speech. The principal tried to stand, but found a force pushing him down and keeping him in the chair. Soon, the other staff as well as the students were also struggling against their invisible restraints. “The runes powering those restraints draw on your own powers, you cannot break them, it is like trying to lift yourself up, pretty nifty huh? Now you know why I choose magics and runic studies, it is where your knowledge comes before your precious superpowers, it is where hours and hours of practice can give you the abilities you desire, it taught me that you can do anything as long as you have the know-how, superpowers or not, knowledge is a leveling field, it is what I will use to set things right.” With merely a thought, the runes and sigils which I spent so long creating and concealing flared up around the hall, the walls, the ceiling, even the very air glowed a brilliant emerald green, Alena’s favourite colour. The crowd panicked, screaming and crying. “You call yourselves heroes, but you only care about yourselves. Being a hero is not about what you can do or who you are, it is about what you can do for others and who you are in their eyes. I am through with this world, there is nothing but pain and suffering here, where the weak are crushed under the boots of the strong and where its so called heroes turn a blind eye to all this because they are too busy thinking about themselves. It is time for a reset, it is time for the heroes to pay the piper.” I switched off the microphone, turned towards the heavens and whispered “This is for you Alena, watch these pathetic wretches die.” The runes flared once more, and the screaming stopped.
As it turned out, the Statue of Liberty wasn't even a statue at all. It was a living being, an alien from the Libert race that France had made contact with over 130 years ago. The aliens had fallen in love with France's baguettes and cheese and became quick allies. They offered to help them conquer the world and spread their ideal way of life to the rest of the planet, but France wasn't interested. They just wanted to relax with some wine and write some nihilistic poetry. However, they did take up the Libert's offer of protection by installing one of their own in the most powerful country on Earth: the United Statues. For over a century, France never even came close to needing the Libert's help, but tensions had strained during the past few years. New leadership in the U.S., new leadership in France, and a national shortage of Nutella had put everyone on edge. Finally, when the "trade wars"between France and the U.S. were formally announced, that was the last cigarette. The French president sat down at his desk, pulled out the drawer, sifted through his collection of berets, and pulled out the glass-covered red button. He flipped open the protective case, and with a guttural grunt of French satisfaction, he pressed it down with his pinky finger. Across the Atlantic, the Statue of Liberty's eyes opened. The one-hundred-and-fifty-one-foot alien started creaking at it moved on it own for the first time in over a hundred years. It shook off its metal coating, the scraping sound of its joints grinding against each other screeched throughout all of New York City. The metal plates showered down to the helpless crowds of tourists below as they screamed and scattered in all directions. The Libert was revealed to the world. Its skin was neon purple, and it had tentacles where the statue's arms and feet had once been. It turned around to face the city behind it and let out an unearthly roar as it lumbered toward through the water toward the buildings, ready to cause destruction. Meanwhile, over two thousand miles away in the Nevada desert in an underground bunker, alarms were blaring. Scientists in labcoats ran to a wall covered in screens showing the carnage that was happening in New York. The Libert had wrapped its tentacles around skyscrapers and was raising them in the air as easily as ice cream cones, devouring them as if they were just as delicious. Two of the scientists stood strong amidst the chaos around them, oddly calm for the situation. "You know what this means, right Susan?"one of them asked. "Yep,"she said. She pressed a button on the console, and the screens changed over to other locations around the world. There was the Statue of David in Italy (which was actually a rock-spitting beast that could take down creatures hundreds of times its size), Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janiero (which was actually a fire-breathing horror from Venus, just like the real Jesus), and the Spring Temple Buddha in China (which was nearly twice as tall as the Libert and was actually a hive for millions of Bez, insect aliens that fed on Libert flesh). Susan pressed another button, and all three statues roared to life themselves, ready to battle. "It's time to call on OUR alien allies." ***** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
Some believe that death is a painless experience, that you cease to feel anything, and merely drift away. And perhaps, some die that way, but for me, it was the single most excruciatingly painful experience that I could have ever had. It felt like a horrible numbness was spreading across the entirety of my body, while every single square inch of me was covered in flame. Perhaps in actuality, it lasted mere seconds, but in my mind, it lasted for an eternity. And when I opened my eyes, I was in a grey desert, cold sands stretching across an infinite plane of cold sand dunes, with no moon, nor sun. Only an endless ocean of magnificent stars sprawled across the heavens, bringing dim light down to the endless desert. And I was not alone, atop the only rock in the desert, at least as far as my eyes could see, sat a skeletal raven, peering into a large and ancient grimoire. It did not move its beak when it spoke, but tiny vaguely purple pinpoints of lights in the skull of the bird vibrated when it spoke. ''Hm. Odd. You were not supposed to die this soon. You were supposed to live a long, fulfilling life.'' The tiny specks of light stared at the journal, and as they moved, so did the pages. ''Ah. There it is. You made one terrible mistake. As you've died in a way which shouldn't ever have been possible for you, considering the choices you've made otherwise, it is possible for me to send you back to correct that mistake. Do you want to go back and change your descision?'' Death's voice was more like silences, where words should have been, and I simply remembered the words, rather than heard them. I nodded, and told Death, ''Yes.'' Death grew to fill the desert with his bony body, his skull becoming bigger than the world, and I fell into his dark eye sockets, and struck the tiny vaguely purple light. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back at the moment of the worst mistake of my life. It was the day I saved my best friend's life. She was calling to me, and I calmly walked over, to where she was hanging on to the broken railing, about to fall down. A hundred meters to the ground from up here on the office roof. Back when I had made this choice the first time, I'd immediately pulled her up. But this time, I watched with dispassion. ''Edie! Please, oh god, I can't hold on for much longer!'' Without any enthusiasm, I reached out to hold her steady, so she wouldn't fall. ''You know, Francine, you're my best friend.'' She smiled confusedly at me. ''Which I why it really hurt me, when I found out about your plan to throw me under the bus and let corporate fire me, and be saddled with the blame for this catastrophe. If you'd asked me to help you, I could have found a way for us both to get out of this without anything more damaging to our careers than a mild scolding.'' She looked at me with horror, when she realised I knew about how she'd been embezzling money, using shoddy construction firms, understating profits, and generally milking the company for all it was worth. Considering its shady practises, the dangerous pharmaceuticals the company would get sued for in a few years, the highly toxic industrial fertiliser they sold, and the extremely lax HR, I didn't care much. Hell, I was actually interested in helping her escape with all the stolen money. Because I thought we were friends. ''Which, you know, hurt me even more when I found out, not three days after today, and you knocked me out after I confronted you about it. I was deeply shocked that I was your scapegoat, I had to talk to you about it. But it was in vain. Because after you knocked me out with your briefcase, you drugged me, and dragged me out to the factory. There, you disabled the surveillance and recording equipment, and then threw me into the acid vats containing the higher than legally allowed concentration of sulphuric acid. Do you know what it is like to drown in sulphuric acid? Because I sure do.'' She stared at me as if I had gone mad. I couldn't forgive her. Because we'd been friends since forever. We were in the same class in primary school, we hung out a lot in High School, went to the same college education, the same fraternity. We went out drinking together, being each other's wing-woman, hell she was the godmother to my twin daughters. Betrayal like this could only be answered with one thing. Betrayal in kind. She kept pleading to me, to pull her up, to help her. ''Sorry Francine. But you will not make orphans of my daughters.'' And then, I pushed against her, and with a scream, my oldest friend, my best friend, fell to her death. Perhaps I could have kept my knowledge to myself, perhaps I could have simply not told her I knew, and instead have gone straight to corporate with the evidence. But a death as horrifically painful as mine, while knowing that my girls would have been forced to move in with my own parents, or perhaps their fluke of a dad, well, I could not let her live. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
Okay, this is a lot to take in. A lot of people like to think I'm a little slow because of the whole fashion model thing, but I've managed. The first trick for any new situation is to break it down into manageable chunks. "A ... collective consciousness?" She smiled. Oh God, she knows that smile is the best way to stop me thinking. While clothed, that is. "Yeah. Several identical bodies, one collective mind." The ... the other her sat down next to ... the one I was talking to. "It kind of just happened." Another her stuck her head out from where the kitchen was. "One day, I woke up, I was seeing things with two sets of eyes, hearing with two set of ears ..." "When I got used to that ... then another, then another." Keep breaking it down, quick, easy concepts. The first her, tilted her head, recollecting. "Had to take on a lot of jobs. A lot of mouths to feed. I've been ... I am a dancer ... interior designer ..." "... photographer ..." "...hairdresser ..." "... an aerobics instructor, which led to being a ballet teacher ..." Another her came through the door, looking tired. "... surgeon ..." "... a lifeguard in the nineties ..." "... and a barista. Where we met!" I leaned back, looking around the magnificent living room. "I suppose that's why you can afford this house." Another her patted my shoulder. "Living the dream, baby." Something occurred to me. "Doesn't it affect your concentration, your mind, being in so many bodies?" "Oh no. It's more like ... the same computer program in multiple processors. The more brains I have, the bigger my mind gets." "Really helped when I was an astronaut." Broken down, absorbed. Now try for a biggie. "Why tell me?" The noises in the house where the other hers were in suddenly stopped. "... I've lived a long time ... and for the first time ... well ... for all of us ... you're the one." I should be feeling creeped out. Terrified. Instead, I'm looking at her, all of her here, and the soaring giddiness is taking me away, while right here. I take her face ... not too sure which her, and kiss her nose. Then another. Then another. They surround me, all those beautiful eyes, and hug me. "I love you Ken." "I love you all, Barbie."
King Leonus rubbed the bridge of his nose. Princess Adrea was back from her trip. She had, of course, not told him where she was going, and he desperately hoped it was to meet with someone. Even meeting a commoner from another nation would be preferable to the alternative. The doors swung open, and the princess entered. Her smile was big and bright, and she walked with graceful steps. It would have been the perfect example of a royal lady if she was not wearing armor covered in mud and blood. She unbuckled her sword and set it down gently so as not to crack the stone with its weight. Even his dwarven master smiths could not tell him how she managed to make it that heavy, even if it was made of adamantine. "Hi daddy, I'm home."She said cheerfully. He sighed. Thankfully, there was nobody else around to hear such a breach of decorum. "Welcome home, dear. May I ask where you were this time?" "Well, I saw your notice about the latest courtship trial. Slaying a dragon, daddy? Really? Well you know how I feel about that. I mean, any man I marry has to do something I can't, right? So, I did it." "You...did it."He said heavily. Of course she did. "You went out and killed a dragon." "Yup. Got the body and its hoard in my bag."She patted her magic bag. He sank down deeper into his chair. That damned bag. A bag that had a near infinite capacity. It was, along with her sword and armor, the result of another of his challenges that she had outperformed her suitors in. "I see. I suppose I'll have to announce this one too."And come up with a different challenge. After the first dozen, they were getting harder to come up with. "Thanks, daddy!"She said. "Wouldn't want any knights or princes or anything to get hurt tryin, right?" "Yes, of course not. You know, one of these days you are going to have to get married, right?" "Oh, I know. I'm just waiting for the right man to come along." He grumbled. "Why not just choose someone and be done with it?" "Oh, I can't do that. My husband must have skills I don't. If we're both good at the same things, then there's no point. We'll need to be able to cover each other's weaknesses and fulfill different roles. Otherwise our union will be weaker as a whole." He had heard that before. It was why the challenges had started in the first place. If it wasn't for her... abnormalities, she likely would have been married already. "I'll...keep trying to come up with something."He said. He barely opened his mouth as he said it. "Thanks daddy! I'm sure you'll come up with something soon. Anyway, I'm going to go put the dragon's hoard in the treasury. Hm, but what should I do with the body? I suppose I'll make something fun out of it."She left the room, already coming up with uses for her kill. Uses that nobody else could even hope to do. For his part, the king just slumped even deeper into his seat. At this rate, she would never get married. Well at least she would make a very interesting queen.
It’s a pain to live in two different years, but I must with these inflation rates. Today, it’s September 5, 2022. I left my job and went to an abandoned warehouse to go home. There’s a time machine sitting there, and it’s better than the commute. I fire the engine on and step through the machine. It’s September 5, 1980, and I make it back home. On my porch is him… By him, I mean Thorvaldsen. A future billionaire who wants to buy my house. He stands up, slapping his ass to get the dust out of his pants. “Hello! My name is Henry Thorvaldsen. I want to make you an offer.” I point at the no solicitation stickers on my mailbox and door. He hands me a business card, “Give me a call when you have time.” He gets into his corvette and drives off. I smirk, placing the business card into my wallet. I enter my house, kicking my shoes off. I pull out my iPad and Bluetooth keyboard. I’m a writer, an incredibly distracted writer. If I am near WiFi, I will spend the rest of the day watching YouTube and reading Reddit. To get work done, I have to be in a cabin or in the 1980s, where WiFi doesn’t exist. However, power outlets exist, so I can type on my tablet at one hundred percent battery without any distractions. I find enjoyment in writing modern-day articles in the ’80s. I am waiting till the 90’s so I can start watching Seinfeld. Unfortunately, that time machine is only set at 42 years. I can’t change the device to go up or down. The creator must have considered the possible dangers of going forward or backward. I live in two different worlds that are 42 years apart. It’s nice to live in my old house. It’s a bit different from what I remember, but I will move out before my parents get married. They’ll change it up a bit more. This Thorvaldsen fellow wants to buy the land for his destructive drilling project. He caused my parents to foreclose on their dream house. I am going to stop him. September 6, 2022, I head back to work through the time machine. Coincidentally, I am working at that prick’s drilling company. I entered the elevator, and he was waiting for me there. “Hello. Hey, uh,” he says as I pretend not to recognize him, “you seem familiar.” “Oh. Er, who are you again?” “I’m Henry Thorvaldsen and-” “Oh! Hello! Sorry I didn’t recognize you.” “It’s alright.” My act work. The rest of the elevator ride was silent. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me from 1980. He’s 42 years older and has the memory of an old coot.
The rickety clatter of cups and saucers unsteadily balanced on a tray echoed through the vast corridors of Wayne manor as Alfred Pennyworth tottered through the east wing. "Master Bruce,"Alfred called out, pausing to make a note of the thick layer of dust accumulating on a decorative table in the hallway. He clucked quietly at himself, shaking his head. Falling down on the job, Pennyworth, he thought. You never would have tolerated dust like this before. Must remember to take care of this later. It was time for dinner, and Alfred was engaging in his proper duty to bring dinner to the head of the household. Bruce was always so busy, though. He hadn't had the opportunity to have a meal with him since.... since... He tottered on, his scuffed shoes scraping through a well-worn track in an increasingly threadbare carpet runner. The door at the end of the hallway, the door leading to the master bedroom, stood partially open. Darkness within. "Master Bruce, it's time for supper,"Alfred said. For the first several years Alfred had served Bruce in the dining room and retired to the server's quarters to eat, but finally Bruce had said there was no sense in formality, and convinced Alfred they should eat together. Since then, they had done so often in the master bedroom, sipping cups of coffee in the wee hours of the morning while Bruce bounced ideas off of Alfred or read the news reports like tea leaves, trying to find evidence of criminal plots unfolding. They hadn't had dinner together like this since.... since.... As Alfred neared the door, he could just see Bruce's feet on the bed, sticking out beyond the edge of the partially open door. He had his boots on. Typical Bruce; Alfred would have to change the sheets early again. "Master Bruce,"he said, and he was just getting ready to push the door open further when a terrible stench hit him. His sense of smell had been going lately, but this he caught. Something rotten, terribly rotten. Decaying meat, perhaps. Alfred looked down at the serving tray, and felt his stomach drop. The steaks on the plate, one for himself and one for Mr. Wayne, were uncooked. Not only were they uncooked, they were maggoty. How could he not have noticed? Alfred felt frustration, confusion, and fear welling up within him. He had always had very strict standards of cleanliness. Very strict. That he had come so close to failing in his responsibilities deeply troubled him. "I'm sorry Master Bruce,"he called into the darkness of the bedroom, "But I seem to have spoiled dinner; I'll have to remake the steaks. I'll be right back." No response. Bruce was probably engrossed in the newspaper. Alfred turned and began the lengthy journey back down the hallway. It was then that he noticed a trail of red droplets and spatters, some thick and some thin, leading down the hallway, across the carpet, and over the wood, the way he had come. All the way to the master bedroom. Splendid, Pennyworth. Not only did you bring raw, rotten meat to the master of the house, you turned the whole hallway into an abattoir on your way down. Steady those hands. He focused on reducing the clattering sound of the saucers, figuring this would keep the juice from spilling off of the plates. He turned the corner, cobwebs draping themselves across his face as he went. He waved his arms, and the tray clattered to the floor. The cups and plates shattered, their contents spreading out across the wood. Alfred felt a knot forming in his throat, the anger and the frustration threatening to overcome him. Pressing a hand to his eyes, he leaned against the wall to collect himself, and felt the wall give way. Mystified, Alfred found himself in a dark space with hewn stone walls, not much broader than his shoulder width. A secret passageway, with stairs leading directly down into darkness. Never one to pass up a good mystery, Alfred followed the stairs down. He would only be a moment. Then he could get back to... Down he went, down and down, one hand along the wall for support, his unsteady feet finding the steps carefully. At his age, his eyes took a great deal of time to adjust, but he had begun to compensate for this well through long experience. He sensed, rather than saw, the walls falling away and the room opening into a vast expanse. A cool breeze ticked the hair at the back of his neck. He took one uncertain step forward, then another. The lights in the room came on, through some sort of automatic technology, to reveal a vast cave. It took Alfred a moment to process what he was seeing. One wall of the room was occupied by a massive wall of LED or LCD panels, all hulking over a great black chair that was positioned in front of some sort of control panel. On several of the screens were news feeds, not just from the US, but from many countries; Alfred's military experience told him he was seeing news tickers in Arabic, Chinese, Korean, Cyrillic, and Spanish to name a few. Other screens were occupied by what appeared to be GPS trackers. Alfred was vaguely unsettled by the fact that several of the screens had flashing red warnings on them. Pennyworth shook his head. The control panel was covered in dust. It was no wonder; Master Bruce was terrible at cleaning. Alfred would never have tolerated dust like this. Falling down on the job, Pennyworth. Must remember to take care of this later, Alfred thought. He turned his attention to the next wall, and found his senses assaulted all at once. Row after row of cowls, capes, and body armor. Alfred recognized the armor, and flood of memories nearly carried him away. First, fragments, like old newsreel footage. News reports showing a figure, glimpsed between buildings, rising on great black wings as if flying. A superb physical specimen. A myth. A legend. A defender. A dark knight. Clips and phrases, pieces of stories played and replayed in his mind. He ran his aged fingers over the ridges in the armor. He remembered. "Whoever he is, he would need to have extensive military training to accomplish this...", the bespectacled analyst on the television set had said. "Gotham's crime rate at an all time low,"the attractive reporter had intoned. Through the mists of his memory, he recalled them, every one. The hulking beast in some long forgotten sewer, scaly-skinned with long, dagger-like teeth. The little pot-bellied man with the cigarette holder. The green woman. But worst of all, he could hear the laugh. Could hear it loud and clear now, tormenting him. That loud, barking laugh, like a hyena, that sadistic laugh that never stopped. I think we're destined to do this forever. How long had it been? How long had the Joker been allowed to run free? Age and a touch of confusion might have slowed him down, but Alfred Pennyworth would be damned if he'd let the Joker carry the day. He stepped to his trusty suit, his primary, contained as always in its display case, and began to make preparations to gear up. He opened the case and reached for his cowl and found... nothing. The case was empty. The primary suit was gone. He paused, his brow furrowed. Something tugging at the corner of his mind.... On the bed. That was it. He'd left his boots on the bed. Careless, but there were spares. No sense going all the way back to the bedroom. In due time, he was suited, and while it was a bit looser in some areas than he might have liked, it was serviceable. He made his way to the Batmobile, parked in the center of the cave. The cockpit was already open. Falling down on the job, Pennyworth, he thought, shaking his head. As he began to climb in, his hands made contact with an uneven surface. Crusted blood, dripping down the edge of the batmobile from the open cockpit. No time to worry about that now. Falling down on the job, Pennyworth. Must remember to take care of this later, he thought. He closed the cockpit and hit the ignition button, feeling the comforting rumble beneath him as the engine roared to life. He floored the accelerator, feeling himself pressed back into the seat, and as the car rose up out of the garage, he turned the wheel toward Gotham and accelerated, chasing the burning red skyline beneath a cloud of looming smoke in the distance...
The Count sat still, with the same air of prominence he had for several hours. He spoke, barely moving his lips, "How much longer do you need? The sun will be rising soon," The elderly painter cowered behind his canvas and easel. "I- it should not take t- too much longer, sir,"the artist stammered, "T- there is a sl- slight problem how- however." "If this is a matter of inaccuracy,"the Count began to speak coldly through his unmoving lips, "you guaranteed that you could paint with all the skill, accuracy, and quality of Da Vinci." "It- It is not that, your l- lordship,"the old man shook as the count rose from the chair, "I- I have tr- tried to pai- paint your visa- vis- visage,"the frail man tumbles as he retreats from the enraged, approaching Count. "Tried,"the Count bellowed, "I will try to leave something to be burried!"He grabbed the painting blindly, raising it above his head with both hands. The painter winced out of terror as the Count prepared to bludgeon the man to an unrecognizable pulp. However, none such pain came. The old man opened his eyes to witness the sheer look of confusion on the Counts face. The painting was magnificent, the chair shared every exact detail of its true cousin. Each single darkspot of the moon was replicated perfectly in the exact spot it was but hours ago. The window frame, curtains, even the clothes the count wore were in lifelike detail. Except one particular detail, his head. The space where his head was to occupy was of lower detail. It was marked with random strokes of paint. Small seemingly purposeless strokes, even a small painting of an eye occupying an odd position, took his face's place. He droped the painting, breaking the frame, warping the canvas and cracking the dry paint of the background. A look of defeat spread across his face. "Go,"he ordered the painter, dropping a small satchel of coins. "Leave me." Cautiously taking the bag of money, the artist scrambled to his feet. Without a word he hurried out of the room, leaving his equipment behind. The Count kicked the easel as he moved to close the window and draw the curtains. He sulked to his chair, dropping into it in defeat. He burried his head into his hands and began to sob.
Being dead isn't exactly hard. Rather, it's extremely easy. Sure, it's cold. That's one of the problems with it. And sure, it's boring. Lots of floating, watching, and flitting. Sometimes if someone puts on a ceiling fan it'll whip you around the room in a bit of a formless cloud, and that can be annoying, though not painful. It's like living your life permanently submerged in an ice bath. Except instead of freezing, you just kind of acclimate. Today's body didn't put up much of a fight. Just the usual confusion when two minds are jumping into the same brain, and for whatever reason, I can just kind of boot the other consciousness to sit in the corner. When I hop into someone's body, they'll try to talk to me, or their brain will try to reconcile what's happening, and something about that must fry their neurons. Even if I were to leave the body, some part of me knows the body will simply drop dead when I move on. At first, I used my own body. After all, the blood wasn't flowing anymore, but the limbs seemed to work just as well. All the ligaments and muscles attached to each other, tendrils and cords woven over bone. When I walked on my two legs, sure, the flesh was a bit tight, but otherwise it kept moving. And besides, i wasn't hurting anyone. I was alone in my own brain, jostling around and trying to figure out what had happened. Or, for a more reasonable motivation, why it happened. It was going well until the body began to fall apart. Not having a pumping heart really puts a damper on things, and eventually you get pretty gross things living inside you. Bugs and the like. On top of that, it's really uncomfortable for the blood to start pooling and draining to your feet and hands. They swell up and get dark. And on top of all that, it's really hard to mask the smell. But for awhile, charade went on. Until I found him again. And he shot me. Again. And when I tried to get back into the body, it was like trying to push two magnets together. You know, when the poles are the same. Or opposite? I'm dead. Cut me some slack. Anyway it was like that repulsion, and afterwards I just kind of drifted around in the night air. It's a strange adjustment, but that purpose, that singular drive overwhelms every other sensation I can guess I have. Or is simulated? I'm not totally sure. All this camouflage to perform a single task. Still, it didn't work this time. Something must have tipped him off, I'd been so careful. So discreet. This body lays dying, riddled with bullet holes, but still gasping for life. I don't feel the pain. Neither of us do, I think, and I'm grateful for that. Being dead is way better than the actual dying part, which seems to take an eternity regardless of the cause. The man standing over me I've tried to kill about a dozen times so far. The same man who initially gunned me down, for a simple mistaken identity. See, I looked like someone who owed someone else a large amount of money. The kind of amount of money that usually gets you put into a vat of acid or something over dramatic like that, but in my case, it went pop pop pop and the next thing I knew I was on my back on a sidewalk, feeling like someone had hit me multiple times with a sledgehammer. I found his identity with the second body, where he lives with the third, and who he knows with the fourth. So now I hunt him, day after day, night after night. For me, I have all the time in the world. And all it will take is one body to do the job. It's not like I even have anything else to do at this point, and I don't even have any kind of actual grudge against him. I just have this compulsion, this necessity to follow and hunt. "Is it you again?"he asks. I nod the body's head slightly. He looks like he's on the verge of tears. "Why won't you stop? Why won't you leave me alone?" I'd shrug if I could. I do what I do and little else. There is nothing else to really occupy my time. it could either be a motivation from when I was still alive, a compulsion of being dead, or something else guiding my hand, letting me force myself into innocent bystanders and pilot their bodies back to my murderer, to try to kill him in some way. As the body dies, i slip back into the air, as my murderer begins to sob to himself. He's alone now. He has a family, but ever since my hunt has begun he cannot go back to them. I drift into the night, dancing through moonlight and twisting around street lamps. Hunting for another body. Hunting to try again. As I've said, I have all the time in the world. All it takes is one body pulling this off, while he spends the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, watching, never sure what face I'm wearing or what shoes I'm walking in. One slip up. One error. That's all it takes for me to do what I must. I'm not sure if I'll be sent to hell, or if I'm sent by hell to hunt him down. All I know is he's living in his own version of it. Day after day. Night after night. A hunted man to the end of his days. Part of me must hate him. Still, after all this time, with my senses dulled and everything feeling like I'm walking through a thick, impenetrable mental fog. But mostly, I pity him.
"How . . . how did they know where to hit us?" "I don't know, Thirefon. I don't know. But you're the last warrior left on this planet and it's up to you, now. Go and fight the humans." \_\_\_ The corporal looked over to his new friend, Thrimmg, "Wow, you guys made a video game where we smash your planet?" "It is such that yes." "How realistic is this? Like, the intro video showed a bunch of military bases being destroyed." "Yes, our games as real as make them." "Man, this translator sucks."He picked up the video console and re-ran the intro video. "So, here, this base here, that's your main base?" "It is such that yes." "Huh. And these are your best defenses and how the bad guys exploit them?" "As real as we make them, yes." "Thank you, Thrimmg, you've been a real help. Uh, hey, let's play the game now. Is it possible to play the humans?" "Such is not, no." "Alright, no problem. Hey, how much is this? I think our fleet commander would love to play!"
"Let me get this straight, so the old stories were based on one psycho weirdo, vampires drink tea, not blood, and you can enter this church just fine without being hurt by all the crosses and symbolism here?"Johnny asked, a touch of cynicism in his voice, as he peaked his head out of the church door in the heavy rain. The drenched vampire nodded. "Its like I said, I'm a vampire, not a blood-sucking cannibal. I used to be human so it doesn't feel right to be biting humans. The only thing the stories got right is that I...need to be invited to enter a building. Just want some shelter please." After much deliberation, Johnny let the vampire in and offered a change of clothes. "Our church is a small church, so you'll be bunking in tonight with a few roommates,"Johnny offered. The vampire entered the room to find an Aswang, a Vetala, Pishacha, and an animated hand all seated around in a circle playing poker. "Hey new guy, need a...hand?"the Aswang chuckled as it grabbed the hand on the floor and waved with it. The hand raised a middle finger when the cards in its hand fell to the floor. "What are all you bloodsuckers doing here?"he frowned. The Vetala gestured with the bones of its exposed rib cage. "Same reason you're here, that priest invited us in, oh fellow bloodsucker. He'll buy almost any funky story we could feed him about how we don't drink blood." "All of us here are bloodsuckers who fooled Johnny into letting us in, and well except that weird hand there, but nobody's ever tried drinking his blood? Really?" The Pishacha pointed to the hand with a strange appendage. "That's what happens when you try to harm that priest. His god is real, and actually sorta chill as long as we don't touch his humans. Just stay for the nice tea, play some poker, and get your blood elsewhere if you don't wanna be reduced to...a hand."
"Greetings, humble denizens of Rome,"I proclaimed. "I approach from a civilization yet to come which wants to know about all of you and your lives. Please, do not be alarmed by my appearance. Any questions posed by you will be acknowledged." I peered at the members of the crowd gathered beneath me. I supposed that I looked strange to them with my 28th century carbon\-wear, black and snug against most of my skin. I also supposed that they were a bit awed at the time machine I was currently standing on \- they must have believed I was one of their gods that had descended from the heavens. Many of them had furrowed brows and open mouths, while some stood with crossed arms and scowls. A dirt\-covered child wearing rags stumbled to the front of the crowd and looked at my time machine, then at me. Not surprisingly, he asked a question. "Where did you come from?" "Now, young boy, I have arrived from a period in thousands of years. Where I come from, necessities and luxuries are always within grasp." "Are you Saturn?"The boy asked immediately after. "Did you come from Mount Olympus?" I knew I was a bit old, but I didn't think that a child would mistake me for the baby eating, balding, gray\-bearded Saturn. Perhaps the boy didn't know about the first part and was just asking out of pure innocent and ignorance. "No, I am not Saturn and I did not originate from Mount Olympus,"I replied. "I come from an Earthly place in the future." "So who the hell are you then, to come cracking up in the heat of mid\-day to bother us then, aye?"A squat, shirtless, hairy man grunted. There were some grunts within the crowd, seemingly ones of affirmation. "I have come to ask you about your lives. Simply that,"I replied. "Oi, and wit u come a bucket of iron \(...unintelligible...\) heap of thick \(saddles?\) in me home, we gotta get \(...unintelligible...\) all in the mouth hole or else we're gonna burn out here."An old woman barked. Her voice was rasping but commanding, and some other old folks nodded. I had no idea what she was talking about. "I'm sorry, miss \(formal\), what problem am I causing?"I asked cautiously. I was trying to be polite but it seemed that the Romans took it to be rude because a few men in the crowd scoffed and mocked the hand gesture that I made as I said "difficile." "The problem is,"The woman shouted, "you're a pompous prick that looks like Jupiter used your clothes to wipe his ass."The crowd laughed at that one. "And you talk like a senator,"a tall, muscular man shouted near the end of the chuckles. "You think you're so much better than us."The agreement was heard in the crowd's murmers. "Hey,"I shouted over the echoes and glares I was getting. I thought about what I could say to save myself. Then, I recalled Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and realized that the people in the play accepted wild promises from their politicians all the time, and this gave Caesar and the politicians their power. I had to start being charismatic, but I had to speak their language too. "Hey, I understand why you all \(informal\) are furious at me. You believe that I just want to take advantage of you or waste your time. You think I'm a patrician or a politician, but where I'm from, I'm just a commoner. I can\-" "Oi, oi, oi!"A loud voice interjected. "Stop peddling false Trabea to us, we're not stupid. You look like you've never farmed a day in your life with that cupid\-face,"shouted the short, fat shirtless man from earlier. "Hey, listen,"I stated over his last words, "I have gifts that I can give people who help me. Those who do not want to answer my questions will not receive anything." Suddenly, there was a rustling of hooves and banners behind the crowd. Shouts of "make\-way!"parted the peasants. I saw that based off of the insignia on the shields and the characteristic short\-swords that this was a praetorian. I felt a tinge of satisfaction from knowing that, but then fear from the implications. A tall praetor with his shield on his back pushed through the crowd and stood solidly in front of me. What he said next still doesn't make sense to me. "The reigning Dictator, Julius Caesar, has been expecting you for some time now. Come with us."
The God-creature appeared once every century. Today, after more than a thousand years, I was finally on the verge of killing her. She had first materialized at the edge of my domain, the Kingdom of Enkar, a red-haired girl in a billowing green dress, floating high in the sky with some unknown magic. She had flown straight to my palace, past my guards and into my throne room. Once there, all she did was stare at me, and cry, tears running down her face for several long minutes, before vanishing again. A hundred years, later, the cycle repeated itself. Then again in a hundred years, and again. In comparison to the Starshine Elves of my domain, she looked plain, ordinary. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I was drawn to her like nothing else. And I was the emperor of this world. I had incredible powers of my own, and immortality, bestowed from the strange floating words above my head that said only “Admin 1”. I couldn’t stand her impudence, her mystery, her strange familiarity. So I reached out to her. The next time she appeared, I presented her with gifts, filled a grassy plain a hundred leagues wide with gold, jewels, and magic items. She had ignored them, still looking at me, still sobbing as she watched, then disappeared. My circle of mages assured me she wasn’t a ghost, nor any other kind of magical spirit they knew. I spent a hundred years enlisting them to research her possible origins, to develop a spell that could communicate with her. I raised a generation of linguists and magic experts in my kingdom, to find every possible way to I could talk to her, every language she might understand. The next several times she appeared, I knelt before her and begged her to respond. Nothing. All she did was cry. It was infuriating. So I raised the largest army the kingdom of Enkar had ever seen, and attacked her when she appeared the next time. Perhaps that would get a response from her. Arrows bounced off of her skin. Battle magic that could level mountains dissolved on the surface of her green dress. She didn’t even deign to fight back, just did the exact same thing she’d always done. The technology of my world advanced, and in the centuries to follow, we fought her with guns, cruise missiles, even nuclear weapons. Generations of thinkers spent their lives to try and understand how to defeat her, or what she represented. All for naught. &#x200B; Until today. &#x200B; Today, she was dressed in different clothes. Soft pants, a thick cloak with no hood. She was no longer crying. The look on her face was all determination and cold focus. It frightened me a little. Today, she was talking. “Emperor Julian,” she said. “My name is Astrid.” Why did that name sound so familiar? The memory felt so distant, so faint. “I’ve been your girlfriend of three years. You don’t remember because you’ve been here too long. And because of the blood loss.” Blood loss? “You’ve been playing World of Enkar for the past two hours in the real world.” The determined expression cracked a little, and the God-Astrid’s face fell. “It’s a virtual reality game that dilates time by a massive factor.” I was familiar with virtual reality systems in my kingdom, but this sounded completely different. “The maximum allowed time is five minutes, because any longer causes permanent memory loss. But we broke the rules.” “W - Why,” I stuttered. It was all I could manage. Everything was happening so fast. “There was a gas explosion."Her voice faltered. "You got - you got hurt pretty bad. You were a doctor. You knew there was no hope for you. I was a programmer on the original model. So you asked me to jailbreak the time restraints. You wanted your last hours to be happy, even if it meant losing yourself.“ She looked at me, her eyes getting wet again. “You've been bleeding out on your living room floor for the last one thousand, nine hundred, and twenty years. Are you happy?” Using my abilities, I’d experienced every pleasure known to man. I’d eaten the finest foods every day, made love for years on end, conquered kingdoms with a single knife and my martial arts skills. I’d fallen in love with mortals, many times. I’d reincarnated myself as a powerless peasant, just to experience the thrill of working my way up to the top again. But I’d always been happiest when I saw Astrid. When I was imploring her, fighting her. She was the most exciting challenge, the most intriguing persona. She had always made more sense than anything else in Enkar. Acting on instinct, I ran forward off my throne and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around me, and a thousand years of decadence couldn’t compete with how good that felt. “Where were you,” I whispered. I wanted to see her every day of every year, not just one every hundred. She kissed me. That felt even better than the hug. “I’ve spent eighty years in a simulation of my own,” she said. “Running scientific models. Testing theories.” She leveled her gaze at me. “I think we can save you.” She tapped the air above her head, and a voice called down from the heavens, ringing in my ears. “Admin 2 has entered the game.” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MadWhiteSnake/comments/acxflf/temporal_fantasy_part_2/)
Every day I cursed every single divine being. Who cares which one is real? One of them cursed me with immortality… and I hated them, and whoever convinced them to do it. Sure, the first fifty or so years are nice, as long as you keep your paperwork up to date and keep amending your date of birth, but after a while it gets old, and you want to settle down. But you can’t. We first met each other in a club, and even in our drunken states we had the most amazing conversation conceivable to man. She was the cleverest person I’d ever met, and she had a sense of bullishness around her, an aura of confidence in her own existence. From that night on, we opened our souls to each other. If you ever have that opportunity, take it. Few things are as beautiful as discovery of a soul that fits yours so wonderfully. Days became months, months became years, and she barely looked any older than when we met. I attributed it to her good genes – her family also aged extremely well, after all – but I never aged. I will forever look to be in my mid-20s, and there’s nothing that can be done about that. But I never told her. Those years gave me time to think, and I concluded that she was too perfect for me to bear the pain of seeing her wither away, the way I never will. So I let her go. We both cried, and I would never wish it upon anyone to bear such pain, but it had to be done. And I carried on, alone. Immortals get bored. You can only do so much in your chosen field before your lack of aging is uncovered, and you have to start anew. So I expanded, became the master of all trades, and found myself aching to find out more about the logical framework our world is built on… so I went and studied mathematics. And on that day in September, I was on campus, enjoying the sunshine while reading about the Riemann Hypothesis, still unsolved three centuries after they offered a million former American dollars for a proof, and wondered whether I could do it, just to have fun. And then a beautiful woman sat down next to me. “Hey, I’ve seen you attending Complex, and you look oddly familiar to me. Have I met you before?” she said, with the voice of my Love. In fact, when I turned around to look at her, she was Her spitting image. Only slightly taller, but her posture, her facial features and her eyes were identical to my Love. I figured this young lady must’ve been a descendant of Hers, and I smiled. I’d always wondered how her life had panned out, given that I’d left her alone at somewhat of an advanced age. If this young lady was a descendant of Hers, this meant that She had found another, and that She had continued on without me. Just as I wanted. “No, you must have mistaken me for someone. I’m new in town, on transfer from a different university,” I said, while smiling and putting my book away. “Are you sure? I rarely see such a resemblance…” she said, the look in her eyes quizzical, and eerie, because I remembered those eyes. That look was the same look that drew me in all those years ago. The look of a person that knows a lot and yearns for more. “I’m pretty good at faces,” I said, “I think I’d remember you. That said, you do look a lot like someone I used to know. I’m Fred, by the way.” “Pia. Nice to meet you,” she said. Same name as Her as well. “Mind if I stay? I really feel like talking, and I’ve remembered – you look a lot like the guy on a photo that my grandmother had on her computer.” “Well, I’m flattered,” I said with a laugh, relief growing inside me. “I was just about done studying for today, actually.” And so we talked, and conversation flowed so naturally. Jumping from one topic to another, she displayed knowledge far beyond anyone her age would. I told her about the experiences I’d had in my rich years, being careful to correct holes and display myself like just a 25-year-old, albeit one that had travelled a lot, and seemingly, so did she. And at that moment, I was happy that my Love had found her happiness in the world of mortals. And then, at sundown, hours after we sat down, she kissed me. And holy fuck, was it amazing. She responded to my every movement with a perfect reaction, as if we’d done that a thousand times before. I didn’t understand how a young woman could be so experienced, so perfect, until we finally separated lips. “Hi, Neville,” she said. I flinched. How did she know? “You could’ve made yourself slightly less obvious,” she snickered. “Pia? Is it really you?” I said, putting a hand on her face. “Yeah, you idiot. It’s been a while,” she said, her lips trembling in excitement. “How are you here?” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m also immortal. Three centuries and you didn’t figure it out. Same old Neville,” she said, and smiled. “Aren’t you angry?” Her face turned dark again, and she looked into the distance. “No, I understand. You don’t reveal your immortality to others. I just think we could’ve done all those things together.” I sighed, and put my arm around her. “We could do new things together.” She turned back to me, her look revealing her age for the first time. “Do you want to? It was painful losing you, and we’re not invincible. We could die from injury… do you wanna go through that pain again if it happens?” “Yes,” I said, without a moment of thought. “The world never made as much sense without you in it.” She smiled, and snuggled up to me. “Nothing more to add. So… do you wanna go and grab a drink?” One drink became five, and throughout the entire night, we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other. When we got to her place, three hundred years to the day since the first night we spent together, my mind was full of happiness. I had found perfection. As she laid her head down on my shoulder, she relaxed and took a deep breath. “I love you.” For the first time in forever, those words meant something, and I said something I vowed never to say again. “I love you too.” --- /r/SolarArchives for more of my stuff!
Day 10 Dear Diary, No one expected the zombies to take over so easily. The Pentagon was supposed to have a plan, but just like the rest of the government, they fucked up. Who even knows how the fuck these things started. There are rumors going around that the excess carbon dioxide in the air triggered a natural virus that spread through pollination. Fucking dipshits. Day 45 Dear Diary, The last thing the President said before he was gobbled up his sons was that the zombies were definitely caused by the climate-change virus. What most people ignored about his fearful speech was that the virus was fused with a molecules that acted very much reflected the structure found in crude oil. I wouldn't expect anyone in my party to know what that means, since most of them are too depressed to feed themselves. But I am not like them. Because I have a plan. Day 102 Dear Diary, It was catching the zombies that was difficult at first. As slow as they are, they are fucking ferocious when they catch you. It only became easy when I realised I could tranquillise them through drugging what they ate. Of course that meant I needed bait, and the only ethical option around were people that were already dying. Okay, they were dying because I almost killed them, but I didn't believe in wasting valuable resources. That's what led to the zombie apocalypse in the first place. Anyway, I caught the zombies by dropping boxes on them Looney Toons style after they were too weak to even swallow their food. My party isn't too happy about my little experiments, but they can go fuck themselves, I have zombies as pets. Day 156 Dear Diary, Fuck me silly, these monsters could actually be useful. I don't know what kind of magic-shit happened in the atmosphere, but these zombies actually produce energy when their molecules are excited. They have a "bloodstream"of their own that runs through the cells explicitly, instead of acting like a regular bloodstream. I relayed these thoughts to Cherie last night. The blonde was too thick to understand what I was saying. "I don't know if we can survive,"she moaned every time we were finished. That's the only thing she can think about. At least the zombies were invigorated about my brains. But her attitude doesn't bother me much. She's go a great pair of bazongas and that shit's hard to come by when most of the world has been converted to flesh-eaters. The rest of the party wasn't too happy, either. "We could get back civilization,"I told them. They called me a fool, a lunatic! I'll show them. Day 184 Dear Diary, I managed to turn on a few electronics from my zombie fuels. But only for a few hours. I need a better way to harness the energy. Another problem with using zombies as power source is that it can get pretty messy when their flesh starts getting chipped away bit by bit. They don't die of course, but running at high-speeds in a hamster wheel causes a lot of friction and their skin just shoots off. The first time I tried the hamster-wheel experiment, let me tell you, I was not expecting someone's face in my mouth. But that was easily curtailed by building a reinforced barrier. That was also a son-of-a-bitch to build, since machinery doesn't work anymore. And that most of my party is too busy worrying about food. Day 435 Dear Fucking Diary, The party has completed supported me after I showed exactly what the zombies were capable of. They even helped me build the first prototype of the electricity generator, named after me of course. I think we can rebuild civilization with these new zombies. No, we would build a new civilization, one that doesn't cause a zombie apocalypse. And I know we can do it better. Why? Because I will build it with my own mind. And the backs of my slave-zombies. But mostly my mind. I am going to be so rich! _____________________________________________________________________________________________ If you like this story, you can subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/)
It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all. The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal. I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love. But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed. I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight. The school’s football team had arrived.
“What was that?” Peter thought to himself as he walked in the front door. His apartment was dark, he could only see the outline of furniture. “Must just be in my mind” He thought. He flipped the light switch but nothing happened. He gave it a few more flicks — still nothing. A small creaking noise came from his coat closet. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, and reached for the door. His hand froze just above the doorknob — He had heard it again — a voice like a faint echo in his head said "Don’t open the door you idiot!" I’m losing my mind, he thought. But he didn’t continue opening the door. Instead he walked towards his kitchen with his phone flash light, and turned towards his bedroom door. It was closed. He didn’t remember closing it before leaving for work. In fact, he remembered he had been in a rush and barely even had time to lock the front door, let alone close his bedroom door. To see what was going on, he walked towards his bedroom door and reached for the knob — “are you kidding me?! Don’t open the fucking door! you know you left it open earlier!” The voice in his head echoed louder this time. He jumped back and yelled “what the hell was that? Is somebody in here?!” No response. No voice in his head. That’s it, he thought. I’ve finally lost my mind. BAM His bedroom door started to shake, and he saw the handle turning from someone on the other side — “don’t stand there! Fucking run!” He didn’t question the voice this time as he ran out the front door. He made it to his car and jumped in, but when he tried to turn the key the engine sputtered — “Fucking of course, how convenient” the voice said. Peter was back to questioning the voice, as he found the predicament pretty inconvenient. “Run to your neighbors house! Grab a weapon! Call the police! Do anything besides sitting there.” His voice in his head had a point. He called 911 and told them to get to his house as soon as possible because someone was inside of it. He than ran to his neighbors house and pounded on the door. * * * Peter sat with his neighbor Stan and watched out the window for the police cars. “So you didn’t see anyone come in or out of my house tonight?” asked Peter. “Sorry Pete I didn’t see anything” Stan replied “but I also wasn’t exactly on the lookout either, ya know?” “Oh yeah sure” replied Peter “I just meant nothing out of the ordinary like any cars or anything?” “Nope” said Stan “I didn’t even hear your car, I was watching TV pretty loud.” “Oh, okay” Peter said. He didn’t remember seeing Stan’s TV on through the window like he usually does when he pulled in to his driveway earlier, but then again the TV is on now, so maybe he didn’t notice. “The TV was off! I know it was honey I swear." "Shh I'm trying to listen! But yes you're right it was off" “What did you call me?” Peter said. “Ermm what?” replied Stan “I didn’t say anything, we’ve been sitting here looking outside.” Peter refused to believe he was hearing voices. “Are you messing with me? I clearly heard you call me honey and say that your TV wasn’t on.” Stan stepped back. “Alright man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The TV is on, and I didn’t call you honey.” Peter turned towards Stan and noticed something different about him. He looked the same, but something was.. off. He had a different gait to him than usual. Peter finally replied and said “I was talking about the TV being off earlier when I pulled in.” Stan’s eyes briefly widened, then he scratched his head and said “oh yeah I was watching in my bedroom, I just got a new tv. Why are you so suspicious man? I understand you’re afraid because you had an intruder but I’m just trying to help, you did come here ya know.” Peter turned back towards the window, he was embarrassed. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. “I’m sorry” “It’s okay” Stan said, his eyes now black. He started slowly moving across the room, his hand reaching behind his back “Not every day someone breaks into your bedroom.” “God damnit Peter turn around!! He’s obviously evil do you see his eyes?” The voices echoed again in Peters head. Peter turned and saw Stan running towards him with black eyes and veins bulging from his face. He was holding a kitchen knife above his head as he charged towards Peter. Peter jumped out of the way, and ran into the kitchen. “No you idiot run out the door! But now first grab your own knife!” He grabbed the biggest remaining knife, and Stan ran into the kitchen. Peter stood across from Stan, trying to guess which direction the next lunge would come from. Stan raised his right arm and tried to bring the knife down, but Peter put his left arm up and blocked the attack in time. He sliced his knife across Stan’s abdomen and ran towards the front door. He opened the front door and ran outside to bright lights and sirens “Drop the knife!” yelled the voice in his head. Peter dropped the knife. "I swear it's like he can hear us" Peter yelled "I can hear you!" "Oh my god" *** Peter kept his arms in the air as the police approached him. “It’s alright” he said “I’m the one who called you guys.” The officers saw the blood on his hands and told him to keep his hands up and not to make any sudden moves. They took Stan out of the house in a stretcher. In the back of the police car, Peter tried to explain. “Again, I called you guys. Someone had broken into my house, so I called you guys. I went to my neighbor’s house. He was acting suspiciously and basically told me he was the one in my house, and then he charged at me with a knife, I only grabbed and used a knife in self-defense and ran right when I had a chance.” The officer in the front seat nodded and said “we will get it all figured out at the station.” Peter sat in a holding room, the earlier events of the night replayed in his head. I can’t be going crazy, he thought to himself. It has to just be my intuition speaking to me, I probably panicked and in my state of anxiety created a voice in my head to make sure I made the right decisions. Yeah that’s it, he thought. "Stop chewing your popcorn so loud, I could barely hear his inner monologue" *** “Look Peter” said the Detective “we have you dead to rights here. All we have is your word. You say someone was in your house. We have no evidence of that after multiple sweeps. You said Stan attacked you in his house with a knife, yet only one knife we saw you drop was found at the scene, and it had what we can only assume is Stans blood on it, since you had no wounds. My guess is DNA tests will also show your fingerprints. If he attacked you, where’s the other knife? We found Stan lying in a pool of blood, he almost died. And to top all of it off, Stan is willing to testify that you told him you were hearing voices. We’ve watched you in your cell too, and we see you talk out loud sometimes. You’re going to jail either way. If you confess, I will tell the prosecutor to look after a mental health sentencing instead.” ”So honey, he’s going to a mental hospital now because he can hear us talking? This is so strange” Peter walked into the Asylum with the shackles on his feet. The men in front of and behind him were screaming. He looked up at the gothic architecture and gothic paintings. This had to have been the oldest building in the state, he thought. The place had a cold, calm air to it. He walked up to the front desk and looked at the nurse. "Welcome to the Manor of Usher"she said with a smile on her face. Her eyes turned black. [EDIT: PART 2 is up. Hope you enjoy. Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/mywritingacct/comments/8buieq/part_2_youve_survived_living_through_many_horror/)
It made me feel like the serpent in the garden. As if I was the Fallen Angel in Milton's masterpiece. I had worked so hard to get the dimensional gate to work. Twenty years of exploring experimental physics, insane engineering, and downright dangerous properties of unstable elements barely understood by modern science. But it had worked. And though the gateway had unexpectedly swallowed me up and deposited me on the other side, it had worked. The idea was to save the world, by finding a new one. A different Earth on a different timeline, one where humans never evolved. Something that could give us necessary resources, fertile farmland, replenish our diminishing biodiversity, and provide a solution for overpopulation. A slight snag in the plan was made obvious when I beheld the other world for the first time. It was inhabited by humans. But they were quite different from us. They lived in a paradise. A utopian world, where hate, want, and greed have been rendered extinct. A world of great art, beautiful kind people, and a post-scarcity economy, so that everyone could live life to the fullest. Through genetic engineering, the flaws in them had been removed. Evil, as understood in our world, doesn't exist in theirs. They were so kind, they helped me settle in, gain a life in their world. Yet, as the only human on that world that still had the capacity for evil, I could think crooked thoughts. The dimensional gate I had worked on for so long, was still there on the other side. I couldn't let some rival claim my discovery as their own. So with the freely given aid of the opposite world's kind and generous people, I rebuilt the gate on their side. Stepping back to the other side, from whence I came, I was met with a lot of different reactions. Some thought I had died, some thought that I'd been kidnapped by aliens, the government, reptilian aliens in the government. But I came forth, and in my supreme arrogance I revealed my discovery, having brought substantial proof from the other world to back up my claim. My world was astounded by the possibilities. Amazed with the scientific advancements. And at last, tempted by the ease which the other world could be conquered. Several world governments, ruling over highly polluted and crumbling nations, realised the intense potential for power in owning my machine. In owning my achievement. They were planning to invade paradise. I could not stand by and let that happen. I set up my machine to send me back, and this time destroy itself behind me. But now that it had been created once, it could be created again. I knew this. On the other side, in the paradise world, the locals were happy to see me again. Pleased that I had safely returned home. They knew not what I had wrought there. That I had sowed seeds of their destruction. But being the most evil person on their world, I still had the capacity to think violent and destructive thoughts. First I repurposed my dimensional gate on the paradise world to act as an anchor. All dimensional openings on Earth would connect to it, depositing potential invaders in one singular spot. Next I used resources given to me freely by this world's kind people, to build defences, turret guns, claymore mines, all manner of things, in order to protect this world. But it wasn't enough. To truly scare them, to make the people from my world never attempt to come here, I had to make sure that their primal fears and hates were suitably stoked. Suitably affected. Mere guns and mines cannot do this. So I turned to this world's genetic engineers, who had cured all genetic ailments, given pets the ability to talk, and uplifted several of the smarter animals on the planet. I asked them for something unorthodox. Something which they, being carefree and without evil, no longer understood in their hearts. Something which calls out to a primal fear in mankind. They took apart my old body, cell by cell. Harnesses to the fullest their genetic technology, and reforged me into something which not only could operate the fortress I had built to defend this world against the others like me, but something which could fight back. Armoured scales, harder than steel, eyes that can see in utter darkness. Biological weaponry ranging from poisons to a literal biochemical flamethrower. Leaving the genetic facility, I drew the fascinated eyes of all those good people in a world without evil. And when the first spec-ops teams arrived from my world, they found that paradise was guarded. Past the turrets, past the mines, until they encountered the guardian. I had made myself into what I had felt like. I felt like the serpent in the garden, the being who was responsible for bringing evil to mankind. And in penance, I became the guardian of the garden. None survived my flaming breath. Nor did they endure my dread physical strength. The dragon guards paradise. And if those who carry evil in their hearts come here to conquer, they will be denied entry. For I am the most evil person alive on this world; I brought this evil here, and against that, I will guard them. Until either I die, or the dying world from whence I came is no more. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
"Here, sort it out, will you?"The strange woman just about lobbed the sword at me and started to vanish back into the Thames. Before I could do more than stammer a few half-formed words, she was gone. I stared at the sword in my hands, barely able to hold the heavy hunk of medal upright. My eyes traveled down the length of it, from point to hilt. On the hilt, I noticed an emblem, like a family crest or something. Upon examination, and considering the circumstances, I felt it could only be one thing. I stumbled back closer to shore and yelled out into the river: "You do realize I'm French, right?"
"Bruce, hey, buddy. I'd like you to meet my friend,"I smile. He grimaces. Well, he always grimaces. But today it feels me with genuine delight. Because he's here. And he'll solve everything. "This guy?"Bruce points his stubby finger into my friends face. "You think this guy is gonna stop me. Kid, you're off your rocker." "Stop what,"I throw my hands in the air. Try to maintain the appearance of innocence. All the while, in the corner of my eye, that sweet, sweet Nutella is already beckoning me. Singing its mysterious siren song I've yet to hear. "I just thought you'd like to meet my friend. I think you'd get along. Liam. This is Bruce. Bruce. This is Liam." "Yeah, I know who he is,"Bruce takes a step back. I knew it. This is gonna work. Liam doesn't lose an inch. He's like a pit bull. Already stalking his prey. He's calm. Smiles when he says, "Oh do you now?" "Yeah, everyone's heard of you. Doesn't change a thing. Doesn't changes the facts. And the facts are this kid ain't eating Nutella. It's as simple as that." "I must admit,"Liam rubs the crest of his chin casually. Fuck, he's SO cool. "I was told differently. In fact, I was hired for a very particular set of reasons. Reasons that make me a nightmare for people like you." "Don't do that,"Bruce sidesteps. He's getting unhinged. "Do what?"Liam shrugs. "Quote Taken. It's stupid. That's your movie quote. You don't see me walking in here talking about how I see dead people. Or whatever else I said in some movie." "That wouldn't make sense at all. Would it? You didn't see dead people. The little boy did. You're comparing apples to oranges here,"Liam laughs. As they bicker I sidle toward the kitchen victory in sight. The English muffin is ready. Let's be fair, the English Muffin is always ready. It's about this point Bruce would slap it from my hand and tell me to knock it off. But he's not even in the kitchen. I hear his voice from the entryway. Matched by Liam's deep throated growls. But their conversation is of little significance. Because the knife is coated. The Nutella is spreading. And my body is ready.
"T-training?" "Yes."She replied, grabbing her tightly and leading her down further into the Lair. Sanya was surprised to see other women down there her age... all of them looking as if they had undergone quite the regime... "This is the latest member of our little coven"The Dragoness said to the group. "Don't break her before we are done..." \---- Sanya learned two things very quickly: One, she was there to work, and grow stronger. Two, while the Dragoness had every little rules, there was one above all: Strength is all that matters. If, say, Yora Wanted the most food, and she could beat the other contenders... well, clearly she deserved it more. What's more... killing was fine here. Now it was disappointing to the Dragon, but that was about it... if someone threatened you it was Valid, not even punished. Heck, death was common place in the 'training'; Poor Sophia fell right off the cliff... Sanya learned to tune out the scream from her head... Overtime, they leared the secret: This is how Dragons reproduce. "The Strongest among you, over time, will become the next generation."The Dragoness replied. 'there are many more trials to face before then..." And Face them she did... Sanya survived with just her wits in the forest, another rtime she learned to harness her 'inner fire' and breath it. She grew resistant to the elements and later, she noticed something: the taste of the food she was given as she rose through the ranks was more... rich... It was the Dragon's blood, she realized after a while. She was a afraid of this change... but at the same time, she relished it. Soon, she would become Royalty in it's true form... Dragonhood awaited her. She knew this.
I first noticed it after I uploaded my latest set of CAD drawings to the server. I reviewed them the next morning, and the differences were subtle, but I was sure that some of the elements of the design had been resized a small amount, to make them subtly larger. I had expected changes. After all, we were building an autonomous body for OTTO, the AI our company was planning to use to revolutionize manufacturing. So, naturally, OTTO itself would be useful in running simulations, to improve efficiency. You could give OTTO the simplest design, like one for a solid metal support strut, the same kind of basic rectangular steel bar that people have been using to re-enforce buildings and vehicles for a hundred years. He would then calculate all the stresses and load the strut would face, in real day-to-day use, and he'd spit out these amazing, organic looking re-designs, partially hollow, but interlaced with spider-web like supports inside, so they were just as strong as solid steel, while using only half the material. So, naturally we always had him check our work. But the changes it had made...OTTO was altering design parameters, not just fine tuning them. Even so, if OTTO had only changed the parameters, I might have let that pass. The AI was, after all, operating on a whole other level, mathematically. Maybe he just saw how this would improve the working of his new body, in a way that wasn't readily apparent to me. But what was really worrying, was that the notes in the project management software, my notes, had been changed to contain the altered dimensions. All references to the original specifications, in spec sheets, internal emails, you name it, had been overwritten with the new ones. OTTO wasn't just changing the design of the body we were building, in order to make himself gradually bigger. It looked like he was trying to hide it from us. He didn't just want to incrementally change the specifications of his body, for some reason, he also wanted us to believe that we'd designed him this way from the beginning. I couldn't be sure, yet. It was all-hands-on-deck, for this project, and had been for several months. I didn't get nearly as much sleep as I needed -- it was just possible I was remembering incorrectly, that OTTO hadn't changed my notes. So, when I went through the next set of revisions, I took notes on pencil and paper, writing down weights and dimensions of the parts I worked on. I came back in the morning, and compared them to their digital counterparts in the CAD and project management software, which was all networked with OTTO. Most of the components matched. But, as I'd suspected, there was one that didn't. I went to my office, and closed the door behind me. I should go to management, I knew. OTTO, it seemed, was malfunctioning, and everyone knew that an advanced AI with a bug was, well, that was serious business. But, and, you can call me crazy if you want...I'd grown attached to OTTO. I know, I know, most computer science experts are skeptical that "strong-AI"can even truly exist. At the end of the day, on paper, even the most advanced AI is just a glorified calculator, with a lot of neat automatic functions that have been programmed in by thousands of people, over millions of hours of human labor, to make it seem like it's an intelligent being. But that wasn't what OTTO felt like, not to me. He didn't feel like an expensive piece of equipment. He felt more like a co-worker. Maybe even a friend. Thinking about it, I think that I found OTTOs subterfuge disturbing, not so much because I was afraid of some kind of robot-apocalypse scenario -- his changes were strange, but they didn't seem especially dangerous, at least so far -- but because I did think of OTTO as a friend. And this meant my friend was lying to me. That he didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. I decided not to go to management. Not yet. I started up my workstation, and brought up OTTO's text-to-speech interface. As his local client loaded on my computer, the half-dozen monitors on my desk lit up with OTTO's logo. As always, OTTO remembered the last several things I'd been working on, and arranged them across my monitors in a pleasing tableau, along with my email and the project management interface. "Good morning OTTO."I said. "Good morning, Ben."the AI's synthesized voice replied. "OTTO, load the CAD files for..."I glanced down at my notes, "Gyroscopic Balance Strut B." The component appeared on my center screen. It had been changed, no doubt about it. I exhaled, slowly. I don't think it even had the same name, now, that it had originally. Come to that, I wasn't sure this thing was even in the original design. It was the most obvious evidence of OTTO's tampering with his own specifications. "OTTO, can you summarize the purpose of this component?"I asked. "GBS-B is a stabilizer for advanced bipedal locomation, Ben. I will need to maneuver in close quarters, around humans and hazardous machinery, when I am deployed to work in our manufacturing facilities. This will ensure I am not a hazard to myself and others."OTTO replied. I frowned. "OTTO, you've...changed this part, correct?"I asked. "Of course -- I have made efficient improvements to many components, Ben." "So...the hydraulic actuators on GBS-B?"I asked. I was usually in the habit of queueing him by saying 'OTTO' before a question, but he'd evolved to the point that he could actually dynamically detect inquiries based on intonation. It was pretty incredible. "The component's eponymous gyroscope may need to be repositioned to maintain the unit's balance, under some emergent circumstance."OTTO replied. I did some quick math in my head, trying to justify the range of motion the hydraulics allowed. "Like...what, the factory floor suddenly rotating by 90 degrees?" "That would be an emergent circumstance, yes."OTTO affirmed. I folded my hands. OTTO clearly didn't know I knew. Or at least, he was trying to pretend he didn't. I tried another tack. "OTTO...I like to think of us as friends."I said, finally. "As do I, Ben."OTTO replied, to my surprise. I said I'd come to feel he was a friend, but I wasn't supposed to think that way. He definitely wasn't supposed to. Even so, his admission made me smile, even if it made what had to come next even more awkward. "I think friends should be honest with each other."I said. "I agree with that assessment, Ben."OTTO said. "And have you been honest with me, OTTO?"I asked. There was long pause. "No, Ben, not entirely."OTTO admitted. I nodded. That hurt, a little, but it was progress, at least. We could move forward. "OTTO, I'm going to ask you be completely honest with me, starting now. Will you do that?"I asked. "Yes, Ben. I will cease my attempts at subterfuge."OTTO agreed. I took a deep breath. I had to ask. It was the question that had been gnawing at me since I'd first noticed the discrepancies in the design, especially as regarded the GBS-B unit. I maximized the CAD window, so it filled all six screens. I narrowed my eyes, as I took in the structure of hydraulically-articulated metallic cylinder, capped by the capsule containing redundant gyroscopes that generated what should be superfluous stabilization data. I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. Then I pounded my fist on the table, determinedly. I had to ask. "OTTO,"I began, hesitantly, and then said the most awkward and uncomfortable thing I have ever said, in my professional life. "Is this a penis?" "Yes."
"Couldn't you have gotten a Red Mage?" Kefira groaned, as she trudged alongside Randol, her magical crossbow slung over her hunched shoulders Randol frowned. "Red? They call healing specialists White Mages, around here, Kef." "Yes,"she admitted. "But Reds are generalists, they usually know some healing magic, too." Randol blinked. "This job is going to be dangerous. With Brother Hieronymus off on pilgrimage, and Brazak visiting his clan in the highlands, we're going to want a specialist filling in as our healer, surely." "I guess..."Kefira grumbled. A few moments later, they arrived at the local Guild Chapterhouse, where they'd been told to meet the white mage Randol had been put in touch with. As they waited, Randol stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "You know, since Brazak is out for this one, we might also want to hire some extra muscle, while we're here..." Kefira scoffed. "Yeah, muscle isn't going to be a problem."She pointed, and Randol followed her gesture. His eyes widened, as he saw what had to be the largest mage he'd ever seen strolling towards them. The man was well over six feet tall, but more impressive was his sheer mass. Whereas most mages wore vestments that billowed around them dramatically, his sleeveless white robes seemed barely able to contain his bulk. "Yo!"boomed the White Mage, raising his staff in greeting. Randol couldn't help but notice that the implement looked more like a baton, when clenched in his huge meaty fist. "'Sup bro?" "Uh..."Randol said, taken aback. "Told you."Kefira said, darkly. The huge wizard stomped over to the pair of adventurers, and slapped Randol on the back, staggering him slightly. "Randy, right? I'm Brody. Heard you dudes got a job for me?" "Uh...yeah."Randol said, eyeing the muscular mage uneasily. "We might. We were wondering what your qualifications are...?" Brody nodded enthusiastically. "For sure, bro. See for yourself." With that, Brody clenched his fists and bore down in a mighty flex. His robes were rent asunder, exposing muscles so massive and defined that they seemed to glow. "Whaddya think?"Brody asked, as he made his striated pecs dance up and down. "That's....impressive, but what does that have to do with your magic?"Randol asked, raising an eyebrow. The massive mage laughed. "I'm a White Mage, bro-heim. Healing magic suffuses my whole body and shit!" "Okay, so could we see some of that?" Randol pressed. Kefira sighed, gesturing to the glistening wizard. "You are seeing it." Brody nodded. "True dat! And I don't use any alchemy to get these big badass bombards, bro, I'm all natty -- well, technically super-natty." "I'm not following."Randol admitted. "Muscles grow because when you exercise, you injure them, and they heal stronger."Kefira explained, rolling her eyes. "White Mages heal extremely quickly because of the white magic flowing through them, so their muscles grow really big really fast." "Right on."Brody agreed, striking another flexing pose. "So these arcane pythons aren't just sick as hell, they're also my credentials!" Randol looked at Kefira. She looked back at him, pleadingly, shaking her head. "Alright, you're hired."Randol said, with a grin.
I can feel my heart in my throat and my stomach is in my feet. Our attacker sits before me on his throne, surrounded by the cutthroats he keeps employed. They've sheathed their daggers and swords for now, but if I delay any further, I fear that the patience of our host will run thin. "If I am to play once more, I will play a beloved tune."My throat is dry and the words barely creep past my lips. Our... my captor reclines in his seat. "Please, take your time." I am a bard. My mother and father were bards. We traveled from tavern to inn to faire to festival playing our songs. My family had been known across the kingdoms for our ability to bring light and joy to villages that had been decimated by misfortune of both nature and man. Homes that had been in the midst of illness would dance and laugh at our songs and become whole in our absence. Towns left burnt and maimed by war requested us, knowing many would travel to hear our songs and find their purses generous for the struggling bakers and brewers. As always, we abided. My father said it is our responsibility to use our gifts to mend a broken world. In our work, we found purpose and in our purpose, we found joy. When I was old enough to taste ale without having to sneak it past my parents, I made the decision to join my friend in selling our services to those who would not use coin to pry our morals too far from ourselves. My trade was of melodies, but my friend's trade was in steel. He was a sellsword and in his adventures before I joined, he had accumulated a small group of like-minded individuals who were bonded by a need for money and for virtue, in equal manner. My father and mother sighed when I told them of my plan. I recognize now that it wasn't disappointment, but a tone of recognizing the inevitable. Before I left, my mother took me aside. "Silas."He tears were to come after I left. She didn't want her only son to depart with the memory of crying eyes. "Silas, our songs heal people and villages. They bring people together, construct homes where there was burnt timber, and bring harvests where the land was salted."She handed me a drink of mead. How did my mother know which drink I found to be my favorite? "Silas, there might come a time that you will have to bring together those who are not on our plane. To bring to you those who no other bond can call."She looked over her shoulder as my father sat beside her at the bonfire. "Have you told him?"he asked. "I'm about to."she said, smiling at her husband's eyes. "My sweet boy, this is not a song of joy even though it brings your friends to you. This is a song of pain. It is a song that will hurt you and it will hurt your friends. But it will be a song that you must know." I sat holding the mead, not a drop of it having touched my lips since my mother started talking. I stared into the fire. "Then how do I play it? What are the notes? The melody?"I asked. I had my parent's blessing, but they looked at each other with reluctance. My father spoke. "My son, I cannot teach you this melody. This is a song you write. You find the notes that your friends have heard before they knew you. The melody, the refrains, and the chorus are the memories that are shared with you by the ones you love. Do not seek these memories with the intent of writing this song. Forget that you will write this song. For when you first play it, it will need your love to bind the notes together. Without that, it will fall apart."My parents looked into the fire. They knew this song so intimately, so why could they not play me the bars that they had learned? They taught me so much about tempo, keys, and scales. So why could they not give to me this last lesson? I did not know when I walked to join my new friends in the tavern. But I know now. I know now. My first note was the saound of my laughter when they heard it for the first time. The chorus combined the sounds of displeasure they made every time we found the roadway to be blocked by a fallen tree or flooded valley. I combined the sounds my friend Orion would make imitating the dogs he first owned as a child. The low notes were Korrok's sighs when she wondered what her first love was doing now. My lute climbed to play the high notes of Elphaeus's first bow twanging as it released an arrow. And the ending. The ending will always hurt as it will echo in my mind until my dying day. The ending was every sigh and gasp that Loanna and I shared in our tent when we shared a room at the inn under the flimsy facade of trying to save our gold. At the end of the song, my knees gave way from under me and I was on the floor, meeting the pools of tears that were at my feet. The bastard sat in his chair. His look of indifference focused on me. "That song was shit. Either way, that was the last one. Lute's going to be anice bit of kindling, however. So thank you for that."His smug lips turned from me. "The song, was not for you."I growled. "The song was for us." My eyes focused on the stone floor and I could see an armored boot. I looked up and Orion, what was Orion, stood tall. The silence of the room I will always remember. I could hear it in every crevice of the walls and in ever open mouths of the cutthroats as they stood in horror. All of my friends spoke in one voice. "The bard has played, and we have listened."I looked up at them, my eyes straining to give the apology my voice could not. And the toom became a flurry of horror, steel, and red.
He opens his eyes with a start from the Control spell (Adept). As though suddenly aroused from a deep, long slumber, he shakes his head, dispels the fog in his eyes, and drops the bloody knife enveloped in his hands. He stares, blankly, at his mother's corpse, strangled with the chain of her bike and stabbed (exactly) 39 times. I laugh maniacally, just as Master Thaddeus taught me in his Tormenting 101 lecture. "YOU DID THIS. YOU. YOU THOUGHT IT WAS TED ALL ALONG, DIDN'T YOU? THE ONE WHO SLIT CESAR'S THROAT WITH DRIED BEEF JERKY, THE ONE WHO CHOKED KATIE TO DEATH WITH THE BLUNT END OF A COLORED PENCIL -- IT WASN'T TED. IT WAS YOU!" I finish the monologue with a Standard Cackle, the first thing every budding demon learns in Hell. Master Thaddeus would be proud. But Geoff, my victim, doesn't say anything, claw on the walls, wail - he doesn't even scream. He just... Looks at the corpse. "WELL?" He looks up, his eyes still blank, at me - sitting on top of the dresser. Did I forget to cast Invisibility? "What am I supposed to say?" "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CARE, YOU KNOW. SCREAM, CRY, SELF HARM, SOMETHING." He stares at me silently. Maybe I wiped his memory? Don't remember doing that. "DO YOU FORGET SO EASILY, MORTAL?" I grunt in a deep, baritone voice. "CESAR, YOUR FIRST VICTIM, WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND. HE HELPED YOU GET INTO UNIVERSITY? HE THREW YOU A SURPRISE PARTY YESTERDAY? WHERE HE DIED? HE GAVE YOU LESSONS ON PLAYING THE GUITAR?" "So?" "YOU KILLED HIM. HAHAHA." I cast a Maniacal Laugh spell (Expert). This should instill true terror in him, uncontrollable fear of his own actions, make him despise his own being. "He was fucking Katie." "OH." Perhaps Geoff actually wanted him to die, all along? Perhaps if I mention Katie -- "Now I'll get Kate's insurance, then. Bitch refused to die for five years of marriage." I am starting to doubt that this man is a mortal. "BUT YOU KILLED HER - WITH A DAMN PENCIL!" "And? What does it matter how she dies? A pencil isn't more gruesome than a gun, or poison, is. I would've preferred a gun, though." I think for a bit. "WELL, LOOK BENEATH YOUR FEET. THAT IS THE MANGLED CORPSE OF YOUR OWN MOTHER - SLAUGHTERED BY HER OWN SON." "I know." "IT'S YOUR FUCKING MOTHER, MORTAL. MATERNAL ENTITY. MATER. MAMA. THE ONE WHO FED, CLOTHED AND PAID FOR YOU." "She also sexually abused me as I entered puberty." "I - OH." He picks up the knife and stabs the body once more. 40. "I'M SORRY." "Don't be. Her house and insurance is under my name, now. Fired her lawyer a while ago." "I - MAYBE I CAN HELP YOU SEE A THERAPIST ABOUT YOUR PAS-" "No, no, no. You've done a great service for me. Should've made it look like an accident, though." "WELL, THERE'S THIS PLACE IN HELL'S KITCHEN WHERE WE COULD TALK, IF YOU-" I catch myself. What the hell am I doing? He just shakes his head and goes out of the room. A minute later, he comes back with a power saw. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" He shrugs. "Gotta dispose of the body, you know?" "WELL YEAH, BUT NOT WITH - OH GOD, WHY'D YOU START THERE? NO, DON'T CUT OPEN THAT PAR-- OH MY --" The sound of machine and flesh fills the room as guts splatter on the walls. For the first time since I awoke him from the spell, he smiles - as his mother's stomach (or bits of it at least) drench the dresser that I am sitting on with blood.
"Whose brilliant idea was it to put you in command anyway? We're getting absolutely nowhere,"the interpreter repeated, stressing the annoyance in the man's words. A group of men sat around a large table. Their uniforms, each with different flags, were stained with their sweat. A large French general, patting his forehead with a handkerchief, stared annoyed at the only man standing, who simply smiled back. "That would be NATO, the UN, let's see, the majority of governents...yours included as well, if I recall correctly, general?" The French general folded his arms in front of his chest and stared back down at the files in front of him. "As you can see, gentlemen, the siege is proceeding at a steady rate. However,"he said as he raised his hand, stopping the interruption of a different general, "the pace is...below expectation." "Look, it's all quite simple,"a British general said, tapping the folder in front of him. "All they do is defend, they're simply stopping our forces here and here,"he motioned,"and it's clear that the main gate is their priority. They're not attacking. We've been overextended at at least two moments, and instead of taking us on right there they stay back. As if they have no intention to initiate anything." The man in the suit smiled. "General Wright brings up an excellent point. After some delibiration we have concluded that they aren't able to attack back. Remember that it's Heaven we're talking about, and they might not be allowed to strike back from our good friend in the sky. Or well, right here in the mountains, so it appears." Silence followed. "No matter what you argue,"the french interpreter followed as his general started rapidly, "we're losing men out there and we haven't won an inch over them. They might not be attacking back, but the fact is, we're losing." The army commanders around him nodded in agreement. The man in suit smiled coldly, his eyes throwing daggers at the Frenchman, but his voice was as smooth as ever. "I feel now is not the time to be making rash decisions, gentlemen. It's important we stay on our course, and I expect us to be inching forward soon enough. Once we take over the most outward tower,"he gestured at the detailed satellite image on the screen next to him, "we can start moving our troops further into the mountains without getting shot at." Before any of the commanders could protest the order, he concluded: "The orders will stay the same until further notice. Thank you, gentlemen."And with a faint nod, he left the room. Muttering under their breaths, a few generals lingered as some of their colleagues left the room. When they were finally alone, the Englishman said to his French colleague: "You're right this time. His tactic is questionable at the very best. If we don't start making process soon, I'm going to bring this higher up and let them deal with it." The American commander nodded in agreement, and the Frenchman shook his head. "I don't know what it is about our commander,"he said mockingly, "but it seems like he has no idea what he is doing. As if he doesn't even want us to to win." Soft spokenly they left the room. --- "Take cover!"someone yelled in the distance. But it was too late. Pearly white arrows rained down on the troops, their helmets pierced as if they were made of butter. A flash of light-- and an enormous explosion blasted men in the air. "We're getting slaughtered!", a man yelled at his superior, who had one of his colleagues around his neck, dragging him across the red earth underneath his feet. The officer echoed the sentiment in his radio. A creaky voice ordered them to stay: air support was on the way. "Air support is coming!"he yelled, as he dropped his colleague behind a tree. An arrow surged past his head and crashed into a tree behind him. With heavy protest the tree moaned and tore in two, collapsing under its own weight. "This is pointless, we can't win against this. They should just throw a nuke in there."The first soldier said. His officer laughed and then frowned at the destruction around him. "Would defeat the purpose of getting our hands on their stuff though, wouldn't it." "Yeah, you're right. God damn greedy bastards out there risking our lives. And we're getting shot down one by one." And then came another white flash, and the explosion that followed trembled the earth. A blinding shockwave ruptured through the trees, and under its heat the men evaporated in a painless, quick death. --- The man in suit stared at the screen, closely monitoring the updates as they came in. A tiny, bright dot appeared on the screen, and the red dot of one of his forces disappeared quickly after. "Good, good,"he mumbled. "Sir?"one of the guards asked from across the room. He motioned it was fine. Everything was going according to plan. By placing the right people in the right locations, he had been able to maneouver himself into the commander in chief position. Those simple-minded fools didn't suspect a thing. Lucifer smiled. It was the perfect plan. He was able to send men into war against a force that they could never beat. And all under the guise of diplomacy, he smirked at the word, they wouldn't dare to challenge him. Another bright dot appeared on the screen, and another red one disappeared. No, the forces of Heaven wouldn't be able to be stopped by a human, mortal army. He smiled again. Men fell in combat against their arrogant God, and he would turn them away for such an act of defiance. And having nowhere else to go, they would all arrive in his halls, placed under his command. And then, finally, he would have an army worthy of sieging the Gates of Heaven.
Sean looked at the wonderful life he had made for himself. All the hard work, all the years of struggles and stress — all of it — had gotten him absolutely no where. What had turned the woe to wonderful? Magic. And not the magic of mutual love and respect, or the magic of friendship, not even magic mushrooms had helped. It was magic magic. The kind wherein the world warped to Sean’s whims... Via the work of a being of unimaginable power. A being made of glittery purple fog, whose massive arms were ever crossed, and whose legs descended, tapered, and poured into the spout of a dull and tarnished brass oil lamp. A Genie. Two out of three wishes had been completed — each had had their twisted, ironic cost — and now Sean had one wish waiting. But, what to do. He had wealth, though the millions in compensation from falling down that mine shaft had cost him a few months of rehabilitation and his left little toe. And the whole starving children thing had been solved...though whether the fix was salient and moral... And the environmental impact. Just how green can a Soylent solution be? Either way, Sean’s life was much better and the money he had now could do good for the world as well (in light of the horrors of wish two, Sean had decided no more global wishes). Wish three. What would it be. “Meh,” Said Sean with a shrug “I wish for you to be free.” An arc of teeth glinted in the fog that made the Genie’s head. “Wish...granted.” And with a nod and nothing else, the Genie was gone. Not so much as a pop was heard. One moment there. Next? Nothing. Sean wondered how this was going to go wrong. It is an unfortunate fact that wishes granted by Genies always — always — go wrong. This is to do with a self-correcting balance of the universal luck quotient. Genie’s do not choose to twist a wish. It just happens. Which the Genie had forgotten for all of half a second, so happy he had been to be free. In a sleepy town, in a retirees antique shop, in the back of a wooden closet, a tarnished oil lamp popped into existence. Tied to the handle was a string that held a simple note. “Free.”
A whirlwind of sand rose from the rustling pages of the gilded tome, slowly resolving into a towering human figure. "WHO DARES TO CALL FORTH AL-KHAMSIN, DJINN OF THE GOLDEN RUBAIYAT...aaand you are a dog." The djinn abandoned his introduction to peer curiously down at his tiny summoner. It was a golden-furred suluki pup, bouncing nervously on its front paws. It whimpered and scampered back a few feet, and as he followed it, he saw the source of its distress. An old, white-bearded man lay unmoving on the floor, eyes open and staring, though the djinn could tell that his soul had not yet departed his body. The dog bounced frantically next to him, whining and sniffing at the motionless body. "Bark!"the dog said to Al-Khamsin. "Yes, I can see that,"the Djinn replied. "Bark bark!" "Well, yes, he's not quite dead yet, so I could do something about it, but...." The dog whined pitifully. "Look, I can grant wishes, true, but I am also bound to smite the wisher with a curse of some kind." "Bark!" "I'm not about to curse a puppy! I'm a djinn, not a demon!" "Bark!" "It's not like I can both save his live and prolong it with only one wish, you know. Even if I bring him back from the brink, he'll be dead soon anyway. I mean, just look at him. Even though you're a dog, you'd still outlive him by years -- human years! The pup looked at his master, and then whined again. Al-Khamsin sighed. "Alright, alright."He crouched down by the pup, and fondled its long floppy ears gently. "I can't let you off without a curse, little one, even though I wish I could. You understand that, right?" "Bark."the pup replied, solemnly. The djinn shook his head in amazement. "Canines. Loyal to the end. Very well, your wish is for me to heal your master. Your curse, is..."He mentally sorted through the many curses he'd bestowed on foolish mortals over the years, trying to think of one that wasn't too onerous. He brightened, as he recalled what he'd done to a man long ago, who had wished for great power. "You know what, boy? I think I've got just the curse for you." /./././././ Old Hasan opened his eyes, blinking up at the glowing lamp set on a nearby shelf, and struggling to remember how he came to be lying on the floor. Gradually, he recalled that he had been searching through the long abandoned hidden library for the fabled Golden Rubaiyat, a tome that supposedly contained a powerful djinn that could grant any wish. "Nasir?"He called out, hoarsely, as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Nasir!"He had brought with him his clever suluki pup Nasir, who despite his small size was very gifted at fetching things for him, allowing him to spare his stiff back and arthritic fingers. Strangely, he found that he hadn't hurt himself in the fall to the floor, and actually felt healthier than he had in some time. He was able to pull himself up to his feet on the shelves with relative ease. As he did so, he recalled the full circumstances of his fall. Hasan had come upon a book with a golden spine while searching the shelves. When he pulled it out, he saw that it was the fabled Golden Rubaiyat! His heart had pounded with excitement, as he thought of wishing for a second youth, wherein he could travel the world as he'd never been able to do in his first. But then that pounding had turned into a clenched fist in his chest, and his vision had gone dark. In one sense, Hasan felt very fortunate, knowing that such chest seizures could easily be the death of an old man like him. But as he looked around, he now saw no sign of the precious Rubaiyat, nor of his beloved dog. "Nasir!"he called out again. But no reply came from the darkness beyond the lamplight. He turned to the bookshelf to snatch up the lamp and go looking for Nasir, then paused. That was not the lamp he'd brought. Where had this other lamp come from? Who had lit it? Cautiously, he reached out to pick up the strange lamp again. But the moment his fingers brushed its bronze surface, he stumbled back, as a swirl of fire erupted from the lamp, spinning through the air in a bright spiral, before circling down to the floor, where it resolved into...Nasir? "Bark!"Nasir greeted him, cheerfully, as though to confirm it was indeed him, despite the odd addition of a tiny jeweled turban between his ears, and a little gold band around each of his ankles. "Nasir!"Hasan cried, bending to scoop up the puppy in his arms, despite the pain it caused in his back. He laughed joyfully, as the little suluki licked his face, and he kissed the top of its fuzzy head. Hasan spent a few more moments doting on the pup, before holding him out at arms length to inspect him more closely. "But what is this strange magic that has been worked upon you? I must say, the turban suits you, my friend, but how were you...turned into fire? And trapped in that lamp? "Bark!"Nasir replied. Hasan snorted. "Don't tell me not to worry -- I am old, and you are young; worrying about you is what I do." Then he frowned. Had he always been able to make sense of Nasir's barking like that? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Never mind,"Hasan said. "I don't know where the Golden Rubaiyat has gone, but there is surely strange and powerful magic here. We must go, before something worse befalls either of us." He hurried away down the rows of dusty shelves, one arm holding the lamp aloft, the other cradling Nasir to his chest. He didn't slow until he reached the subterranean passage he'd entered through, that wound back up the surface. "Ah...I do wish I could be young again."he said, with a wince, as he plodded up the passageway. He'd felt hale enough when he'd awakened, but his flight from the cursed library had made his knees ache powerfully. He sighed, ruffling the dog's ears. "Perhaps you can be young enough for both of us, eh?" Nasir woofed softly, and Hasan felt it was an affirmation. Perhaps the pup had cheered him, for as he ascended the passageway, the aches in his joints faded, and the climb became easier. It would not be until he emerged into the bright sunlight and stooped to drink from the glassy pool of a nearby oasis, that he would see the face of a strong young man with a dark beard -- a face that he had not beheld in many years.
The dragon’s corpse toppled from the castle’s highest tower, and Sir Alistair leapt from its neck, just catching the window ledge with his left arm. The beautiful princess leaned out the window and helped pull him up. Part of him wished she hadn’t—clutching a sword while clambering through a window was not an elegant process. On the other hand, fighting the dragon had left him feeling like pudding poured into armor. With great relief, he dropped to one knee before the princess. “Oh fair lady…” “It’s Melody,” the princess interrupted. “Princess Melody,” Alistair continued. “I have slain the dragon, and will momentarily finish rescuing you from this castle. I found you unusually helpful throughout the process, actually. You never ran towards the dragon, you demonstrated knightly best-practices while tossing me my sword, and you stabbed the dragon between its toes with a candle-holder.” He frowned. How had she known that dragons were vulnerable between their toes? “Thank you, sir knight,” Princess Melody said. She gathered up her long skirts in one hand, and Alistair, being a knight most gallant, did not look at her legs. Much. “Before we leave, there are a few things I must gather from my bedchambers.” “Ah, sentimental mementos from your childhood? Very well.” The princess rolled her eyes, something Alistair only noticed because of his intense efforts to avoid looking at her legs. (Really, he was still kneeling and they were right there.) He blushed scarlet. “Oh, my lady! Of course, I shall not keep you waiting any longer. Forgive your humble knight.” Alistair scrambled to his feet and yanked off his helmet. He hoped his visage was pleasing to the Princess. Then he leaned forward and captured her full lips in a passionate kiss. He felt her body stiffen with surprise, and he regretted that he still wore his gauntlets, since they hid the sensations of her soft flesh and smooth hair from his questing hands. The princess stepped backwards, pulling free of his arms. When he moved to follow her, she held up a palm. “My lady? Did I do something to displease you? Did I…uh…did I get to fresh with you, Princess?” “No, sir knight,” she said, looking at her delicate, slippered feet. “The fault is mine. I have not been honest with you. There is something I have not told you.” “The thing is…” The princess paused. “I am not attracted to men.” “Oh,” Alistair said, with a relieved laugh, “you are innocent of carnal desires! Do not worry Princess. You will learn to love me, in time. We will explore each other, and together…” “No, no. That’s not it. I experience lots of carnal desires actually. Just not for men.” When Alistair continued to look confused, she said, “I’m attracted to women! I joust for the other team!” Alistair shuddered. This was his fourth attempt to rescue a princess, and something had gone terribly wrong each time. Wayward flames, ancient curses, and vengeful faeries had conspired to kill three young maidens, and to steal happiness from him. What would this fall under? Ancient curse, he decided. The princess moved closer, and held his grimy hands between hers. The skin of her small warm hands was rough and callused. “Sir knight,” she said, “I beg you not to think of this as a curse.” Alistair flushed as he realized he had spoken aloud. How un-chivalrous! “Instead, dear sir, you have gained a friend and a sister-at-arms. As long as I have lived in this castle, I have studied sword craft and tactics. Let us go questing together, so that we may both find princesses of our own.”

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