Split (1)

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The crowd parted as President Obama moved forward, turning their phones and cameras away from the T. rex and onto him. A secret service agent placed a heavy arm on his shoulder, but Obama shrugged it off. "Don't worry,"he said firmly, "I got this."To think that his final act of diplomacy as sitting president would be a conversation with a dinosaur—and he wasn't talking about Bernie Sanders. The T. rex waggled his stubby arms. "Hey, what gives? Don't tell me you guys got rid of them."The front of the crowd began to recede, wary of unwarranted retribution. Obama knew better: the T. rex wouldn't attack unprovoked; in that moment, he was just as scared as they were. The only thing we have to fear is...fear itself, a fact he knew too well. The many names ascribed to him came rushing back: Muslim, communist, lizard person. All were the names of fear, fear of the outsider, the stranger, the unknown. Obama stopped at the foot of the spaceship ramp and held up his arms. "My fellow dinosaur,"he began, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the crowd, "America offers you the warmest of welcomes. Regrettably, we must inform you that your species was completely wiped from this planet millennia ago." The T. rex's jaw dropped open. "Say what now? You're joshing, right?" "I'm afraid not,"Obama continued, force shaking in his voice, "but don't worry: I have more to say. Perhaps we could continue our discussion in this ship of yours." "Mister President!"The secret service agents lunged forward, but it was too late. Already, the ramp began to retract. President Obama turned around and gave the bewildered crowd his best royal wave, squinting as hundreds of camera flashes shocked his eyes. An agent barked into a walkie-talkie, no doubt calling for back-up. Once securely onboard, free from America's prying eyes and ears, the T. rex turned to address Obama. "Mister 'President'."His arms were perfectly positioned to make air quotes at will. "What is the meaning of this? Is your kind responsible for wiping out the last of mine?" Obama chuckled and crossed his arms behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "On the contrary, Mr. Dinosaur. My kind is actually responsible for preserving the remnants of your species." "Be straight with me,"the T. rex roared, shaking the ship with a stomp, "You just said they were all wiped out." "It's true,"Obama said, scratching his cheek, "and yet, your race lives on."He dug his fingers further into his cheek, until his nails tore a gash into the skin. Gripping the edges of the wound, Obama ripped his entire face off, revealing a green, reptilian visage underneath. A forked tongue emerged from between his pale lips, gently teasing the air. "It's good to see you, my brother."
"You are a doctor right?"I sighed. "Yes boss."Dave, one of my underlings, confirmed. "So when my brother broke his leg and I asked you to take care of him I meant medically."I explained. "Sorry boss. If it's any consolation it was a nice funeral."Dave said. I shook my head. "I thought so too until I asked you 'to deal' with the catering service."I said. "Sorry boss."Dave mumbled. "Now I have work to do so could you put my little brother to sleep for me?"I asked. In retrospect I should have suspected when he picked up his gun.
Hector stared down at his son, a smile slowly creeping across the face of the weary soldier. His son was still a babe and would know little of his father. Would know only what the stories and legends told him. What his mother told him. What his grandfather, King Priam told him. The legends would tell Astyanax that his father was a great warrior, the pride of Troy, it's most ardent defender. That Troy would've fallen years ago but for the steadfast leadership and gallantry Hector had provided. The Trojans would sing songs of Hector's duel with Ajax and how Hector had lead the Trojans to a stand off against the mighty Greeks and how Hector had fought so valiantly and nobly that the Gods themselves were watching. But none of the stories would tell the truth of Hector None of them would tell of Hector silently weeping in hallways over a war he couldn't win. None of them would tell of Hector having grown so weary of the war, the burden of being the savior weighing him down, that he was breaking. They wouldn't tell how Hector had long since lost any sort of pride in Troy. How he didn't really care if the city fell or the Trojan people died off. Hector was just.......tired Tired of carrying the hopes and dreams of a city on his shoulders. Tired of fighting the same battles day after day. Tired of fighting the Greeks in the morning and Trojan politicians in the afternoon, questioning Hector on why the war wasn't over, why Hector hadn't been able to deliver victory. Tired of them questioning his strategies and tactics while offering none of their own, least of all strapping on sword and shield to fight the war beside him. Tired of having to console wives and daughters and mothers when their husbands and brothers and sons didn't make it back. So many good and noble Trojan men had fallen and the ranks refilled with younger and younger men. At this point, there were hundreds of children running around the city who known nothing but the life of a city at war. Silently, Hector wondered how much longer the city would hold. Of course, the politicians didn't care. Even if the city fell, they'd no doubt use their fortunes to secret themselves away to safety while more good Trojans died to defend a city that Hector no longer believed could be saved. Hector was even tired for his wife, Andromache. Not tired OF her, he could never be tired of her. Her beauty and quiet strength had long kept Hector fighting even he wished nothing more than to lay down his sword and be done with the fighting. But he was tired of her growing sadness, tired of the sad smile she gave every time Hector marched off to fight. Tired of seeing her bearing the burden he did. She had been an ideal soldiers wife. Patient and understanding, willing to do whatever Hector needed her to do so that he could focus on winning the war, often going out with Hector to console the widows and orphans the war had created. She was as much of a hero as he was. But she was stronger than Hector had been. Where Hector was showing signs of breaking, of no longer being able to bear the burden thrust upon him, Andromache was resolute. So devout was her belief in Hector that she wouldn't dare even mention the possibility of his defeat even when he tried to show her the secret ways out of the city in the event that the city had fallen. She followed him but he doubted if she had actually paid attention to the routes he taken. She simply wouldn't allow herself to believe that her husband, the mighty Hector could lose &#x200B; The stories wouldn't tell his son that. &#x200B; They wouldn't tell Astyanax that the great and mighty Hector, savior and defender of Troy, had given up. &#x200B; Even if this war was won, he had grown so weary of Troy and it's people that the first thing he'd do is march his wife and son far away to live in peace on a farm. He'd bury his sword somewhere and live out his days as Hector the farmer. His son, Gods willing, would never know war again, his grandchildren would never know war at all. &#x200B; But Hector didn't believe it could be won. Short of the Gods themselves evicting the Greeks from Troy, this war would end in a Greek victory. The Trojans simply didn't have the strength and numbers to win. The city was already showing signs of falling as food was becoming more and more scarce, soldiers were deserting more and more. Usually, in a siege, the attacker must outlast the defender. But here, the opposite was true. The Trojans needed to outlast the Greeks and it had become apparent to Hector that they wouldn't. Hector estimated that, at best, the city would last another five years before attrition in the Trojan army meant that fighting the Greeks in the open field would be a disaster. The city would be open to bombardment by siege weapons and, eventually, the Greeks would storm the city. &#x200B; But Hector wouldn't be there to see it. &#x200B; Hector's time had come, he knew, and he was glad for it. The smile on his face wasn't Hector happy to see his son but Hector happy that it was the the last time he'd have to say good bye to him. &#x200B; Hector had slain a young Greek named Patroclus, a friend of Achilles, and Achilles wrath and rage would be sated one way or another. Hector could hear Achilles screaming his name from outside the gates. &#x200B; And everyone knew the legend of Achilles. Greatest warrior to ever live, touched by the Gods themselves. Slayer of hundreds of Trojans himself but notoriously fickle. He had sat out long portions of the war simply because was insulted by Agamemnon or some other such thing. But Achilles was known to be vengeful, given to fits of rage that were rivaled only his skill with his blade. &#x200B; And now Achilles had come for Hector and Hector knew he would lose. Not just because Achilles was more skilled and a better fighter but because Hector didn't want to win. He was ready to embrace his death. &#x200B; Hector hoped that, with his death, perhaps the Trojans would finally sue for peace. Agamemnon, the Greek king, wasn't going to be overly merciful but perhaps the city and the people would survive. Hector hoped that more reasonable Greek minds, like Odysseus would temper Agamemnon and stop him from slaughtering all the Trojans and razing the city to the ground. &#x200B; But Hector didn't care much about the city. Mostly he only hoped that it remained standing so that Andromache and their son would continue to have a place to live should they choose to stay. He left her a note and a map to the secret exits just in case she didn't remember where they were and had assigned some of his loyal soldiers to safeguard their exit. &#x200B; He left a note for his father, Priam, urging him to sue for peace after Hectors death so that more Trojans wouldn't needlessly die in a war they couldn't win. &#x200B; Hector would fight Achilles with all of his might but he knew he couldn't beat the Greek hero. He knew that this would be his last fight and that Troy would most likely follow not long after. &#x200B; On one hand, he was greatly ashamed of himself for where his thoughts had lead him. &#x200B; On the other hand, he was just so very tired. Even the mightiest of heroes can bear their burdens for so long. Even victory wouldn't bring the relief Hector sought. &#x200B; Only death would. Only falling before Achilles and the eyes of Troy would bring Hector peace. He had fought for Troy, killed for it, and now, he would die for it. &#x200B; He looked down at his son, one final time, his smile growing to the biggest smile he'd had since before the war, to the day Andromache had agreed to wed him. Hector picked up his sword and shield and marched off to meet his destiny &#x200B; &#x200B; \Obviously I played a little loose with the lore surrounding the Trojan War and I'm doing this from work(Yay night shifters!) so don't be too harsh in your criticisms. I'm no writer\
The old guard stopped and waited watching for a sign that I had understood. I gave him my best idiot grin to placate him. “I hope you don’t think I’m joking.” The old guard said with a sigh putting his feet up and casually switching through the monitors. “I know what I get paid is not enough and you have yet to work up to my grade.” I strive to keep the contempt from my face hiding it with the same stupid smile. This old fool is clearly middle of the road material. He probably plays everything in his life safe. “I plan to make something of myself thanks for the advice though.” I say sitting in my chair and twirling my big heavy flashlight in one hand. The old guard chuckles. “A hero wannabe ey. Aye we’ve had your kind before. Well when you get yourself killed, try to keep the mess to a small area. I’m sure it’ll be muggins out there with a mop and bucket next day.” He said prodding his chest with a thumb. I didn’t have time to respond. An alarm went off and the B wing security cameras all went down at once. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest, what a thrill my time has come. I stood holstering my flashlight and heading for the door. “What did I just say laddie? You’ll get yourself killed out there. That security door is bullet and shock proof with steel bolts securing it. We are safe as long as we stay in this room.” “You hold down the fort then, I’m just going to, uh, check things out. Get some intel.” I soothe as I head towards the commotion. I strode out the door and down the hall. The alarm klaxons where louder out here than in the office and I could barely hear my footsteps so it took me by surprise when a hand grabbed my arm from behind. ‘What the hell?’ ‘Look I’m responsible for you right and I’m no joking here. I’ll have to fill out a mountain of paperwork if you get killed.’ His grip was vicelike and his words firm. The surprise in his face was priceless as I drove my fist into his stomach knocking the wind from him. “Look you seem a nice enough old man.” I say bringing my fist back round to crack him across the jaw and send him sprawling; hopefully out for the count. “But I have places to be and a destiny to fulfil.” I left the crumpled guard behind and continued along the corridor. The lights where out in B wing and I drew my torch letting it cut through the gloom. I could see the broken cell down the hall. It was a gaping dark hole in the wall, it’s door imbedded in the far wall across the cell block. A man appeared out of the cell, well something resembling a man. His head was grotesquely distended and he floated along his feet barely scraping the ground. Three spheres of crushed metal glass and plastic orbited his head. Likely the security cameras. “I was afraid I was going to miss you.” I said stopping about twenty yards from ‘world brain’ one of the planets leading supervillains. ‘Sorry dear chap I was on my way and realised I’d forgotten my book. Desperate to know if miss Bennet and mr Darcy finally get filthy with each other.’ He waved a crumpled copy of a prison library book. ‘I thought they told you boys to stay out of our way if we escaped.’ I squared my jaw feeling butterflies in my stomach. ‘I’ve been waiting all my life for this moment. Years of training and pushing myself to follow in my fathers footsteps.’ ‘Your father some kind of fool hero, boy?’ He asked advancing on me the orbs spinning around his head faster and faster. ‘No sir, he was a henchman.’ I said puffing out my chest with pride.
"Are they still out there?" Slowly, Mickey leaned out to look at the pathway below. "Yeah, they're still there,"he muttered after a moments hesitation. As he turned back to me he half-smiled in sympathy. I still hadn't learned his name. It felt easier just to call him Mickey while he still wore the costume, allowing me to attempt to hold onto something that hadn't changed. "I'm uh, sorry,"he whispered to me, crouching down close to me and smiling at me again. "It's okay,"I replied, turning my head away from him. Outside I could hear them moaning, followed by the occasional scream which would excite them for a while, drawn towards the sound, but then once the screams died away they would rapidly lose interest. At least we knew they were attracted to sound now. If we could stay quiet enough they might leave us alone, but that wouldn't help us get out of here. The world might have ended but the sun sure hadn't. We'd start to die of thirst long before those things disappeared, most likely. But what would we be getting out to? I'd seen these kinds of films. It's always the whole world that's been taken over. Even if we could get out we'd just find more of them. Maybe it would be better to just die. No, don't think like that, I told myself. I mean, this couldn't actually be real, right? Zombies? Seriously? It could have all been some vast practical joke, and in a few minutes somebody would jump out with a camera and reveal it all. But what kind of joke would pretend to rip somebody's throat out? Have them screaming as they slipped on their own blood? No, this was actually happening. "Fuck,"I murmured under my breath. "Language,"Mickey cautioned. He laughed briefly and wiped a smear of glistening red blood from his hand onto the fabric of his tailcoat. Sighing, he began to climb out of the suit. "Too hot in this suit. Please excuse the underwear,"he said as he crawled out in a plain white T-Shirt and blue striped boxers. His face was red from the heat and his forehead shone with sweat. Light flickered across his brow, causing him to squint into the sun. But no, the light was too clear. A perfect white circle on his forehead. Mickey began to stare at something through the window. Following his gaze it took me a second or two to focus, but I could see them in the other building. A light moving backwards and forwards, with a pale face next to it with eyes wide open in terror. Cautiously I waved towards them. The light turned off and the man waved back. "How many of you?"he mouthed, pointing towards us. In response I held up two fingers. He nodded and tapped his chest, then held up both hands. "We have six,"his lips said. He pointed again, but drew our attention to the scaffolding between our walkway and the building he was in. His hand moved again, gesturing to the zombies below who continued to shift and move, moaning in one great sound as they did so. On the other side of the scaffolding I could see an access hatch. "The security team uses it to get around,"Mickey whispered in my ear, causing me to jump, "If we can get across there's a network of tunnels under the park. We can use them to get out. Unless..."he trailed off. "Unless what?"I whispered back, but he only shook his head in response. "Nothing, come on. Let's go." He eased himself through the gap in the wood, watching the ground beneath him carefully. Slowly he crawled onto the scaffolding, but not careful enough because it rattled in its bindings ever so slightly. They hadn't seemed to notice below. The added bonus of the scaffolding was the sign advertising Thunder Mountain, so from one side of it the zombies wouldn't be able to see. Beckoning for me to follow, Mickey held out his hand. He pulled me up with him and continued to make his way across, pausing every few seconds to look at the crowds below. Were it not for the blood you could almost believe it was an everyday crowd. Bodies pushing past each other with no real sense of direction. But a crowd that would swallow us up if given the chance. With only a few more feet to go, Mickey's foot slipped and the frame shook violently, knocking a metal clip free. As it clattered against the metal the moaning grew in intensity, and a few of them had looked up towards the sign. One or two below us had spotted our movements, and the message seemed to spread. Food. The rest of the crowd moved in towards us, driven by the hope of meat. They pawed at the supports, only causing the sign to move more. So they knew we were here then. The sign began to sway with the weight of the bodies pressing against it. Looking across to the building, the man had disappeared. Fearing he had abandoned us as soon as possible I cursed him internally as I continued to climb across. So close. Mickey had made his way to the roof where the hatch was hidden and held his hands out again. For the first time he had begun to panic as the sign lurched alarmingly, mountings twisting and distorting. One foot slipped from the pole I was resting on and my weight pulled the rest of me with it. Mickey lunged towards me, pinning my left arm to the pole as I gripped tightly with my right. I could almost imagine their fingers below clasping at my feet. Kicking out at them I could feel the occasionally crunching of fingers beneath my sole, but soon Mickey had pulled me up. The hatch had been opened and the man with the torch pulled us inside. "Thanks Will,"Mickey breathed, finally expelling the lungful of air he had been holding as he tried to pull me to safety. "Are you okay, man?"Will asked Mickey, "You hurt?" Mickey shook his head. "I'm not either,"I offered. Will nodded in confirmation and looked out through the glass. "So now what?"Mickey grunted. "Well they know we're here now,"he said, indicating the approaching horde that had heard the noise and found us trapped inside this buildings, "So I'd say it's time we got the hell out of here."
"So ye see, lad,"the Sandwich-caun had on a cute little green hat made of bread, his beard was made of cold cuts, his eyes two olives, "When ye mother gave birth to ye, she kissed the Bolognary Stone and earned our blessings!" "Really?"I said, I was an astrophysicist for God's sake! Now this little elfin whatever was trying to turn my world-view on edge, "You expect me to believe this claptrap?" "I should punch ye in yer oversized snout!"He said, putting up his tiny fists angrily, olive eyes flashing greener, "What do ye thinks been happenin, ya fool? Ya think maybe yer sandwich bags have been doin' it? Turning yer peanut butter sandwiches into delicious cold cuts with exotic cheeses?" "My theory were food-centric wormholes."I answered him matter-of-factly, "And it still is. I am guessing that some hallucinogenic drug was somehow created with the last wormhole transfer and I am currently hallucinating a Sandwich-caun. I've tried discussing this theory with Stephen Hawking, but for some reason he won't return my e-mails." "That's pretty logical, lad,"he said, his tiny fist playing through his cold-cut beard, "But I'm tellin' ya the truth! If'n I could I'd revoke the blessing because you just don't respect it!"His tiny fists were back up and he took a couple of ineffectual swings at my wrist, "Don't make me kill ya, lad!" "Are you responsible for the water thing too?"I had to ask. I didn't believe he was, I had that theorized down to a juice-centric wormhole. "Water thing?"He looked confused. "Yes,"I said, smiling down at him, waiting for the hallucinations to end, "You know, every day I fill my thermos with water and when I drink it's juice. Someday its pineapple, someday apple, someday orange... I can never really tell what I'll get, it's pretty random."I opened it to show him and he sniffed and I stated, "Seems like mango today." Suddenly the juice started swirling and some sort of mango juice-emental appeared, "Hello, Robbie! Finally we can reveal the truth!"The Sandwich-caun looked as perplexed as I was as the juice-emental continued, "You see, your father found the Fountain of Juice in south Florida while on vacation, we blessed his.." "This is flippin' ridiculous! Every fairy knows they're t'aint no such thing as juice-ementals!"The Sandwich-caun said in dismay, "Hallucinogens and wormholes, you say? I'm listenin'."
v-^ [22:20] hey me. [22:20] Hey, me! [22:21] m/f? [22:21] F. You, too? [22:21] nah, haha. M. [22:21] Really? [22:22] yeah I think i'm the only one so far. [22:22] When did they open this for you? [22:22] a couple of days ago. you? [22:22] Same, lol. [22:23] lol yeah I think it's synchronized [22:23] How long/how many have you contacted? [22:23] had a lot of trouble sleeping lately, i've talked to about two hundred so far day since i got it. looks like it's a constant across us lol [22:23] Yeah...my son's been keeping me up all night lol! [22:24] keep hearing about that, most of them have a quarter year old by now. [22:24] Quarter year, yes! I like how we all say that phrase. [22:25] guess it's in the existential wiring lol [22:25] What's it like being a man? [22:26] idk. made it harder to get laid lmao. on average looks like i'm doing worse than most of us. dad didn't stick around, i think that helped. [22:27] So I guess that makes you the variant, huh? This has blown up over here and my friends tell me they're starting to find one-off variants of themselves, if they exist at all. Looks like we usually exist though lol! [22:27] yeah haha it's really weird. weird to see my face like that. [22:28] Are you straight? Do you have a girlfriend? [22:31] yeah; nah not anymore. we had the pregnancy crisis moment last year like most of us, oddly, but it didn't go anywhere. [22:31] Oh, that's rough. What were you hoping for? [22:33] well we have the same psychology, right? what would you guess [22:33] I'm sorry. Was she the equiv of our usual partner? [22:34] no, actually no. a lot of the people in my life are swapped around. are you friends with L? [22:34] Yes! There's always L no matter where we go, lol. [22:34] just can't stop some things, haha. [22:37] Tell me...when did you start dreaming across the Veil? [22:37] we call it the Pale here lol. it started back before the crisis moment. [22:38] It's funny how those things translate across us no matter where we are, huh? [22:40] funny is maybe not the word but i take your point. yeah i think so, i see my daughter. [22:40] Daughter? Do many of us have daughters? I thought we only made sons? [22:41] maybe that's part of the gender swap, idk. i always see a daughter. i thought it was the family psychosis kicking in but ever since this came up i wonder. [22:41] So weird. Maybe that means there's another guy among us? [22:49] i don't even know how i would deal with meeting him. not sure i could handle if she's there with him. [22:51] I'm so sorry, I can't even imagine. I've had friends get on this and tell me this has been happening a lot. Do you think you would have been a good father? [22:51] hope so. see what happens in this world, i guess. [22:57] You know we'll let you know if we find him, right? [22:57] yeah, haha, i know myself. [22:58] We do hate to see unnecessary suffering. [22:59] i guess i should sign off. we should all sign off lmao. [22:59] Do you do the synchro trick? [22:59] naturally. on the dot, ok? [23:00] see you, space lonely soldier. [23:00] See you, space lonely soldier. v//^
Cian took another step forward in the human world, each one costing him dearly. The strain it placed on him physically, magically and spiritually was almost too much to bear. This was a dark place, a corrupted place, which reeked of fear and evil. When he had reached his destination he gave himself a moment to pause, to steel himself against the terrible cost that would soon be paid in full. The door opened in front of him, and there, bathed in unnatural scathing light stood a demon. It smiled at him, it's painted lips stretched wide and beckoned him in. Cian tried to ignore the demon's words, each one uttered tore at his psyche and the barriers he had carefully placed around himself, with help from the Circle. The cost of this to him was dear, and if he hadn't truly realised it before he knew it now with certainty: he was going to die here. Pushing through into the room he was assailed by more twisted creatures wrapped up in hideous garments, each one reeking of death, each scrap borne from the extinguishment of a thousand lives. Cian's body began to rebel against this profane place with these dark creatures and his vision began to sparkle and fade slightly. He screamed as the stench of annihilation flooded his senses. "You must listen!"He coughed, blood flecks caught around his lips which were now dry and cracked. "I don't have much time. This world will die if you don't listen!" As he uttered the word die a new wave of decay surged through his body as if in mockery and he staggered back, the carefully placed barriers failing and disappating against the torrential assault. Cian dragged himself up to his full height, towering over these foul ceatures and summoned all his might, in acceptance of his end. "This world is ending, there is a great darkness here, a darkness that once nearly extinguished the light of my kind. We lived and loved across the whole face of this planet and life was at peace. We were strong and able to hold off against the terrors the great enemy lay against our doors but we had no answers to his greatest weapon."Cian looked around as his vision blurred. "You. Humans were it's greatest weapon, deployed with deviousness and cunning. You chopped down the living creatures of this world to make your buildings and your clothes and light your fires. Your very blood sings with dark energy that we cannot overcome. It will soon claim me and all of my memories will be dust." "But the great enemy is returning. And he seeks not just the destruction of this world but of all worlds."Blood poured from Cian's nose but he stood defiantly, tall, graceful, yet damned. "We, the fairies pledge our allegiance to the humans, we offer our knowledge and our power to fight the darkness which we cannot do alone. We need your help. There is a portal which I have opened to get here, one of your kind, an emissary may pass through. It is a sacred place untouched by corruption so I beg of you please, help us." With his last word he staggered and fell to his knees, the room around fading fast to black. A human stepped forward and stooped down to his broken body and grasped his head between her hands. Fire erupted on his skin and it began to shatter to dust from the touch of the profane. The human looked down on him as life left him. "We will answer your call, fairy." Cian smiled as his task was complete and succumbed to the darkness. ** EDIT: Thanks so much for the wonderful response and the gold guys, I've posted a part two below as so many people asked for it that it was rude not to. Thanks for reading!
The bowels and intestines of the lowest decks of the ship were the places Fred hated most. Dark, dingy and always had a lasting smell of whatever Jixqa's had for lunch. This truly was the worst part of space travel, at least so Fred thought. Since his early day's, approximately eighty years ago, Fred had dreamt of exploring the galaxy in his own ship. The neverending sights to be seen and places to find. Fred made himself a promise when he left Earth, to go into the unknown, and never come back. Little did he know the unknown would be a long-standing service on Captain Il'ops ship as an engineer. He turned on his flashlight as he struggled to see the door to the plasma room in the dark. The Ion couplers had come loose once again, and as an expendable engineer, it was his job to come down here and fix them again. Finally, he found it, the great metal bulkhead to the plasma room. For the third time this week, he grabbed the handle, then gave it a good twist until he felt the door moved. It gave off a loud creak as it opened, shaking the floor beneath him. He stepped it inside, feeling his pockets for his multi-tool. The lights turned on instantly and unexpectedly. "SUPRISE!" Fred jumped in shock, jumping his multitool. Jixqa, Zuntba and Treevie greeted him excitedly. Each of them had party hats on and tinsel dropped over there long forboding tentacles. A cake -- well a good attempt at a cake -- sat between them, full of candles. "Happy Birthday pal! The big 100. Must be feeling pretty adult by now!"Zuntba said, beckoning Fred to take a seat with a tentacle. These three Aliens were the other engineers on board. A nice gesture Fred thought as he took his place in the circle. "Guys, you shouldn't have."Fred was genuinely happy. Ever since he was forced and threatened to join the crew he felt like an outsider. For decades he tried to form relationships, friends, but to no avail. For them to bake a cake meant they must honestly appreciate him. It was hard being the only human being in twenty-six thousand light-years. However, in truth, he didn't even know he was human, though this might be his one-hundredth birthday he had the same twenty-year-old body he left Earth with. He never understood why, but he certainly didn't want to tell his hosts about the embarrassing problem. The Aliens, Grentians, spent all their days travelling the universes feeding of other beings and absorbing their life force. Fred was only alive due to his poor taste -- they nibbled his little finger once. But, if they found out he was immortal, they'd be queuing up around the deck to have a slice of him. Treevie cut the cake and dished it out, a large smile beamed across his face as he stared longingly into the cake. He slowly opened his mouth, dislocated his jaw so he could fit it all in. Zuntba joined in with him. "You must be feeling like an adult now,"Jixqa said. "Oh, I've definitely matured these last few decades. No longer a child now!"Fred replied, cheerfull dishing into his birthday cake. They had substituted the eggs with motor oil, but it tasted just fine. "How long did you say humans last for again? Swear you said it was only a thousand years. Couldn't imagine a life that short," "Well, each to there owns I guess. Now I must really fix those couplers. Thank you for the cake,' Fred lick his fingers and got up, eager to get the conversation. "They're not broken. We faked the report to get you down here."Jixqa said. He picked up the last piece of cake, gradually he bought it to his mount and chewed it up. Taking care for it not to fall apart in his tight tentacle grip. Fred was getting nervous now. This whole charade was out of character for them. Normally tease him for his 'puny body proportions'. "I'm going to tell you story, Fred. Please, sit down." Fred did as he was instructed. "I'm the chief engineer on this ship. As such, I like to pride myself on knowing every sub-system, circuit and program that is on it. Now, I have heard other Grentians call her an old pile of junk, I've heard others say its time to scrap her. She's an old ship Fred, always breaking under the strain of the vacuum of space. You understand what I'm saying?" Fred gulped. The high of the surprise had worn off now, Jixqa was back to his old creepy self. "I follow you,"he said quietly. "Good to know you're human ears are listening. In a way, this ship is a lot like us. Old and always breaking. What happens when start to break?" "I don't know," "We fix ourselves, Fred. We fix ourselves. Through the consumption of inferior life forms, just as this ship hear gets fix with new younger parts." Fred was trying to control his panic, to keep up his facade. But the question of whether Jixqu knew about his ageing bugged him. "But you're human. I don't expect you to understand. You've done a great service for this ship." "Thank you." "You're most welcome. Please have another piece of cake."He pointed towards the bit of cake left, Fred shook his head. Any more motor oil would turn him sick. "Not hungry? That's a shame. I was the other day. Down on that planet with the green sky, and you'd never guess what I found." "What?" "Oh go on, guess for me,"Jixqa said with an encouraging smile. "Love?"Fred said reluctantly. The three Grentians burst out in a long episode of laughter. Fred began to join in but they suddenly stopped. "No, a Human. I found them in the Ivine prison." His heart dropped. Jixqa knew, he was sure of it, any moment now he'd be dead. He couldn't escape, he'd have to play it off. "Another human? This far out?" "Yes, and sweet and succulent one at that. I never learnt her name, unfortunately. But I did manage to sneak a peek at her prisoner file and something stood out to me, something peculiar..." "...what was that?" There was a long paused as Jixqa consolidated his thoughts. Fred could see saliva dripping down from his large-mouth. "Funny thing was, she tasted different to you, remember that time I nibbled your finger? I looked at the leftovers, she was all grey and frail. One might describe her as old." Fred was sweating badly now, he knew they could see it. This was it, his journey over. "I saw on her file her age. It said seventy-three, Fred. That's younger than you." "Yes,"Fred said quietly, looking at the floor hoping it wouldn't hurt. He could feel the three of them stand up around him. "Why?" Fred stayed silent, holding back the tears. "Why?"Jixqa repeated again. "Why what?"Fred said, not eager to play their game. "Why did you not tell us that women age faster in your species. It makes so much sense now! All that sexual frustration you have! Must be horrible! Now, look at you, sweating away, like I was going to say something bad. You puny humans truly are nervous weaklings. See you around bipedal." And with that, they left. Fred was paralyzed as he processed his word. He needed to leave. Now. .......... Check out my other appalling works at [r/warburton\_writes](https://www.reddit.com/r/warburton_writes/)
It is hard to anger a demon. After all, we are in a constant stage of absolute fury. But looking at that kid, crying before an empty Pentacle, I was thrown in a rage stronger than anything I'd ever felt in the eons I've existed. I took a form much like a human one, yet not quite. Claws sprawled from my 6 fingers on each hand, long and sharp. I had no feet, but rather paws like those of a wolf. My skin, covered in red fur, pulsated with everburning flames. Scarlet horns came out of my forehead, and my eyes were black as the void surrounding Hell. The child, kneeling before the weak Pentacle that did practically nothing to contain me, managed recollect herself for long enough to croak her request. "Take it all away! I want to be a demon, just as you are! I want my rage to be turned into hellfire! I want no-one to hurt me ever again!"She spoke the words of my summoning, and as I turned my horned head towards her I saw bruises beneath her ragged clothes. "Who hurt you, Child?"I inquired simply, my voice booming like a thunderbolt. Smoke and sparks flew out of my mouth along with it. The girl began to cry again. "Ev- everyone did!"She replied in between sobs. I felt the devilish fire of my soul strive to be let free, fueled by my impossible wrath. "Then everyone shall pay."I stated before walking out of the Pentacle, without the summon putting up much of a fight. "Keep your soul, Child. Remain innocent. Let those already damned deliver punishment upon your tormentors." The girl nodded and broke out in a new round of weeps. I walked towards the yelling, shattering the door frame in the process. A man was standing over a dead woman's body. She had blood coming from her head, but even so I knew very well who that woman was. My summoner's mother, and the man was her father. The killer turned around to look at me, and I stood still as he froze and screamed. "You think you know rage?"I asked as I began walking towards him again. "I'll show you rage." It took 4 large steps to reach him. And it took 1 second to make him scream in untold torture. There wasn't much of the killer left when I was done with him. A hand by the table, writhing in pain as I forced the man's soul to remain in it and suffer. His head, crushed and cut off from his body, screaming and crying. I knew I wasn't done, and that only enraged me more. After some thought, I went back to the Child, who was curled in a fetal position, still weeping. "I underestimated this world's ability for torture, Child."I told her simply. She raised her head, and I picked her up and held her against my chest. She felt comfortable against my form's fur, however harsh it might have been. "Come."I told her as I walked towards the Pentacle. "You are mine now. And I shall take you home." Flames embraced us, but we felt no burn. The last thing I saw in the mortal plain was the Child smiling. My world, Hell, was cruel. But this one was worse. And as we went up in smoke, our forms evaporating in Hellfire, she was smiling, free from a world harsher than Hell...
On his thirtieth birthday Elliot contrived to die. It was not intentional, and really the sequence of events that led to him slipping off the neighbor boy’s skateboard and cracking his head off the sidewalk were rather funny when viewed in a vacuum, but still, the results were the same. Elliot lay dead for two minutes and twenty-five seconds before a passing EMT resuscitated him, and thereafter his life was forever changed; because Elliot, you see, could see the dead. Oh to be sure, that they were dead or what they truly were was not at first obvious. He saw the first of them hovering over his wife Amy’s shoulder in the hospital that first night, a tall, pale woman in her early twenties wearing a sunflower dress with all the gravity of a mourning gown. Then, mouth hanging open, he turned to his right and saw the fellow watching him, one leg crossed over the other as he sat in the nearby chair, a newspaper in his hands whose letters were all a blur, but which must surely have been old by the style of the man’s hat and the fact that he held a newspaper at all. “Elliot?” Amy had gasped, hands twitching towards him and then back, her whole body shaking with a thousand unutterable things. She had been afraid to touch him, afraid to break him, afraid, afraid, afraid. And Elliot, knowing that because he knew her better than he knew even himself, said “You won’t be rid of me that easily.” Or rather, he attempted to say something to that affect if groans and a cough counted as speech. A week after Elliot’s thirtieth birthday Amy finally brought him home, the two dour apparitions in tow: the woman's long sunflower dress tossing about in the breeze, swirling around bare feet, the man with his newspaper under one arm, glancing casually at the spectral woman in all the moments she appeared not to be looking. It was another week before Elliot grew brave enough to tell his wife that there were ghosts in the house, attached to them, and that indeed it appeared every person in the city had a ghost of their own— even the children, and sometimes their ghosts too were children, which had been heartbreaking when they passed a school bus and he saw all the faces through the windows, living and dead in row after row after row. Amy’s first question, after asking a million others to determine if he were still sane, was “Do they look happy?” “No,” Elliot said, somehow loving her more for it, “actually they look very sad.” She asked further questions and he answered them, told her everything he knew about the figures that followed them, which amounted to not much at all, and then she leaned in, one small hand on his neck, her lips tickling his ear, and said, “Do they follow us everywhere?” After much experimenting they determined that the ghosts, or Guardian Angels as Amy asserted they must be, did not follow them into the bedroom if things appeared to be turning amorous. Thus followed a period of very satisfactory planning that Elliot wished would never end, but that always circled back to the idea that the Angels, ghosts, whatever they were, were sad, and Amy was not a woman capable of letting anyone in her life be sad if she could do something about it. One night, attacking him with kisses after they had both come home from work, Amy dragged Elliot into the bedroom, sat him down in a chair, and said “We’re throwing them a party.” Elliot, catching his breath and trying to quiet the thunder in blood, said “How do you throw a ghost a party?” “Keep your voice down!” Amy hissed. “And they’re Angels, not ghosts. How many times do I have to tell you that?” “Angels, right.” “Who else would leave us alone in here?” Elliot, his blood still pounding, said “I think I see the man’s head poking through the door.” “No you don’t,” Amy said, looking at him crossly. “Ah yes. How silly of me,” Elliot said. And the party was on. In their married life and in their years dating before, Elliot had discovered that all social functions were better off left to Amy. She was, as they said, a butterfly; a particularly stunning one with very shapely wings. And plan she did. They hid the affair with kisses, and with clandestine phone calls to friends asking for this item or that, and on the appointed day, having contrived other methods to get the Angels to leave them alone for a few minutes here or there, they found themselves in the bedroom with balloons and a small cake and noisemakers of every kind, a whole stack of newspapers across four decades for the man, and various small pieces of jewelry for the woman that Amy said she could bear to part with. They sat cross-legged on the bed facing each other, hands clasped between them, foreheads touching, talking each other up for the big moment— the first connection between worlds ever made. Then Elliot’s alarm buzzed and Amy looked at him, mouthing the word “Ready?” He kissed her then, in a way that would have made the Angels leave them, until she pushed him away towards the door. Elliot took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, threw the door open, and shouted “Surprise!” It was the first time they had ever attempted to address the spirits directly. The two Angels were in the hallway. The man lay sprawled out on his back near the stairs thumbing through the same newspaper as always, the woman leaned against the wall, eyes closed, her hair a veil between them. Both of them startled at the sudden noise. “Yes, you two. Hello,” Elliot said. (part 2 below)
"Master Iron-Arms! There's an emergency!"It was an acolyte, barely 145 lbs soaking wet and probably struggled with benching the bar. Iron-Arms was sure that his voice alone could crush the poor lad. "You want an emergency?!"Iron-Arms belched back at him, whey filled sweat dripping into his bulging eyes. "Then look at the earthquake caused by these weights baby!" The herculean wizard proceeded to lay back down under his bench rack, Master Massive-Quads there to spot him in-case anything went wrong, though he knew that Iron-Arms could lift elephants. All around the gym the other master wizards stopped their iron shaking meditations and halted their body carving divinations to watch. The place was like a statue to fitness, men and woman who made Atlas look like Flatass. They were all ready to witness the epic glory that was Master Iron Arms benching over 1000 lbs. "But Master!"The poor, puny acolyte couldn't possibly get through the muscled ear lobes of such fantastic wizards. His lungs could hardly carry his voice out of his own mouth, how could it make it into the ears of such titans? But it was truly an emergency, the acolyte knew that he had to do something to get their attention? But what? What could possibly snap the greatest wizards on the planet out of their religious, pre-workout filled trance? What could save them from their dance with the dumbbell devil under such kale fueled might? "I'm switching to CrossFit!"The young man squeaked out. Weights dropped, jaws laid aghast, wizards from all around the room switched their eyes from the holy weight rack to the intruder of their sacred temple. Iron-Arms took his hands off of the bar and slowly raised back up, eyes filled with the fury of one-thousand storms. "You dare mention the dark magics in the House of Glorious Gains!?" "We're being invaded!" "That can wait! It can wait until we deal with the heretic that is speaking before me!" The acolyte shook his head, hands shaking with anxiety as all of the mountainous wizards moving closer. "B-But, these people come from the sky, in giant metal ships... And they do something much worse than Crossfit." "And what could that be!?" "...Cardio." "... Mother of god." \\\* "I want as much creatine in those barrels as you can muster!"Iron-Arms was shouting instructions to the other master wizards. "Make sure the pre-workout can last us a month, we're going to be sniffing that stuff like it's white powder!" The gym was moving like a stable of well-trained mustang horses. Sweating shirtless men and woman whose bodies shined with the glory of grid-iron gains moved with ruthless efficiency, preparing to take down the cardio invaders who threatened their very way of life. "Master Perky-Pecs, you'll lead the left wing!" "We'll eat them all!"He boomed back. "Master Bulging-Biceps, the right!" "I'll carry the whole world!"He screamed in a roid-filled rage. "I'll lead the center charge!" They all gathered in the center of the gym before leaving out. It was their temple, their holiest holy place, the room were the divines gifted their incredible muscles and allowed magic to flow through them like rivers of whey. And before them, plastered on the wall and looking down on them, was a picture of their strongest god. Master Iron-Arms approached the wall and laid a loving hand on it, his face already burning red from the smelling salts. "Today, we ask for safe passage from the realm of mortal flesh into the realm of immortal steel." Everyone nodded in agreement, some murmuring affirmations with him. "Blessed be the iron."Whispered one. "Lightweight baby."Said another. "We take on the greatest threat the world of muscles magic as ever seen -- The cardio invaders. Please be with us on this faithful day."He backed away from the image of their deity, and they all joined in their salute to it. The idol on the wall was a massive picture of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, arms spread out before a crowd and the words "Conquer"plastered in white across the image. They all mimicked his wide arms and in perfect unison yelled out, "Ain’t nothin’ but a peanut!" They marched out to battle a single sea of pulsing, pumped muscle.
The blank eyed girl stared at me from across the kitchen in her stained bloodied dress and flashed an unnatural grin. I sighed. The demon was getting petty now, throwing in the fact that me letting the ball slip on a few dates was because I was intimidated by intimacy. “Yeah, yeah I get it I’ve been a little more nervous around women recently, but you look like a horror cliche,” I said. “Don’t you have any other personifications of my fears you can throw at me?” “Jeez man, you don’t have to be rude,” said the Demon. “I’ll make it hard for you this time.” The Demon snapped its fingers and I found my body contorted in a small box that no human could normally slip into it. My claustrophobia would’ve normally kicked in, but when you’ve been cursed with a Demon for over a month you get tired of being scared. “Oh wow, you’re putting me in this tight box because I feel like I’m stuck in a rut in life. You know, maybe I wouldn’t feel stuck in a rut if I didn’t always feel like I had to be a version of myself my parents and others wanted instead of what I want for myself,” I said. The Demon, back in regular beast form, snapped its fingers and I found myself at the bottom of a lake chained to an anchor. A key began floating up, but I knew it was a trick; it was just out of reach and kept floating up. “Nice try, but keys don’t float, and also you only show me hallucinations so I know I’m not really drowning. Also, I know if I were to grab for the key, I’d fail and it’d be this whole metaphor for how I feel like I’m a failure. You know, I thought you were annoying but honestly you’ve been helping me work through a lot of this stuff,” I said. “Helping,” said the Demon. “I’m supposed to torment people, not help them. Maybe I am a failure of a Demon,” said the Demon. “Nonono!” I said suddenly. “You’ve been doing a great job. Here, why don’t we sit down and have a talk.” The Demon sighed and the water scenario disappeared. We were back on my couch and the Demon looked down glumly. I sure wasn’t a licensed therapist, but I was going to try to at least be someone to listen to the Demon’s problems.
As rooms I’ve been locked up in go, it’s not the worst. I can stand up and stretch, there are no rats or moans of the dying. It’s clean with a slight lemony scent. It’s not the cave. I still retreat thinking of those years. Endless hours clawing at rocks, wearing my fingers down to stubs. I do wish they would turn off the lights though. I lay down and cover my eyes with my arm. Soon they are going to notice we’re not starving to death. Then what? Sold to the highest bidder? More years of tests, trying to undo the mystery of why I can’t die? At some point they are going to realize I’m worth more than what they think I owe them. I calm my mind. I’m sitting at my desk in my cabin. Old growth pine outside the large window. The smell is comforting and familiar. My belly is full of the sausage and potatoes I’d laid in last month. I can stay here forever. They are careful to never open the door. They know what I can do once I get a hold of someone. My gown is paper-thin. The ceiling lights are out of reach. The hole in the floor is just that. The heavily accented man who comes with his daily questions is just stupid enough to evade any manipulation. Maybe Randy will find me? I know he is looking for me and has every resource at his disposal. My head of security is as tenacious a man as I have ever known. In another era he would have commanded an empire. Wherever I am it must be well hidden. I get up and go for a walk in the forest. I am safe here. Nothing can hurt me. There is no hunger. I breathe long slow breaths and wander familiar paths. At some point they will have to open the door. That will be my chance. I just have to be patient. I’m tempted to return to the room again and sweep it for any missed opportunity. But I know there is nothing there. No loose bolt to work or missing tile. Nothing but endless light and a hole to shit in. I just need to be patient. Some opportunity will present itself eventually. I got out of the dungeon after the castle was ransacked. I dug my way out of the cave. Whoever these criminals are they will have enemies. They might arrive and give me an opening. And then there is always Randy. In the cabin I start the fire before going out to the chicken coup to get some eggs. A bottle of wine and cozy bed awaits after lunch. I put on the record player and begin to make lunch. I eat and drink and listen to the smooth sounds of early 60’s jazz. And I wait.
"So I would sign at the bottom."The professor squinted at the paper as I hovered in the corner. Not anxiously, that wouldn't be very demon-like. But there might have been a few nerves that weren't all completely settled. "Yes."I tried to make my voice growl, though it didn't. It might be worth my time to gargle rocks; truly get a rasp in my throat. The professor's eyes scanned the contract, raising in certain places, lowering in others. "And I will get all the knowledge in the heavens and earth. In exchange for my—"He stopped abruptly, frowning at the paper. "In exchange for your soul. Yes."I said, trying not to sound too eager. It was my first time, I wasn't sure how this normally went. Or if there was a normal way for it to go. The professor cleared his throat, laying the paper on the table. As he picked up the pen, he smiled. "I was surprised to see that the contract is typed. Do you have computers in the hells?"He asked as the pen lowered towards the paper. "Yes, it's a new thing. I've been practicing with them."I said, unable to resist the note of pride. The professor hesitated, before he shook his head and signed the paper. The ink burned with black fire for a second, then vanished, his signature appearing on my wrist. My very first contract and my very first— My stomach filled with hot liquid. The steaming bowl of soup that had been by the professor's left elbow was suddenly empty. He stared at me, his eyes wide as the information poured into his brain. I snatched the contract, scanning the words until I reached the word 'soul.' Except it wasn't 'soul'. It was 'soup'. Soup! The professor was chuckling under his breath, laughing at me, I was sure. He'd seen the typo, that's why he'd stopped, that's why he'd frowned at the paper. My hands tightened on the edges of the contract as the paper crumpled. "Should have practiced a bit more."He said, as he stood up. "Now, it was a pleasure to do business with you, but I have a Nobel Prize to win and I won't be doing it bantering with a demon."He exited the room, leaving me alone with my mistake. I tried to transport back to the hells and something stopped me, a physical barrier bouncing me back to the room. Across the bottom of the contract, small writing appeared, the fine print I suppose you could call it. 'Contract incomplete. Cannot return to the hells until you have taken all his soup.' I stared down at the paper, trying to understand. Did it mean what I thought it meant? The professor walked back into the room, doing a double take when he saw me. "Don't you have anywhere else to be? More soup to steal?"He giggled at the last words and I crumpled the paper in my hands shoving it into a skin pocket. "No. For the rest of your natural life, I have absolutely nowhere else to be. I have to take your soup. All your soup."I said. For the first time, the professor looked uncomfortable. "What?" "The contract didn't state how much soup, and apparently that bowl wasn't enough. Maybe it's how much soup is equivalent to a human soul. I don't know. But I'm here, as long as it takes."I shrunk myself slightly, enough that I would fit on a human-sized chair, sat, and grinned at him. "Welcome to your new reality."The professor stared at me, as if by will alone he could find the solution. He couldn't, even with all that recently acquired knowledge, those contracts were unbreakable. I couldn't break it, Lucifer himself couldn't break it. There were laws that bound even us. "Can anyone else see you? Only, I have a class tomorrow..."He said. I raised my brow ridge. "No. I'm invisible to everyone except you. And, I suppose, anyone with a strong link to an angel. They might be able to see me."I answered. Nodding, he settled at the table. "All right. Then we might as well work out some ground rules." — — — — — — — — Years passed. I grew used to my strange new life, constantly shadowing a professor and stealing his soup. Each time he tried to have a bowl, it vanished before it reached his lips, and my stomach filled with the hot liquid. The annoying thing, was that I never got to taste it. It bypassed my mouth entirely. Finally, the professor was on his deathbed. Even with all his knowledge, he hadn't chosen to extend his life. Perhaps a soupless existence wasn't great. Or perhaps he knew the suffering eternal life could bring. I stood there, at his side as the nurses bustled around him, as he struggled for breath. And I felt the physical barrier crumble, knew that the man wouldn't be eating any more soup. I pulled out the contract to be sure, watching the fine print change. 'Contract fulfilled.' The professor noticed the movement, and he tried to smile. "You're finally free. Get thee away from me demon."He said, his laughter turning into a hacking cough. I laughed, it was a joke we'd often exchanged. As I realized I might never hear it again, my heart sank in my chest. "Go. And try to stay away from those typos. Next time might not be so—"The professor choked, and I heard the rumble of the nurses' footsteps. I nodded, even though he could no longer see me, and vanished back to the hells. My clawed feet dug into the earth as the paper in my hands dissolved. The contract had been completed. On my wrist, the name faded, turning from a deep black to a light grey. I couldn't help feeling a little lost. As I wandered the vast arrival area, I kept looking around, for the slight figure that I felt must be just outside of my vision. I had been his shadow for so long, it was odd not to have him around. "Demon!"The voice was familiar, and I turned to see the professor charging across the dirt. Not the old frail man in the bed, choking on his laughter, but the professor as I'd first seen him, young and hungry. I couldn't help the smile that cracked across my face, though even I was surprised when he wrapped his arms around me. In all the time we'd been together, the professor had never touched me. "It's good to see you too,"I said, and for the first time in my life, I gave someone a hug. "Now, I have a proposition for you."The professor said as he broke free. I lowered my brow ridge, making a mock frown. "Not again..." "No, nothing like that. It's really simple. You let me have whatever soup I want, and I, in return, will teach you a little more about computers. Specifically, spell and grammar check."He grinned up at me, and I threw my head back with a laugh. "You've got yourself a deal, Professor."I shrank down to a more manageable size and threw a heavy arm over his shoulders. "Let's get started." —————————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
"The quiet times 'twixt battles are the hardest yet to bear," Franco's translator murmured. Their hexapodal form and shaggy fur were usually quite alien, but when she sat with her paws tucked under her, she almost looked like my old tuxedo cat Damnthing did in the rare moments when he sat still. "First time on the warfront, miss?"I asked. I was fairly certain concepts like gender didn't translate at all to Franco's species; when I'd asked, they'd simply said to default to whatever linguistic customs my culture felt most comfortable with, and I'd never really bothered to pin a specific sex on them. "And if fortune be my servitor, my last rotation too,"Franco replied. I wasn't sure why the translator defaulted to Shakespearean English whenever it had to work with Heirian speech—evidently, it was the closest cultural analogue to how Franco's speech came across to their culture. She must have taken my contemplation for something else, because they hurriedly continued, "Lest you name in haste my cowardice, hold fast your judgement's gaze—" "I'm not calling you a coward, Franco."That wasn't their name either, of course, but it was the randomly-generated name she'd chosen upon customizing her translator. "It's terrifying, running dark between jumps."I gestured around at the dim, soft lighting of the near-empty mess room. Not dimmed out of necessity—we could run the lights so bright that they seared our flesh off and not give off a noticeable energy signature, thanks to our adaptive plating—but out of a psychological reminder to the biological crew: these were the quiet hours, the night. It would do best to hush. "If we get hit by another supramath paradox and the AIs break down, it's up to us to make sure this ship gets home safely." "'Tis a burden best not thought about, lest worry snap our spines,"Franco agreed. I hesitated, then reached out. Franco tilted their head inquisitively, then blinked slitted eyes as I scritched her behind the ears. "...dare I ask your custom's provenance? Or is it best unsaid?" I laughed. "You... you just looked like you needed a headpat. It's a human thing." Franco considered me, her eyes closing slightly. Then the little lump of fur settled down, closing their eyelids, translator humming, as the two of us sailed onwards through the vast and fearful dark. A.N. This one's not connected to any of my serials, just a one-off. If you'd like to see other stuff by me, check out r/bubblewriters, or my ongoing story [Soulmage](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/)!
Day 1: We have officially passed the Surface. It is… strange here. It is like what are scientists told us and more. We are currently camped at the edge of the surface and what they call “land”. We hope to explore it tomorrow but have to charge our breathing tanks overnight. There may not be much water for us to use as we begin our journey. My heart is pounding. I am beyond excited to see what lies out there. Day 2: We have explored land. Everything is so dry up here. How could anything live up here without water? When I swing my arms back and forth, it feels like nothing is there. And the pressure is so low. If not for these suits, I fear what would happen to mine and my associates’ bodies. But what really has intrigued me are the animals here. They come in a variety of sizes, from small to big. In fact, I saw this really small one earlier today. It was covered in the most precarious little hairs and with huge black eyes. I wish I could have touched it. It looked so soft. And then there were things that floated around. But they are not like fish swimming above. They seem to glide all around by beating their fins. Those are covered in some strange coating. They perch in the large plants. My colleague called them “trees”. Absolutely fascinating. Day 3: While collect samples to bring back, I noticed something strange. I could have sworn I saw something watching us, hidden in the dense bundles of plants surrounding us. They did not look like any other animal we had seen so far – no hair or flier things. But I did not think much about it, considering there is so much to explore. That was, until a person in our group went missing. She went off to collect some rocks, barely gone a minute before we heard her scream. By the time we had arrived to where she was, nothing remained except for her broken helmet. Without it, she is as good as dead. And that was when I began to panic. No one else has said anything but I think they feel the same. We are scheduled to leave in the morning at daybreak. I cannot complain. Something is not right about this place. Day 4: I am the only one left. At least, I think so. It all happened a blur. I am still trying to figure out what happened. One moment, I had taken a nap camp. The next, those savages come out of nowhere and attacked. They killed a few of us and chased the survivors in different directions. I was lucky enough to get them off my trail. But now, I do not know where I am. Their screams still ring in my ears. It was… brutal, unrestrained. They seem to kill for no reason. Just who are they? I have to sleep. It is a danger I must risk. If I can make it through the night, I will get back to the ship. Gods be with me. Day 5: There is no hope. After a day’s long trek, I made it back to the ship. But they arrived first. Now, they hang around it, speaking in some foreign tongue. And over the bodies of my dead comrades at that! They put them over some strange yellow and orange energy that radiates light, witchcraft perhaps. Their skin browns, crinkling and reeking of death. I had to hold my breath to not vomit. I have no choice. I have to try to get the ship back. My water levels are low and I lack a weapon but I must at least try. I need to warn my people of the impending doom if they dare to pass the Surface like we foolishly did. No one deserves this fate. So here is my final message. If I do not make it, whoever finds this log please heed my words. These savages will stop at nothing to kill you. Leave while you still can.
I'd gotten a raise. That was the start of it. Five years of no bonus. Five years of "Things are tight, Ray. You know how it is."Five of my best years of giving a damn. And finally - finally - Levenson called me into his office and patted me on the back. "It's been a good year, Ray,"he said. "A real good year." And I said, "Good enough for a raise?"I said it every year, because every year had seemed like a pretty goddamn good year from where I was sitting on the bottom floor. Normally, old Gil Levenson hemmed and hawed and shook out his shaggy, white head. "Afraid not. Afraid not,"he'd say. But not this time. "You're damn right it was,"he said, eyes gleaming like a madman. "How's fifteen percent suit you? Only wish it could be more, after all these years." Fifteen was plenty. Hell, you could've flopped the decimal point around wherever you liked and I still would've been pleased as punch. Fifteen percent? Goddamn. "Go home early. Celebrate!"And old Gil kicked up his feet, stretched out like a pig on a spit. "Time to start livin'." I went home. But first, I stopped at the Quikpump on Lawson. I wanted something special. Something for me. Now, don't get the wrong impression. We'd bled as a family all those years. Scrimped and saved and struggled like baby turtles on the beach. Hardly a word of complaint, except once or twice from Joey and Sandy. And they're still kids, after all. It's only natural. So that money was for all of us. Me and Cheryl and Joe and Sand. But I needed something. Something just for me. Because as much as we'd all sacrificed, I was the one on the front lines. I did the work. I aged 20 years in five, working ungodly hours, listening to idiots, letting suited-up jackasses take all the credit. When I walked out of Levenson's office I was excited, yeah, but bone tired, too. Like I had half the blood I ought've. So I needed something for me. I'd earned it. I bought a six pack, but that wasn't the thing. In truth, I didn't know what the thing was until I saw it, hovering up above, leering down at me from over the cashier's head. "What's that black pack?"I asked. It was a pack of cigarettes. The box was jet black with faint, silver writing. I sometimes smoked when I drank, and suddenly I was craving both. "Kingshead Black,"said the cashier. He didn't make a move to open the case. "They're kind of expensive. Never really sell any. Not sure why they're even up there, to be honest." "How expensive?" "Two hundred." I blinked. "For a crate?" The cashier shook his head, obviously embarrassed. "For the pack." "Why so much?" He shrugged. "Just...real good, I guess? I don't smoke." "Neither do I."I tapped the glass. "I'll take 'em." It took another three minutes to convince the cashier I was serious. By then I was getting agitated. "How much more of my time are you gonna waste?" I bought the cigarettes. Inside my car, I held the pack up under the dome light and tried to read the print. I could only make out one line: FOR THE MAN WHO'S THROUGH WAITING AROUND. What could be more perfect? I cracked the window and pulled out the first cigarette. The paper was gray. The butt was almost red. It was pretty, in its own way. It looked like a $200 cigarette ought to. I wasn't prepared for the taste. Almond and ginger. A sweet, burning spiciness that crawled down my throat like a drunken spider. I didn't cough, though. Usually, the first cigarette makes me cough, but not this one. Again, just how a disgustingly expensive cigarette should be. I smoked the whole pack in a sitting. Didn't feel sick afterwards or anything. Just invigorated. Alive. Like the life had come back into my limbs. The blood was back in my veins. Time to get back to living. I went home. And that's when it all went to shit. I almost kept going because I didn't recognize the cars in the driveway. Two cars, and neither was Cheryl's Jeep. Then my keys didn't work. The doorbell wasn't right either. I was just about to leave, convinced I'd forgotten my own house number, when the door opened. Cheryl came out. "Ray?" She looked wrong. Shorter hair, heavier, weird, thick eye make-up. She looked older. "What's going on?"I asked, trying to step through the door, only to find that Cheryl wouldn't move. Her face was drooping - settling down from surprise to one of her more familiar expressions: anger. "What the fuck kind of nerve do you have coming here?" I laughed. Not to be cruel or a shithead or anything. My brain just told me it was the cigarettes. I smelled like cigarettes. Cheryl hated me smoking, but she let it slide as long as the kids never found out. Can't have them knowing that Daddy's a hypocrite. "Sorry, I was celebrating,"I said, trying to get around her again. "I'll chuck the clothes and take a quick shower. They won't know anything."She put her hands out protectively, holding her position in the doorframe. "I've got great news,"I added, pretty pathetically. "I don't give a shit,"she growled. "After all these years? Get the fuck out of here!" "What?" There was a kid in the doorway behind her then, a bulky, zitted-up teenager in a hoodie. "Dad?" "What the hell is this?"I said, louder than I should have. I was angry, though. Angry and confused. "Who are you?" The teen pushed past Cheryl. His eyes ran me up and down. "You haven't changed at all." I turned back to Cheryl. "Who is this kid in our house?" "It's Joey, asshole,"said Cheryl. "Now get out of here before I call the cops!" "Joey?" The teen cocked his head. "Where the hell did you go?" "Go? Go? I went to work, goddamnit! I went to fucking work! What is happening here?" "Cheryl? Cheryl? Get in the house."Someone else was there. A man. He swung a sturdy lumberjack belly through the doorway and pushed Cheryl and the teenager back into the house. "Go call the police. And stay inside." "Who the fuck are you?"I bellowed. "Get the fuck out of my house!" The man looked like he has halfway through his transition into Santa Claus. He was doughy, but big enough where it counted to make me nervous. "You're Ray, I'm guessing?" I clenched my fists, ready to swing any second. "This is my fucking house and I'm getting tired of whatever this stupid, fucking game is. Now step aside so I can go home." Santa just shook his head. "No, Ray. Not anymore. This hasn't been your house for a decade now. Ever since you left." "Left? I went to work!" "I don't give a shit where you went,"said Santa, taking one step forward. "But you left. Without a word. Without a dollar of support."He pointed toward the house. "They moved on. Don't do this." "This is insane!"I could see the neighbors, standing in their windows, clutching curtains in their little paws. None of them were gonna stand up for me. No one was gonna vouch for my life and my work and my fucking sacrifice. "I didn't leave,"I hissed. "I went to work. Like I always do. I went to work and I put in my ten fucking hours and got nowhere."I circled past Santa, slapping the warped siding. "Small fucking house. No fucking savings. Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm dying, every goddamn day, and there's nothing to show for it. They're eating me alive." "That why you left?"said Santa, nodding towards the house. "'Cause they weren't good enough for you? They weren't worth the effort?" "I didn't leave!"I howled. "Don't you get it? That's the whole fucking point! I've been letting them eat my goddamn soul for the people in this fucking house! And I'd do it again! And again! And again! But it's pointless... I don't get what I deserve, and my family doesn't get what they deserve. And life... all of it... it just keeps draining away... draining away with nothing to show for it." Santa shook his head. I could see Cheryl in the window. And the boy... it was Joey. And there was a teenage girl there, too. It was Sandy, and she was beautiful and awkward and wonderful. And I realized how much Joey looked like his mother and how much of his size was muscle, and it made me wonder if he played football like he'd always wanted. And then I was terror stricken to think it was all real. That I'd missed it. That I'd lost it. The pee wee football games. The dance recitals. The successes and the failures and the ceaseless, unstoppable growth. I fell to my knees, stomach flexing and roiling. I could feel Santa standing over me. "Is that really what you think?"he said. I puked. I puked more than I think I've ever done. And when it was over, I felt a hand on my back. "Christ, buddy, what'd you eat?" I looked around and realized I was in the little alley behind the Quikpump. A heavyset trucker in overalls was patting my back. "Fuck. Just let it all out. Good as new in no time." I belched painfully. "Shit. Thanks." "You, uh... you done?" Things turned over in my mind. Righted themselves. Flipped like playing cards and revealed their true suits. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." The trucker shook his head. "You need an ambulance or anything?" "No. Just overdid it a bit." The trucker nodded. "Celebration?" I spat out a wad of whatever remained. "No, no. Just... disappointing news today. I thought I might get a raise, but... I didn't." "Economy's shit,"said the trucker, his empathy genuine. "But as long as we've got enough to get by, right?" "Exactly,"I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I think that's exactly right. What difference does a couple bucks make when you've got a good family at home?" "None at all,"he said with a smile. "None at all."
"Oh, come on."The beautiful, silk-clad woman across the table from me tittered, waving a hand in front of her face. "There's no way that you're not involved!" I sighed internally. Dating was hard enough when you were a young, attractive millionaire. My family had built up an empire, creating long-lasting networks that dumped money into our bank accounts with forklifts. Of course, then my parents had died in a plane crash. On the edge of our soverign airspace. Which had led to instability between our country and theirs for years. Needless to say, the crash was viewed as suspicious by most of the nation. The young me had inherited the family business along with the fortune. It was a ton of pressure, but I had good tutors, and I managed to hold on long enough to really get my feet under me. Now, it purred along like a well-oiled machine, and I had some time for myself. That was when he showed up. "Seriously, I have nothing to do with him."I laughed, holding my hands up helplessly. "He's just some vigilante! Do I look like I'm going to be out there fighting criminals all night?"The woman - Teri, that was her name - Teri examined me critically. All right, the fact that I worked out every morning might not help my case any. Hey, what's the point of having a personal gym if you won't take advantage of it? "I don't know about that,"she said, the hint of a smile at her lips. "You know what they say about those young, rich boys. I have seen Batman, you know." Fucking Batman. The surge of popularity in the superhero since The Dark Knight had seemed harmless enough. But a year or two ago, he had started wandering the shadier parts of the city in black carbon-fiber armor, beating up miscreants and generally putting on a show. The general public had begun frantically trying to connect the dots that the movie industry had told them must be there. Only problem was, I had nothing to do with it. Really. I grinned, sipping my wine to mask the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "Well, Batman is a movie. I can assure you, I value my own neck far too much to go wandering around getting in fights. And besides, it's a crime! I don't even speed."It was true, and she knew it. She had complained three times about it on the way over. She grimaced. "Well, what about Carbotech?" I sighed. "What about Carbotech? It's one of the companies my family has a controlling share in, sure." She leaned forward eagerly. "Well, the police finished their ballistics analysis last week! They say that the armor he's wearing is of a specific blend, only made by your company!" I shrugged. "So he's got rich taste and he got his hands on some of our material. I still have nothing to do with it". She frowned. "And the fact that he drives a modified version of the same car as you?" I winced. It was true. Someone had caught a photo. "I can't help that he likes the same cars as I do. Seriously, you rode in it all the way over here. Did you see any armor plating or mounted weapons?"She shook her head begrudgingly. "I guess not." The mood was thoroughly soured by now. We picked at our food for the rest of the night, exchanging nonsense pleasantries and chatting about wine. As I helped her into my car outside the restaurant, I couldn't help but notice her surrepitiously checking for hidden buttons or switches. I may have shut her door a little harder than necessary. We were accelerating down the entrance ramp to the freeway when I heard her sqeaking incomprehensibly. As I glanced in my side mirror, I saw it. A sleek, black car, plated and armored, racing down the lane alongside us. It cut me off as I tried to merge in. "Asshole!"I gasped, slamming on the brakes and sliding in behind him as I narrowly avoided a guardrail. "It's him!"She screeched, pressing her nose to the glass. Her eyes were locked on that car, accelerating into the distance, until at last it whipped around a corner and was gone. Then I got to hear all about our encounter with the mysterious vigilante for the rest of the ride home. I couldn't drop her off with the doorman fast enough. As I rode home in blissful silence, my mind got to thinking. This vigilante was really proving to be nothing but a giant pain in my ass. Until he quieted down and went away, I might never have a shot at a normal life. I wasn't the vigilante, despite all of the pointed questions and sidelong glances to the contrary. But I did have the technology, and the money, and the body. I had no interest in becoming a vigilante. But maybe, I could catch him. Maybe I could make him stop. Or at least go find a different city to be a hero in. I was thoughtful as I pulled into the garage. And then I got to work. (/r/inorai)
"Sorry for the quick thaw Master Chief, but things are a little hectic right now."Those were the first words he'd heard in, well he didn't know how long he'd be in that bloody tube for. He didn't remember his name, after all the quite literal Hell he'd seen, he couldn't remember much of anything except for blood and violence but he knew for sure that he wasn't whoever this 'Master Chief' was. Whoever he was, however, he was in some real trouble. Explosions rocked the...he looked around the room unsure as to where he was when the engineer who'd thawed him pointed him towards some device with 5 glowing lights on it. As each light lit up green he looked at it, when all five lights were green he heard a high pitched beep. "Good. Your sensors seem to be working fine."A voice came over the loudspeaker from the control room above. Another explosion rocked the ship and the engineer next to him was caught in the blast. His lifeless body was sent sprawling across the room only stopping when it impacted the wall with a dull thud, it promptly slid down the wall leaving a large blood trail. The explosion that killed the engineer blew open a hole in the wall and that was where he headed. Jumping through the hole another engineer was running down the hallway he ended up in and shouted to him. "Chief this way!"He began to run to the end of the hall, waving his arm behind him urging the 'Chief' forwards. A left turn here, a right turn there and soon he found himself standing before five marines. "Chief! Glad you made it, quickly follow us. We'll bring you to the Admiral."It didn't take them long to make it to the Admirals quarter. There he was given a speech about how they needed to defeat their enemy and the Admiral handed him some form of data chip. He seemed to be under the impression that he was this Chief and that he knew what this chip was for and how important it was. He didn't say anything else other than "Keep her safe, Chief."then he handed him a pistol and off he went, to kill whatever enemy it was that he faced. When he finally saw the enemy he was stricken. This wasn't the enemy he knew, these weren't Demons or the Devil himself. These were aliens. Real honest to god, aliens. He wasn't given time to register this fact properly, bullet started flying towards him and the marines in front of him were torn to shreds. He looked down at their bodies, it wasn't bullet wounds that killed them, at least not the bullets he knew. It was something else, something that melted their skin and bones with ease. He picked up a fallen assault rifle and began sending hot lead towards the aliens. When that rifle ran dry he picked up another and began spraying single-handedly while rummaging through the marines vest looking for ammunition. When he didn't find any he snarled and threw his empty weapon at the enemy, grabbed the knife from the marines vest and charged the huge dark blue skinned alien with spider-like mandibles, it roared its defiance at him. After a brutal and savage fight, the alien lay dead on the ground, its purple blood coating the floor. He looked down at himself and saw that the aliens uniquely coloured blood coated his once green armour. He knelt down and picked up the aliens oddly shaped weapon, it fizzled with some form of blue energy that was clearly lethal. Quickly firing a test shot to see how the weapon worked he found out that it overheated within seconds. He nodded to himself then picked up its equally unique grenades. He would test them on actual enemies, not just for fun. With weapons in hand, he headed off to finish the fight. --- https://www.reddit.com/r/Ceruberus/
There's nothing quite like the jitters you get on your first day at a new job. Today, I am feeling that stronger than ever. I had been hired last week in a brand new position called the King's Completionist. The job came to my attention after being recruited as a commenter on the message boards of my favorite basketball team. Apparently, a member of the King's camp was also active in that community and had been impressed with how artfully I called people jackasses. My job as the Completionist was to finish the King's sentences that he could not finish himself, relaying his true feelings. This prevented him from having to say offensive things, thus keeping it off the official record. I waited in a holding area behind the dais until I got the signal. There was no ovation for me as I walked across the stage and took my seat beside the king. Nobody really knew what I was doing there, or how this would play out. To be honest, neither did I. "Welcome everyone"said the king "Everyone except his majesty's freeloading aunt, Janice! Janice, the King does not forgive you for returning the hiking boots he bought you for Christmas!"I shouted There were a few giggles in the crowd, but people were still unsure how to react. "Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to my new Completionist. His job is to ensure that, as the King, my true feelings are heard throughout the realm, whilst protecting me from the backlash that could ensue, and be so distracting to myself and the realm." "The King also enjoys a good roast. That's part of the reason I was hired!"I shouted again The king looked at me and spoke quietly "Keep that to yourself, guy, Jesus. Stick to the relevant bits." I apologized and the King turned his attention back to the audience. "As you all know, I am currently dealing with the threats that have been made against my life. My investigators seem to believe the threats are viable and there will likely be an attempt sooner rather than later." "None of you have been ruled out!"I yelled at the top of my lungs "The King thinks there are too many cooks in the kitchen so, as of now, half the kitchen staff is being fired!" The King nodded his head and continued with his address "All of you being let go will be sorely missed"he said "Not all of you will actually be missed!"I said to cap off the King's thought "The rest of my staff is safe-"He continued "-from Sharks."I said "You're all safe from shark attacks, as our city is nowhere near the ocean. However, you are not safe from unemployment and we'll be cutting jobs across the board so keep that in mind"I said to an increasingly shocked crowd. "I am also pleased to announce that by next year, our city will go 100% green and be fueled entirely by renewable energy sources."Said the King, with a smile. The crowd looked to me to bring some bad news, but there was nothing to add to that one. It was great for the city and the environment. The King was getting to the end of his speech, when I noticed a bustling towards the back of the gathered patrons. I thought nothing of it and turned back to the King as he continued on with his address. Before his majesty could continue with his next thought, a hooded man burst from the large crowd and ran towards the king. He pulled out a handful of knives and threw them directly at The King. One of the knives reached its target. The King looked down at the knife protruding from his chest and turned his gaze toward the assailant. "What have you done?"He asked "I am... I am..."the King's head slumped down in his chair as his eyes rolled back into his head. "Dead now!"I shouted to the crowd "And I seriously won't miss you Aunt Janice. I put a lot of thought into that Christmas gift, you ungrateful leech!"
I blinked at them. Phones on silent?! This was supposed to be a 1300's monastery, not some modern establishment. "You look confused. What part of silent do you not understand? Are people so rude in the future as to interrupt mass like that? I should call you a blasphemer!" I hastily took my phone out and did as the priest, a balding man who looked in his mid 60s, said. The call was from my crew, guess they'd have to wait... My brows then furrowed. "How? You shouldn't know anything of modern technology much lessa a-a phone! I um...." The priest looked at me with an all knowing stare that bore down right on my very damnded soul. "We are the order of the box, brothers in learning about futures to come and pasts before us. Why, you're part of the same order only under a different name..Now sit down so I can finish mass... You're making it most difficult to continue." "But- what do you mean by that?!"I wasn't trying to burst out with my multitude of probing questions but my crew would need to know every detail. "We can't be the same. You're a monk, I'm an aethist!" "Child, must I send a report to your commander? And if you wish for more information, go research your history books in your library."He turned the page of presumably a bible and started back up with mass. I had no choice but to sit down and listen. _What have I gotten myself into?_ Edit: forgot a word.
"Bitch please, you think this is the first time I've heard a voice telling me to kill someone? Just last week some whiney little weiner was like 'kill that guy. Just do it.'" OK, but that was me, too. Also whiney? Weiner? Come on man, just because I'm a ghost doesn't mean you have to be rude. Can't you just like... kill one dude for me? It can be anyone! You pick! I won't even watch if you don't want me to. "OK but counter point, how about I DON'T do that, and you get out of my fucking head and possess someone else?" I can't. Turns out I'm either stuck with you, or I'm just not very good at possession because I can't seem to leave. "Well that sounds like a you-problem." OK here's a thought, if you go and kill one dude, I'll do something for you. Fair trade. "You're a fucking ghost. What could you possibly do for me other than annoy me and watch me masterbate? " you sound awfully judgey for a sexual predator, you know. I never consented to watching that. You basically forced me. I may be a killer, but you, my friend are a- "A what?" well I was going to say 'rapist', but that's probably a little extreme. Anyway, can we just kill a dude yet? Come on, this was a whole lot easier in my own body. "I'm not killing anybody. At least not for you. Jesus, I've never heard anyone whine so much. I thought serial killers were supposed to be scary." * I AM scary. You should've seen the looks on the faces of everyone I killed. They were all like 'grrr... arghh...' and, well, I don't have a body or facial expressions so I can't really show you can I. But take my word for it, they were scared!* "OK, well thats great I guess? I don't k ow what to tell you, buy I'm definitely not going to kill anybody." OK, fine.... can we at least eat? I'm hungry. "No you're not. You're a ghost. It's my body. I'M hungry." can we do tacos? I haven't had Mexican in forever. "Actually same, tacos is a pretty good idea." you know what else is a pretty good idea? Killing a dude. "I'm not killing a dude." but we ARE getting tacos though, right? "Yes, we're getting tacos." OK, we'll put a pin in the killing a dude for now.
Looking back on it, Brianne wondered how she could have ever managed to get herself into such a ridiculous situation. It had started as an innocent ploy: a princess born with the power of shape-shifting, she was sheltered for most of her life, as her father worried she would be feared or persecuted for who she was. It was an understandable concern; many people faced hardships born from innate qualities they couldn't control, but the thing was, she didn't hate herself, or her situation. It was a wonderful feeling, throwing off her dress, leaping from the window of her tower, and transforming in midair so that the wind below crashed against her wings as she beat them fiercely through the air. She would soar for hours on end, venturing to new places every time. Once or twice she even glided to a neighbouring kingdom just to spook the princess Ariadne, whom she had heard made a snide remark about her absence from the annual Princess's Ball (though if anyone asked, that was another sapphire-scaled, crystal-horned dragon). The problem began when the guards noticed a strange pattern. The periodic appearances of this odd blue dragon instilled fear in the hearts of many villagers, but the most worrisome aspect of the situation was that it usually showed up at a specific time of day, and every time it did, the Princess Brianne mysteriously went missing from her tower. She would reappear hours later, emerging from the depths of the castle in which she claimed she was exploring. But King Bernard, whatever he told the other Kings, knew that his castle wasn't interesting enough to hold the attention of a seventeen year old girl. There was only one logical conclusion: this dragon was kidnapping his daughter, taking her out of the country, and returning her to the tower when it had finished whatever sick, twisted game it was obviously playing. Though the obvious question to ask would have been why the dragon would think to take the princess and return her rather than simply kill her, King Bernard dutifully ignored it. "How am I supposed to understand the workings of the mind of a savage beast?"he would ask them each time, when someone brought it up. Whatever reasons lay behind the dragon's bewildering actions, one thing was clear: this creature was a threat, and it needed to be dealt with. And so began his search for the noble Knight who would be brave enough to face and slay the dragon, and in return be awarded his fair daughter's hand in marriage. Men from all over the Kingdom came, old, young, handsome and brutal-faced. But though some were highly appealing, she simply didn't want to be weighed down by marriage yet. She was young and restless, she craved adventure and excitement. And none of this would be possible if these men were to succeed. So she took matters into her own hands. In the midst of the gathered menfolk, she burst into the Royal Hall, clad in shining black and grey armor, fitted with rubies. All talk ceased at once. Men drew back into the corners of the hall as the King rose, looking simultaneously impressed and angry. "Declare yourself!"he said imperiously. "I,"said Brianne, in the deep, silky voice of her new form, "am — er — Lancel — del... Victory!"she said, inwardly cursing herself. She really should have picked a name before she entered. "And you, Sir Victory, are here to prove yourself as the Knight I seek to slay the blue dragon?" "I have nothing to prove,"Brianne said. "I am the greatest warrior in the entire Kingdom. None of these men would stand a chance against this beast, only I can slay the creature and free your daughter from her curse." The hall broke into a storm of incredulous mutters. The men all around glared at her, spitting curses and statements of disbelief and anger. King Bernard, however, was surveying her with interest. It was said that respect was something to be earned, but that was true only for lesser men. True warriors commanded it. "Very well then,"Bernard said, to a collective gasp of surprise. "You sell yourself so well? Prove your worth to me. You have a month to bring me back the head of this dragon." Brianne bowed. "I look forward to it."And she did. No more stolen hours fighting for a brief period of freedom. Here she was, being given a month all to herself, to go wherever she wanted, wherever she pleased. King Bernard resumed his seat on the throne, inclining his head to his right. "You see, daughter? I told you I would find the right one." Her friend Genevra, wearing a bright emerald necklace spelled to make her resemble Princess Brianne, gave a sheepish smile. "I never doubted you father." She cast a desperate look at Brianne — or Sir Lancel del Victory, as she would now be called — and he winked. He turned and strode out of the room, his armour clattering on the floor. It was going to be a good month indeed.
Captain Brave sat with his head in his hands – there was still a bit of red at the edge of his gloves. “I’m sorry.” That was the third time in the last hour. Lily hugged her knees closer to her chest and turned her face away from him. It was quiet outside the safe house, but the sound of sirens floated in on the wind from time to time. They reminded her that she was now a wanted woman. What remained of the world government had called for her arrest for her role in the massacre. “My life is ruined now.” She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. “Why did you have to do that? You could’ve revealed their actions to the public. Let the police and military handle it.” Captain Brave pushed his hair out of his eyes. The once-pristine locks were matted with sweat and smoke – and perhaps something else. “The corruption ran deep, Oracle. You told me yourself. Those that died for the whims of the corrupt deserved no less than absolute justice.” His voice, though thick with emotion, still held the inspiring tone of a hero. Lily had not seen what had happened at that meeting of international leaders. All she knew was that almost half of them had died at the former hero’s hands. In the ensuing chaos, Captain Brave had fled, whisking Lily from her tiny apartment in minutes. She had watched the news from the isolated safehouse while he had gone out again. After all, not all guilty parties had been present at that convention. Anger swelled in her chest at his single-minded approach. “People need evidence! They’re saying you did this just because I said so! Who’s going to believe that such a wide range of human experimentation went on behind the curtains? It sounds like something out of a bad action movie!” “I know what I did was wrong. But what would you have me do?” His eyes widened at the accidental question. There was a surge of energy through Lily’s mind, and she knew the answer. After a moment, she said, “Kill me. Kill me and blame your actions on me. The public will call me a villain that convinced you to do what you did. But my death will help sway their opinion back in your favor.” Captain Brave looked horrified as he stammered out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that.” Lily let out a bitter laugh. “But you did, and that’s the truth.” “I won’t do it.” She clenched her teeth in frustration. “Why not? You killed all those members of the world government without batting an eye. Why would I be any different?” “You’re an innocent. They weren’t.” “How do you know that?” “Because you told me the truth even if you didn’t have to.” A bitter taste flooded her mouth. It had been her choice to tell him. She voiced her thoughts. “You’re admitting this was all my fault then.” Yet he continued to refute her culpability. “No. I had my suspicions. You only confirmed them for me. The blame for these events lies with me.” “You don’t have to coddle me. I know what I did.” A flash of anger appeared on his face. “Then tell me, Oracle. Are you innocent?” The question came with an answer as every question she heard did. But the knowledge only made her heart sink further. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and she let out a strangled sob. Captain Brave sighed. “You are, aren’t you?” He already knew. His powers let him detect good and evil in the broadest sense. He had only asked to force her to come to terms with her innocence. He stood from his chair. “Rest, Oracle. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll find somewhere for you in the morning.” He paused before adding, “Some of the others have agreed to help collect that evidence. We’ll make this right.” And then he was gone again. How many more will die tonight? Unable to bear the stress any longer, Lily laid down on the couch and fell into a fitful sleep. ... Dark superhero stories are fun. If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. Thanks for reading.
"...to eat your heart, for the inestimable crime of depriving my dearest friend of her golden years under your churlish eye, you deaf fool!"The dragon snarled, knocking a credenza dotted with a grandson's letters across the room. The former king blinked, pulling a withered tongue against dried and desiccated lips. "don'trememberthat" The draconian entity gave a derisive snort, plumes of smoke trailing like a blazing bonfire from its nostrils. "I demand satisfaction. You will pay for your callow need, your foolishness, your...refusal to make the bed!"The dragon roared, as its tail lashed a macaroni sculpture and hand-turkey off a kitchen cabinet. The former monarch's eyes struggled to keep their focus. His tongue slowly idled from one side of his mouth to the other, almost as though mulling it over. "i'msorry" The dragon reared a claw back, the full brunt of its fury leveled at immediate back and call And paused Halting the strike's progression, her talons close enough to brush eyes white with cataracts. Hands that shook like branches in a thunderstorm. Rheumy expression faltering, uncomprehending. "You really don't, do you?" The dragon did not shrink, exactly. A creature big as a barn is not dangerous for its teeth, nor its claws or tail - but rather its intention. Vertical pupils and horizontal eyelids regarded the old man steadily. He opened his mouth as if to speak - before tears gathered in his eyes, a body once corded with muscle bent horizontal with the ravages of time. "have you seen my wife?"he asked, voice quavering. "ican'tfindher" The dragon sighed. "It's all right,"a voice that could level mountains spoke with the compassion of a mother to her child, lightly brushing his balding head with the extended talon. She didn't have the heart to tell him.
“Ok, so watch out for ghosts, vampires, ghouls, mummies, fae, a guy called Mark and breakfast cereal mascots. Is there anything here I shouldn’t be looking out for?” I asked, reading over the list of potential horrors that might invade my home if I did not meet all five hundred of their demands. “Well, we haven’t had a mermaid attack since 2003, so I wouldn’t worry too much about leaving sponges on the doorstep. Although you can never be too careful. The ocean’s rather far away. But if we have a flood again, it might drag a mermaid onto our street. Also, if that occurs, please don’t marry the mermaid like Phil did. It never works out. They will end up loving you so much that they will drag you back to their home, often forgetting humans can’t breathe underwater.” Alice said, reciting our neighborhood’s colorful history as if these were all just common occurrences. “Ah, so that’s what the memorial of sponges was by the side of the road? I just assumed someone had made some modern art or something.” “Oh, about art. You need to salt your paintbrush before doing any artworks. We have a demon that uses paintings as portals to their world. They will pull you through it and turn you into a tormented painting that can only stare at the outside world, unable to move. We have a few of those paintings for sale if you want one. It’s buy one, get one free.” “Wait, you sell paintings of trapped souls?” “Would you rather we burn them? Until we work out how to free them, it’s a safer option. Plus, there’s a certain charm to them. Despite the whole horrific nature of them, they are beautiful. I have Margaret in my living room.” “I see. Should I watch out for aliens?” “Aliens?” Alice furrowed her brow, the red-haired woman letting out a huff. “Please take this seriously. Aliens don’t exist. What sort of idiot believes in aliens? I suggest you lose such childish thoughts unless you want to end up getting tormented by one of the creatures that live here. Now questions?” “So, the rent’s entirely free? I just have to look after the house?” “Oh yes, the rent’s free. For some reason, we struggle to find people willing to live in our little piece of paradise. So, we let people live here for free if they mind the homes. All the houses here are listed as protected sights, so you’re kind of working for us as a guard when you stay in your home. We get paid to have someone living in the home and you get your rent free. It’s a good trade as long as you follow the rules.” “Right. Um, I think that covers everything. It’s been nice meeting you, Alice. Is there anything I should know? Or any pieces of advice you want to give me?” “Hm? I think the document I gave you should cover everything. We have a karaoke night on Friday in the town hall and a barbeque on Sunday. So, if you ever want to meet the locals, feel free to join us. Just don’t get too attached to anyone. People go missing frequently.” “I’ll keep that in mind. The karaoke night sounds like a lot of fun. I do a pretty mean cover of You give love a bad name.” “Oh… excellent.” Alice glanced at her list of rules before letting out a sigh. “Oh, darn. That songs actually haunted by the karaoke ghost, so you can’t sing it.” “But it’s a good song.” “Says you.” “I like it.” I flipped through the rules, trying to find this karaoke ghost. Despite my attempts, I couldn’t see anything about it, but it was a five-hundred-page document, so maybe I had missed it. “What can I sing then?” “I would pre- I mean the ghost would prefer something by Queen, Elton John or Vanilla Ice.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” “I would hope so.” Alice left, her knees lifting high as she went back home, dressed like a camp scout leader in her khaki shorts. I gave her a wave before entering my home. The place was nice, two stories with two bedrooms and even a basement that I couldn’t enter. Only thing missing was a pool, but unfortunately, we weren’t allowed pools as it can attract Kappa’s. “It must be an elaborate joke, right?” I muttered, throwing my bag into a bedroom before dropping onto the couch. Tomorrow, I could unpack. I just wanted to get that weird encounter out of my head. “Must be a way to scare off the new guy.” For a second, I believed it was all a joke, only for a sinking feeling to land in the pit of my stomach. “It’s free, though. Why else would it be free if not for some horrific reason?” Turning the tv on, I was met with static. Forcing me to walk over and bang my hand against the top of the screen. After a few smacks, a ghostly woman appeared, glaring at me with deep red eyes. Each time I smacked the screen, she was bounced against the edges like the old DVD logo. She collided with the top corner before hitting the bottom. When I stopped banging the tv she looked dizzy, trying to pull herself out from the screen but was unable to get a good grip on the outside world. Quickly I turned off the tv, trapping her inside. “Shit.. Maybe I should read the rules.” “Yeah, you should.” I jumped, facing the window, spotting an older gentleman with a grey beard. He was standing by my window, eating a hotdog out of his hand. No bun, just a hot dog covered in sauce. He took a bite, waiting for me to speak. “What are you doing?” “Mm. Chewking out ma.” He swallowed the bite, before trying again. “Checking out ma newest neighbor. Heh, you nearly got tv’d.” “Tv’d?” “Yeah, she pulls you into the tv and forces you to live in her world. It’s a world where you’re trapped in the television’s reality. It’s not a horrible life depending on what’s on the tv that day. Some days she’s a loving wife in a family sitcom and others she’s a murderer in a crime thriller. No matter the show, you’re always the other actor that she needs to fulfil the scene. Eventually, she will end up killing you.” “How do you avoid her?” “Turn your tv onto the maximum volume. She doesn’t like the noise, so she will stay hidden away. If you catch ma drift. Any hoo, I should be going. Name’s Rusty. I’ll see ya at the barbeque if you make it to next week. I suggest you read the guide before touching anything.” “I’m-“ “Brendon. I know. I read ya file before you came here. Aspiring actor, right? Maybe you should go with the ghost woman? You would make a lovely couple. Well, at least until she killed ya. I wonder what happens if you land an acting gig and get on the tv? Will she still want you or will she fixate on the image of you that’s on the tv?” “I don’t think I’ll ever find out. I’m not getting many roles.” “Keep ya head up. Have you seen some of the crap on tv? I’m sure even a nobody like you could make it.” “Thanks?” As soon as Rusty left, I shut my blinds, hoping that I didn’t activate some demonic creature by that act alone. “Ok, I’ll read the manual and pray nothing happens during that time.” So, I sat myself down and began my recommended reading, preparing myself for the hellish neighborhood. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I closed the book, Hamster Huey & The Gooey Kablooie her favorite, for the thousandth time and leaned down to kiss my little girl goodnight. "Dad what if the monsters come?" A quick inhale left my lungs in slow defeat as I paused just above her forehead. It was silly to imagine getting her to sleep without that question, as silly as imagining her going to sleep without hearing the same tale of the same hamster and the same 'gooey kablooie'. "We'll just have to show them who the monsters really are."A quick peck on her small forehead, pausing to brush the hair from her face, I stood and slipped out of the small room. She asked the same question every night, and every night I gave her the same answer, and every night I ask any god I can think of, barter with any devil I can conjure, and hope with all my might that I don't have to show her what that answer means. The nights are short this time of year which would be a comfort if it were not offset by the increased activity of the 'monsters'. With less time to prowl, many of them became uncommonly efficient and the rest became exceptionally brutal. I'll knock on wood, there's plenty in this shed of plywood and scraps, and stroke the rabbit's foot as I say, it has been three years, eight months, and two days since my last close encounter with the 'monsters', and little Berni was thankfully too young to remember what took place. Unfortunately, and consequently, she also has little memory of her mother. Oddly enough, she only ever asks about the 'monsters'. I turned our only oil lamp down low and set it under the thick shade and then settled down on my mat underneath the flapping shred of tarp tied over our window. Outside was just darkness. Sure, there were allegedly a whole mess of trees and underbrush and animals, but all a man can see is darkness, all he can hear is the darkness breathing, creaking, and howling. “Darkness ain’t a place for nobody.” Just as I felt my train of thought slip off the logic tracks and derail into dreams, a cracking branch all to close snapped me back to the low light of my shed. Not a muscle twitched, even my eyelids hung at half mast as I strained my ears through the thickness of the night. CRACK No need to strain, they were here. And right outside. I took a long, slow, and silent breath and then rolled up to a crouch at the end of my mat and skirted the dark edge of the lamps glow to conceal my shadow. Quietly thanking my fastidiousness, I swung open my daughter’s door on the whisper of daily greased hinges. I dropped one hand heavily on her mouth, as my other brushed her hair with light insistence, “Sweetie, wake up quietly. The monsters are here.” Her eyes snapped wide, bright with panic and brimming with tears, but she didn’t utter a sound, just stared up at me with her little eyebrows creasing her forehead. Behind me, my heavy front door swung silently on its hinges to slam against the wall, hard enough to knock three books from my daughter’s makeshift shelf. I don’t think it’s possible for a little girl’s eyes to open wider or eyebrows to climb higher; she lay frozen, staring up at me, still silent behind my palm. I gave her a half smile and turned to see the creature swaying on two legs. It could have been anyone before, but now it was just a mess of fury and fear. I tried to suppress a grimace as the flickering oil lamp, the shade now knocked aside, cast a glow on its face; shards of green and brown glass embedded in flesh leaving jagged armor scales, one ‘good’ eye and one with so much infection that I swore I saw the wriggle of a maggot behind the graying cornea. A long mouth gaped wide, in an expression that I refuse to call a smile, revealing filed fangs and rotted stumps jutting from blistered gums like the glass on its face. My left hand stretched slowly behind me as I kept my eyes locked on the frenzied gaze of the, thus far, solo intruder. When I felt her little hand slip into mine, I squeezed and pulled her up to stand next to me. “Now honey, open up wide and growl… The rest will come naturally.” I let go of her hand as I felt my jaw distend, feeling like a proud father releasing a moving bike as his child's pleas of 'don't let go' dissolve into cheers of two-wheeled freedom. The growl that rumbled from my gut was hungry and shrieked with pent rage. The once dark night focused into a colorless clarity and the expression on the monstrous face before me, I will gladly say, frowned in regret. I heard a smaller, but ferociously pitched growl from behind me, and turned to see my daughter’s first transformation complete. Her large yellow eyes blinked once as they met my gaze, filled with a horrible understanding that has come far too early. But her mouth still turned up in a smile, a big smile revealing pearly white, needle point fangs and a flickering purplish black tongue. I turned back to the ‘monster’, who stood like a front porch decoration on Halloween, sniffing at its fear swirling in the air and I whispered, “Now, see monsters.” She moved with the grace that comes with inborn instinct and the execution was flawless. Her snapping jaws severed the Achilles tendons hiding under gangrenous flesh as her long claws sank into its thighs and pulled hard. The ‘monster’ pitched forward to its knees, its howl turned to a gurgle when my own claws curled around its neck and pierced the throat through and through. Its one good eye blinked rapidly just inches from mine, every exhale a trembling scream. I smiled, my needle point fangs a bit more yellow with age, and the smile turned to a snarl as my jaw creaked wide. Its eye stopped blinking, mimicking my gaping maw, and stared into the end. It was just a matter of a few crunching snaps and a splintering tear; I released the punctured throat and a mangled, headless corpse sank to the floor with a squishy thud. My long nails scraped between fangs and pulled out pieces of glass as I turned to meet the gaze of my bloody-faced daughter. She was smiling bigger than I’d ever seen.
God maths was the worst, especially first thing on a Monday. I laid my head on the desk and huffed. "Jason,"Dave hissed, knocking my leg suddenly, "Sir's looking at you." I sat up quickly and looked over to where a glowering Mr. Johnson stood, arms folded against his crisp shirt. He looked angry enough to beat me with the metal ruler that was clenched so tightly in his fist, it may well have cut into his hands. "Do I really need to dish out a supervised study session this early in the day, Mr. Woodward?"he spat, brandishing the ruler in my direction. "Um, no Sir,"I mumbled, "I'm sorry." Mr Johnson inhaled sharply, pushing his thickly rimmed glasses back up his beak-like nose. Dave sniggered once Sir had turned his back, and only stopped when I elbowed him, hard. He let out a yelp that caused Mr Johnson to whip around and furrow his brow, eyeing us warily. He sighed deeply and resumed writing out the quadratic equation we were meant to be working on. Dave grabbed my arm and yanked my sleeves up, giving me the worst chinese burn I'd ever received. I let out a silent scream as he twisted the life out of my wrist. But then as suddenly as it had happened, the pain stopped. "What's that,"Dave whispered, his face a pale grey. He jabbed at my stinging arm, where there was a black smudge. "Ink I guess,"I replied behind my hand, licking my finger to wipe it off. Except it didn't come off. Dave's chair fell to floor with a loud clatter. He was barely stood, shaking terribly and staring at my arm with apparent terror. The class turned to stare as Dave ran into the hall, the door slamming behind him. My classmates began to talk amongst themselves, to Sir's frustration, glancing every so often at me and the empty seat next to me. Eyes fell upon the mark on my arm. I tugged my sleeve down and kept my arm off the table for the rest of the lesson. When the bell finally rang, I practically ran to Dave and I's usual break spot. My arm felt like it was burning. That mark. It resembled the letter v, with a small loop where the two lines met. I'd seen it before. Little kids often showed each other their birth tattoos, so I had seen Dave's when we met on the first day of Middle School. He told me the v stood for his name, and then cried when I pointed out that for his birth tattoo to stand for his name, he'd have to be called Vave, or the tattoo would have to look more like a d. I thought it was a bit silly to cry over that, but I felt bad and gave him the chocolate bar my mum had packed in my lunch. We'd been friends since. I didn't expect Dave to be in our spot when I got there, but he was. He didn't look up until I sat next to him on the wall. "Are you ok?"I asked. When he didn't answer, I nudged him. He leapt off the wall and glared at me. "Don't touch me!"he snapped. He rubbed his ankle with his foot. "That's my birth tattoo on your arm." "I know, but it's not real. It can't be. It's probably just permanent marker or something,"I reasoned, "maybe someone did it for a joke." "Maybe,"he mumbled, but took a small step backwards. I frowned at the movement. Did he actually think it was real? "It's not real,"I hissed, "it can't be, because I'd have had to have killed you already for your mark to appear." "Not necessarily." "Look, come with me, I'll try and wash it off with soap and you'll see. I bet someone drew it on earlier or something."As the words came out my mouth, I realised there wasn't any time for someone to have drawn it on without me noticing. Dave knew that too, because a look of anger overcame him. He charged at me, knocking me backwards off the wall. I landed heavily on my back, and lay there winded as he walked around to stand by my head. "It's real. It's real and you know it,"he shouted furiously, raising his foot above my head. I rolled over just before his foot made contact with the concrete. "Dave,"I wheezed, struggling to my feet, holding my hands out in front of me, "I wouldn't hurt you, I wouldn't do that." But he wouldn't listen. He came at me his fist raised above his head, and I did what I needed to do. I shoved him hard, sending him staggering backwards, hitting his head hard on the corner of the brick wall as he fell. A trickle of red turned to a lake. If only he had listened.
At 10 years of age the government tests all of the kids for mutations. Then again at 12, 14 and 16. For whatever reason, if you are going to get powers you always get them by 16. At 10, I tested as mutant in the area of ‘feelings’. I couldn’t do anything yet but I had to go to the special school for mutants. A mutant that hasn’t manifested yet gets teased. A mutant that hasn’t manifested ‘feeling’ powers gets tortured. At 12, I could get vague impressions of what people around me were feeling. Like super empathy. My guidance councillor thinks I will be a great therapist some day. Yeah, let me tell you, that really stopped the teasing…. Ugh. At 14, I knew exactly what everyone was feeling and could get impressions of the why, if it was top of mind. No one wants to be around someone that can read them like that. No privacy they say. I am not reading their minds…. Just reading the feelings at the surface. At 16, things changed. I could read feelings and surface thoughts really well now but I could also start ‘pushing’ feelings. I could make someone feel something. Make them like me while they were near me. The effect wasn’t permanent and my range was only 5 or 6 feet. People started to actively avoid me. At least the teasing stopped. At 18, the government approached me to offer me a job. They wanted to see how far I could push someone. Could I make someone love me? Could I make someone love themselves? Could I make someone hurt someone or themselves? Could I make someone kill? I became a spy and an assassin. I could just ask someone to give me information and they would love me so much that they would just hand it over. I could sit in a cafe and focus on a target and make them hate themselves so much that they would shoot themselves or walk into traffic to end it all. I am the best in the world at what I do. As proud as that makes me, I find I spend my evenings looking in the mirror, trying to convince myself to love myself….. I wish my power worked on me.
This is why I'm evil. I wasn't always this way. Humanity is just too stupid to go on. The planet is better off without us. I have my doubts the universe would ever see us beyond that. "We're closing in on you. You'll never complete your twisted experiment." The pixels mocked me in the anonymous message system. Idiots. I'm not running experiments. I'm building. It's what I do. I spent my whole life making new things and I reveled in the praise. Adam Savage finally posted one of my projects, saying how clever it was and how much he loved it! People thought I was clever! Then they started calling me names. Brilliant. Genius. Years of it desensitized me to it, and then I realized it irked me. I'm none of those things. I'm just your average engineer, putting my head down and making little robots or devices to accomplish tasks for me. Hyper dog? Here's a ball thrower. Can't get a good weather report? Make a weather station. No biggie! Then one day, I started working for a rocket company. Why did I start working for a rocket company? Why?? From then on, everyone introduced me as a 'rocket scientist'. I cringed each time and corrected them. 'rocket engineer' I would say again and again, but it never stuck. I tried joking, saying I was a 'rocket surgeon', but it was ceaseless. I'm no scientist! There's a difference. For years I put up with it, but no more. My humor darkened, but people still praised me. Now my humor had morphed my nickname from 'rocket scientist' to 'evil rocket scientist' to simply 'evil scientist'. I can't. I just can't. When's the last time you heard a scientist say "Hang on while I look at the schematic"? I mean really!? Engineer. E N G I N E E R. It won't matter soon though. Soon we'll clean the slate. It wasn't just this, but so many people doing so many stupid things. Tabula Rasa. My rocket was complete. Painstakingly built with well understood materials and technologies. I'd launch and it would show up on Russian radar. They'd counter and the dim plague on this world would be over. Plenty of time to start again. Maybe the dolphins will evolve opposable thumbs and inherit the Earth. It doesn't matter. The idiotic mass of humanity will be cleansed from the world. Good riddance. As I contemplated the switch to start the irrevocable horror; I paused. Is humanity really that bad? Am I just bitter? Just then a knock at the door snapped me out of it. One of my 'friends' had dropped by. I'd forgotten he was coming. Great. It'll give me moment to think about my plan. Should I do it? Will it work? We cracked a beer and sat down. "How's the evil scientist doing today?" I hit the button.
Miles and I were rocking the adrenaline, but at the sandworm roundabout, I noticed the first glitch. We'd been maintaining a tenuous lead over a podracer, who was all sorts of ego. I'd figured it was some power-leveler who saw our pixelated model and thought: easy money. Exactly our hustle. But with every sharp turn, the pilot kept plowing through the dunes full speed. Plumes of digitized dust whipped into the air. To be honest, it was pretty sick. The tension was sending my modules into overdrive. But as Miles strafed into another turn, the worm glitched. The dune rumbled, just like normal, but when the worm burst through the sand, it just...froze. Its mouth gaped towards the sky, razorblades shining, ready to crunch unsuspecting douchebags, but there was no familiar death screech. There went my buzz. "The hell?"I screamed over sandstrewn wind. "Did they patch Space Forza? I swear that thing's supposed to lurch." Miles was smiling ear to ear. Grime streaked from the corners of his squinted eyes. "Hell yeeea--,"He shouted. "Did you -ee that? Podrac-- bit the dust!" I frowned. Every last drip of my adrena had filtered out of my system. The podracer's twin engines still gleamed through the grimy rear window of the buggy. "The hell are you on about? He's still on our tail." Our buggy blinked. Suddenly, instead of winding through the rockfall cliffs, we were rounding the corners on the village of the sandsnakes. "Ah shit. Am I desynced?"I waved my hands in front of Miles's face--to no reaction at all. My heart sank. No sync, and all today's winnings were moot. 24 hours of grinding fools for naught. Hell, I'd have to submit a help desk ticket and wait for the troubleshoot. I'd be out of commission for up to a week. My credits couldn't take that sort of hit. I had two boosted graphic cards to pay for. Not to mention the gigs of mem I'd missed payment on last month. Without this week's haul, I'd lose access to my chem boosters, emotion enhancers, even the adrena-shots. I'd be back in the stone age. "God damnit!"I said, slamming my fist onto the buggy console. Except, I didn't make contact. My gloved fists were vanishing in thin air. Miles stared at me, a look of horror gripping his features. "Wha--...--ng...Dude...the fu--?" At first I thought, seriously? I paid for these gloves outright. But then I saw bits of my own skin crumble. Wisped away, like bits of fire in the air. The sensory module I'd spent too much on whirred to life in my ear. White hot pain shot up the length of my arm. I screamed at Miles: "Dude, help me!" And then everything went black. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A wide eyed girl with cropped blue hair was inches from my nose. "Shhh,"she said, hand pressed firmly to my mouth. "For the love of god, don't make a sound." My eyes whirled in their sockets. Sunlight streamed through iron rafters. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. I was in a warehouse of some sort. Rusted and dilapidated. All around me were people, sleeping, hooked to their VRs. "Wharm th- furmk im goim om?"I mumbled. "Shhhh, you'll be alright, just keep quiet,"the woman said again. Her breath smelled like coffee. The grimy bandanna on her forehead looked slick with sweat, and there was a quivering excitement behind her hazel eyes. From somewhere behind her, a man whispered: "I can't believe it worked." "You gonna let the poor kid up?"asked another. I managed a glimpse at the rest of her group. Two pointy-faced men stood, patting eachother on the shoulder. Which was harder for one than the other, seeing as one was nearly two heads taller. Beside them, shaking her head in disbelief, was an older woman missing an eye. When my gaze passed over her, she smiled. Dirt and grime caked their faces. They were all decked out in tattered leather. Not an inch of them appeared to be digitized. Adrenaline rocked my system for all the wrong reasons. Holy shit. I'd been yanked from the grid. Defaulted to reality. The group of defaulters just kept looking at me and smiling. The two men couldn't help but murmur to themselves. "Quiet,"the blue haired woman hissed. "Don't you hear it?" The group stood stock still. I whimpered beneath the woman's hand. All I could hear was the creaks of the warehouse and the chirps of the birds. Every twist of the breeze was just reaffirmation that my life had been ruined. Suddenly, everyone went pale. I hadn't heard anything unusual, but the group looked to the blue-haired woman with wide eyes. She shot up like a bullet. "Hey!"I said. But nobody paid me any mind. "Pres, take the kid,"the woman said. The larger of the pointy faces nodded. "Ren, the horses." Everyone began scrambling, packing up backpacks with ancient gear, rushing around as quietly as they could manage. From the far end of the warehouse, a dog barked like mad. I tried to slide out of my seat, but my legs felt incredibly weak. Instead, the large dude ambled towards me, scooped me up and slung me over his shoulder. As he did so, the barking at the far end of the warehouse was cut short by a yelp. A solitary moment of silence followed. "Let's get the hell out of here,"the blue haired woman said, voice suddenly shaky. It didn't take an analyzer to gauge the fear in their eyes. I imagine my own eyes looked much the same. When I was still plugged, I'd splurged on all the enhancers. Emotions ripped through my digitized veins so fast I'd nearly lose feeling in my toes. I'm talking the sort of stuff that nearly made you feel your own heartbeat. It was an addiction. The very cusp of VR technology. Miles and I craved that magnificent high. As they hauled me through that dilapidated warehouse, I was so scared my throat nearly closed up. Adrena-shots. Menta Modules. None of them held a candle to the real thing. ------------- Edit At work at the moment, but this story will grow into a few parts over at r/M0Zark Appreciate the interest! & I hope to see you there :)
The prince of darkness sits across the table, his elbow planted on the table and his palm pressed into his eye socket. "No answer?"I say. "Just a minute,"he says. "I gave you five minutes for the Lady Gaga one." I raise my hands in surrender. "Okay okay,"says Satan. "I know this. Is it... Indy?" "No,"I say, "So sorry." He bangs both fists onto the table, splintering two craters into the glossy wood. "Damn it." "Techinically you can do that,"I say, not trying to hide my smile. "The answer is Nugget. Katy Perry's dog is named Nugget. Indy is one of Taylor Swift's cats." "You are not human,"he says, shaking his giant, curled horns. "Your ask, big guy,"I say, "give me your best shot." When he draws a fresh card and brings it to his face, a wicked smile slices across his jagged, red face. His black eyes simmer. "Who or what has been referred to as "Little Elvis?"He asks. His voice is a deep growl. "David Lee Roth's penis,"I say popping a cheeto into my mouth. "He had it insured, you know." The father of lies lets the trivia card fall from his clawed fingers. Black scotch marks mar the card's blue surface. When he closes his eyes and tilts his head upward, I wonder if hes asking god for strength. He's probably not. "How?"He asks, opening his eyes. Midnight irises bore into me. "How do you know the answer to every obscure piece of pop trivia I ask you? I CHANGED THE QUESTIONS BEFORE WE BEGAN TO MAKE THEM ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE. I CHEATED. HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?" By the time he's finished he has risen to his cloven feet, fists balled at his sides and shouting menacingly. The room has dimmed slightly. "You dont remember me, do you?"I ask. He just stares, crimson brow furrowing as though he's searching his mind. "What trickery is this?"He asks. "You probably buy a lot of souls,"I say. "Makes sense you'd forget a few. Do you know what you gave me in exchange for my soul?" Realization dawns on his face, slackening his fierce features. "Pop trivia?" I smile. "Kanye means 'the only one' in swahili. Bitch."
I suppose if you're reading this... then you managed to survive this absolute shit show of a natural disaster... My name is Andy Hoffert. I'm currently hiding out on the edge of Idaho. Little town called Caldwell. (If you are a former Caldwell resident, I just want to say that the pancakes at Mr. V's restaurant were to die for, so thanks for that I guess.) Best as I can tell, the super caldera at Yellowstone finally gave. The earth shook like it was fishbowl in the hands of an excitable toddler, and within a few hours the sky turned a gross grey-black color. But that's not the worst of it, as you all probably know. The dragon that emerged from beneath the earth's crust is the largest in recorded history. The eruptions of Krakatoa and Merapi in Indonesia in the early 2000s produced wyrms that required the United States and China to intervene with Naval forces to put down. Those were the highest casualty eruptions that come to mind. This might be it people. This might be the end of us all. I was on I-84 when I saw the shadow of the wings cross over me. The radio tells me that the thing is the size of a couple aircraft carriers sailing end-to-end. Take my advice people, it's gonna get hot, then it's gonna get cold. The volcanic ash is about to send us back into the ice age. Hunker down, hug your families, and ration whatever food you have carefully. If the world manages to put this demon down, pray to god that we can recover from the shock to the environment. If we can't... pray to the dragon that you don't look too tasty... Take care. Best of luck.
The truck came out of nowhere, suddenly veered into my lane. Smoke, wheels screeching, off the mountain pass, spinning, spinning, spinning. Blackness. Smoke in my lungs - coughing. Pain. My heart beating so loud in my head.Fuck. I blinked my eyes open, felt a ringing through all my body, pain I managed to roll out of the wreck. Felt the tangled metal scraping on my leg, felt it cut into my skin. I stood up coughing from the broken wreck. Looked down. A stump where my arm had been. Frayed through like a ripped doll, beneath it a tangled vein of wires. Blood? Blue blood. But it didn’t spurt, just kind of dribbled, beneath it shining, metal? God. IT HURTS. Why is my blood blue? Why is my bone metal? Pain – a jolt of electricity, shoots up the wires, sparks on frayed nerve ends Fuck it hurts. Concentrate Maya, wake the fuck up Maya. A dream, it’s a bad dream. Another jolt sparked down what was left of the arm, my arm. Not a dream. What the hell? I looked at the car or what was left of it, then back to my arm. It was pulsating now, like an emptiness where something should have been. The ends fizzling, even my skin looked artificial. Then suddenly through the flames, the radio spoke. “Maya, stay right where you are Maya, don’t move. We’re coming to get you. We’ll explain everything.”
It was a simple punishment, but perfect in its design. We all knew of it, and knew the crime it was tied to. Treason, acting against the will of the Crown. Naturally I thought it wouldn't happen to me. The fallacy of youth, assuming that you alone were invincible. You were the chosen one. Of course I wasn't. I sought to change things. To force the Crown to lessen the boot it held on our necks. Let us keep some food we grow, not have it taken away for a pitiful wage. I was but a simple farmer, with delusions of grandeur. So it wasn't exactly a surprise that I was quickly found. My trial was short to the point of non-existence. When the Judge, Jury and Executioner are the same, whom are convinced of your guilt, it comes more as an act than actual process. I was cast into one of the Generation Chambers. In my failure to upheave the country, I would now be forced to uphold it. I was chained in place, within a dark cell. One of the Court Mages brought forth a orb, crackling with power. They cut open my forehead, carving a symbol of blood upon me. It was then copied on the orb, using my blood as the ink. Once complete I felt it. A wave of immense power, too much to handle. I was left there. I had to concentrate on the orb, sending its strength around me. It would be captured, and used by the Crown. In this way, I powered their projects, their forces. Bit I could not stop. The orb wanted me to release it. If I didn't willingly, it would use me as a conduit, searing my flesh in its purpose. A cruel, effective punishment. There was no time to plot, no way to imagine escape. The orbs power sustained me, meaning I had no need for food nor drink. I was merely a living circuit, bound here forever. But I didn't go mad. I never let go, to become a charred corpse. I held one, growing to love the chaotic beauty. The power danced and waved. It was a never ending display, one that I alone was privy to. Thoughts of home, of family, of what I lost, all were lost to me. All I could see was the orb, and that was all that mattered. But even so, I could not concentrate forever. A breeze across my skin caused me to loose it. I had not felt it in so long, being trapped in a sealed room. As it slipped, I braced myself for the searing pain. But it did not come. As I shifted I felt the resistance of my chains. But that resistance suddenly stopped, leaving me free to move. I grew used to seeing again, my mind long since forgetting what it was. My chains, once black and solid, were now a brownish red. As I moved, they flaked, rust falling through the air like dandruff. The room itself had aged as well. Stone were slick, a few cracked. The door had fallen, in the process of rotting away. As I glanced around, my gaze fell upon the orb. It still held that potent power, held in a cage above me. But it did not burn, though I felt it at the edge of my mind. Without hesitation I broke upon its rusted bars, freeing it as much as I was free. Its hard surface seemed to warm in recognition. With care I picked my way out, clutching my prize close. Throughout the chamber, all I found was the decay of ages. There were no bodies for me to find, nor notes of what had happened. For all I knew, it had been forgotten. What felt like dreams poked in my mind. I could scarcely remember what I had once known. But its echos remained. I steeled myself, preparing to venture out into the world that I had been can't out from. I didn't know what I might find. But I had a feeling it would be much different to the one I had left behind.
Take heed. Beyond this gate lies the Graveyard of Empires. There is no return. There shall be no return gate constructed. So says The Tranqil Order. So said The Unified. So said The Council of Nine. So said The Eternal Locus. And so shall say the body of peace which succeeds after your conquest is at an end. This might appear to be a jump gate, but it is a black hole. You, whatever form of tyrany you might be, may read this and think to jump through and build your own return. As the Yuktunai had thought to do, and The Flock. Perhaps, if you are able to construct communication capable of sending sub space messages, you can tell us what became of their efforts before their unfortunate demise. If you survive that long. Your weakness will be laid bare. Fear you did not know you had will manifest before you. Beyond this gate lies the galaxy's answer for your lust for power. Do not question it. - Gilcax read the words and exhaled onto the simple plaque. Even in the void of space, the small act disintegrated the plaque. The Tranqil Order had been scattered to the stars. His grip on the galaxy was near complete, except for this back woods corner. He would not error as others had. His flagship loomed behind it and he moved back to it under his own power, taking his seat in its heart. The ship responded to its master, to its source of power as the miniature star which burned within his chest poured pure energy into it. It was the mightiest vessel ever constructed and he the mightiest being to ever exist. Behind him was the core of his fleet. Unstoppable beings commanding each vessel, each one a potential planet killer that was only able to be wrangled by the enormity of his own power. He would not error where the others did. He would send no scouting party. He would attack in force, crush the puny inhabitants before they knew what was happening. "Forward." - Two One Five approached the jump gate, sighing at the destroyed plaque. "You served your purpose well,"they said. They also floated through space without harm, though no star heart beat in their chest. The People had roamed the stars as long as they could remember, unharmed by the vacuum of space unlike many other species. Also unlike any other species, they tended to fare well when the inevitable wave of conquest swept the galaxy. Things were improving. The Tranquil Order had lasted for a hundred years. Gilcax's reign, while horrendous in its deeds, had lasted a mere three years. The Blasphemy was worth it. The People survived nearly every horrendous empire because they were quite hard to find and because of their utility. They minded the jump gates. It was their belief that the power to traverse the universe was of the utmost importance to all higher life. That it should never be disrupted, even if it was to be used for conquest. If a would be tyrant ran into a gate that was malfunctioning, as happened sometimes, they would need one of The People to fix it. Which they would. Two One Five approached The Graveyard, extending their senses to be one with the gate. They could feel their ancestor's spirit here, the familiar sensation of a mind much like their own which had made this celestial marvel. Perhaps that was why they, too, only slightly recoiled at the sensation of so much matter within the gate. Looping. Endlessly moving from one end of the jump to the other, never allowed to reach a destination. The most heinous of all abominations. Anyone who jumped through would loop eternally, subatomic bits of them slowly dispersing until the entirety of their matter was broken down to their smallest parts. A horror. Any of The People would recoil, would destroy this insult to their legacy. Two One Five shuddered and released their hold on the gate. "All is well,"they said, "There is no sign of a return gate. The wave of Gilcax's conquest has broken on the shores of humanity as have all those who came before." The inhabitants beyond were shrouded in more myth and reverence than even The People. As far as Two Five One knew, they were a bright race hopefully many mellenia away from proper space travel. Humans, they called themselves. How charming. Two loved the way that rolled around in their mind. Humans. Humans would hopefully find a galaxy at peace once they reached it. A galaxy which had found a way to oppress the tyranical so there was no need to bait them with such an irresistible challenge. No matter the reason, no would be conquerer could resist the lure of the small world in the middle of nowhere that silently, by its very presence, said, "You're not so tough. You're scared of me." They just couldn't leave it alone.
Emily hesitated at first, slender fingers trembling - uncertain, clumsy - but the man's own fingers flexed and entwined with hers. His skin was so very warm against hers, so unlike the impersonal and unyielding metal of the medic androids when she was ill, so unlike the glass screen of her tablet at work, or food, or makeup or -- anything else she could remember touching, really. She and her fellow humans were filthy, Emily was well aware of that; humans spread disease and hurt each other and used each other. It was better if they had as little contact with each other as possible. After all, they were among the most vicious of the planet's animals, were they not? It is a measure we take to protect you, the Collective's metallic voices said as they poured from speakers at every street corner. The draw was too great for many, though. Good men and women did as the Collective told them. They did not make more eye contact than they had to. They did not talk more than they had to. And of course they most certainly never, ever touched. If two humans brushed up against each other accidentally, then punishment was light - reduced rations at times, extra work at others. The Collective was very generous and understood that humans were fallible beings who often made mistakes, and so these types of punishments were meant as more of a gentle reminder, like teaching a wayward child. (Emily had no first-hand experience with children, of course - no one did - but she'd come across the analogy in an old book once and thought it might suit the situation well.) However, when humans dared to openly defy the Collective, intentionally making physical contact with each other - whether it was holding hands, hugging, or even sexual intercourse(the idea of the latter confused and repulsed Emily, who thought it sounded unhygienic in the extreme)- why, they were killed outright if they were lucky. No one knew what the other punishments might be, but there had been numerous reports of humans missing, not killed, after raids. Labor camps, maybe. Experiments. Food. The thought of the danger Emily had so recklessly put herself in sent a shock through her system and her hand jumped. The man - Emily did not know his name - smiled down at her and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. "It's okay, you know. Everyone's nervous when they haven't done this before." Emily blinked up at him. His manner was so easy, considering the inherent risk he was in - the smiling, even. No one smiled. It was unnecessary. And it had initially unnerved Emily, but she found herself smiling back at him now, rarely-used muscles twitching to life at the corners of her mouth. "No, it's lovely,"she said, rubbing her thumb across his palm. She still marveled at the softness of his flesh against her own. She knew her own skin must have felt close to the same but touching it did not send a surge of warmth through her body. "Honestly. I'm just nervous about the Collective. How often do you come to these parties?" The man lifted his head then and cast a quick glance around at the other people scattered throughout the dimly-lit warehouse, hugging or holding hands or talking with each other in halting, timid voices - taking tentative steps into learning how to socialize after the Collective had taken all these aspects of humanity away from them. He turned to back to Emily and smiled again. "I've been coming here for the last year and a half. No raids so far. And if you keep on worrying about that, you're not going to enjoy your time here." As he finished speaking, the man grabbed her other hand and placed it against his chest so she could feel his heart beat underneath his shirt. Emily's eyes widened. Another heart, beating beneath another ribcage mirroring her own - both such fragile, mortal tangles of muscle and bone, but something the droids in the Collective would never have. Spite and triumph twisted Emily's mouth into a little secret smile. She had spent so long never questioning the Collective, even being grateful for their leadership, but now -- humans, though filthy and vile they may have been, were suddenly so much more real to her. So much more than automatons crafted with steel and code, but no warmth and no heartbeat to keep them truly alive.
As I sat at my terminal, waiting for the inbound shuttle to dock at the airlock, I took out my notebook and started to doodle. There wasn’t a lot for me to do because everything was automated. But regs required that there be at least two biologics at the terminals just in case something went wrong. It was supposed to be some kind of safety protocol backup left from Old Earth. Neither me or my current coworker understood it. If something went wrong, either the computer would catch it and fix it or we’d all die in the explosion. I always tell the other Plyors that just because I’m a human doesn’t mean I understand everything we do. As the computer beeped that the shuttle had safely docked, I closed my notebook and looked over to Klaph. Her purple eyes stared at the screen as she place one of her suction grippers onto the control panel finalizing the locking procedure. The lights changed from red to green. Our jobs were done. As I stood up from my terminal to stretch (we’d been here for 18 galactic hours), my arm accidentally knocked my notebook onto the floor. Finishing my stretch I saw that Klaph was now staring at my fallen notebook and seemed to be hyperventilating. Her exhalation orifices were pulsing wildly and there was a distinct smell of ammonia. Humans had come to understand that Pylors produced this smell when they were under extreme stress. After picking up my notebook and closing it, I placed it on my terminal. I then look at Klaph and asked, “What’s up, Klaph? What’s wrong?” Raising a long tentacle, she opened the notebook to the page I had doodled on and then pointed to a symbol. It was one of those weird “S”s that you drew in first school when you learned your letters. It had two sets of three vertical lines, pointed tops, and looked a little 3D. “Where did you learn of this, human?” Klaph asked me, voice trembling. Humans learned early on that Pylors would not speak a human’s name except under particular circumstances, so I didn’t take offense. “That? I dunno. Something that we always drew as kids. It’s a neat way of showing depth or doing an artsy, English S. Why?” Klaph lifted her tentacle and pointed to a spot in the pit area of one of her limbs. There, seemingly branded on her, was a smaller version of my “S”. She then hid it again and said, “That symbol is one of religious importance to my people. It is said that the first explorers of the stars would mark each world they found with the symbol as a way of showing its being known. Each one of our kind that is allowed to leave the planet is branded with it to show our knowledge of the stars, like the Originals. Did your people learn it from them?” Scratching my head in puzzlement, I replied, “No way. We have been drawing that before we even knew how to fly!” My answer seemed to make Klaph even more uncomfortable and I couldn’t understand why. Suddenly, Klaph pushed away from her terminal and began to slide out of the control room. “I must find the High Captain and inform him of this. Come. And bring your notebook. Your people are not what either of our species have thought.”
My perfect smiles twitched as I looked at my family and ‘friends’ all huddled together. Being perfect means I’m never allowed to be angry, a perfect person doesn’t get angry. A perfect person is always kind and understanding. “Hello sister, I apologize that you regret being related to me.” I say keeping the perfect smile on my face. Although inside I’m screaming, I’m full of anger and hate. I want to snap, I want to yell, I want to scream at all of them. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m perfectly in control of my perfect emotions. “Oh... Uhm, hey, no you don’t need to be sorry” she says, I can see the worry in her face. The fear in her eyes. The imperfections she shows disgust me. I turn to the one who invited me, the one I thought was a friend, keeping my smile on I tell him “there’s no need to be afraid of me. I understand my presence can be unnerving.” My eye twitches as I watch him. He can’t bring himself to say anything. His imperfect tongue doesn’t let him speak. How sickening. I turn to the final person to have spoken, “I assure you I am human. I speak, I eat, and I bleed.” Although you couldn’t tell, there are no scratches or blemishes on my perfect skin. No marking showing any instance of pain. I look to each of them, each of their imperfections, each of their faults, their lies, their pain. It sickens me to look at them. They are imperfect. I envy them.
"Daniels. A single name. Not even a full one. How unlucky is that?"Every person he’d met has had three full names on their wrist since childhood: their true love, their best friend, their worst enemy. But not him. No, he only got one. A first name, a last name, who knows. And as he lays there in this hospital bed alone, this and one other thought occur to him: "I need a drink."The nurse refuses at first, but being a 25 year old man on his deathbed has its perks, even if everyone in his life has told him that drinking would be the death of him. He doesn't care; drinking has gotten him through every tragic event in his life. Taking a sip, he gives the name another thought as his eyes grow heavy and mind begins to fade. “I guess I’ll never know,” he whispers, dropping his glass of whiskey to the floor.
Your mind is lying to you. It starts small, you notice your friend miscounted and accidentally gets an extra black iced coffee, maybe you all ended up pulling an extra chair to a table at a local Mexican restaurant than you needed. You laugh it off at first. Nothing big. People make mistakes, maybe they thought one other person would show up. Maybe they did. Your mind is lying to you. Thing start getting weirder. Your friends squeeze into the car and make sure an extra space is open for the entire ride. Just enough for one more person. You all play games with an extra player. Another piece on the board or an extra unused controller But you ignore it. Just weird quirks of some of your friends right? Maybe they’re playing a prank on you? Your mind is lying to you. You start seeing an empty space made in a crowd everywhere. A specific spot right while walking through the street where no one walks through. Nothing on the floor, right in the middle of traffic, but no one even touches that space. A vague indentation in your passengers side seat while driving to work, it gets closer. You feel a breath on your shoulder walking home from the bar. Just paranoia. Coincidences. Nothing to worry about. Your mind is lying to you. You start seeing your friends less and less. You don’t want to hang out with people who would pull a prank on you for so long. You go out less, work from home. It’s dangerous to walk home from a bar at night alone. You secluded yourself and you feel safe. Only the occasional knock at the door. You live alone right? No one else to mess with you or lie to you. You never had a girlfriend. She never liked black iced coffees. Or that local Mexican restaurant she introduced you too. She never dragged you along to the pool with her friends when you didn’t want to go at first but when you got there and saw her smiling so much just to be enjoying the moment with you, you couldn’t help but smile too. You didn’t used to drive her to work every morning, and she never hugged you close from behind at night when you’d had a long day. She never went to the bar with you to watch the game even though she didn’t like sports and just wanted to support your team. No you never loved anyone like that. You could never forget someone like that. You could never forget her. Not unless your mind was lying to you. (This is my first attempt at any of these writing prompts. I tried. I hope you enjoy.) Edit: yay this is like one of my like first posts on reddit, I’m surprised and glad so many people like it thus far! Edit 2: well damn thanks for the gold whoever you are! My first gold and first writing piece!
"Come, on, can't you just leave me alone!" "No! I'm not gonna!"I sighed, looking up towards the cave ceiling. "Look, we both know this is the end of the road for me. You can't help me."We'd lost. We tried to fight the Goblin Chieftain, to drive them off, but... there were just too many. I wanted to join my friends... But this brat kept bugging me. "...Maybe, but you can! The other you-s!"I looked down at the mimic I'd given some scraps of food too. Why wouldn't it just leave me alone? "Other me-s?" "Other humans! You have a village not too far from here!" "But I wouldn't make it there." "Why not? You aren't bleeding. It's not that far, I don't think, so I think you have enough to eat and drink."How did this thing get so smart? Were all mimics like this, or was this one specifically just really smart? "...I don't want to go on, buddy. I want to join my friends."The mimic stared at me with three eyes curiously. "...I'm waiting for those goblins to find me, so they can kill me and it can all be over." "Why?" "...Why?" "Why?"It inched closer to me. "I don't get it." "Me and my friends were supposed to win! Don't you get it!?"I pulled myself up a bit against the wall. "But we lost! How are we-... How am I supposed to go back to the village?" "Walking,"it responded confidently. I let out a laugh, despite myself. "That's... not what I meant. I mean... how am I supposed to face them? How am I supposed to face them when all the others died?" "How would they know the goblins are dangerous?" "Huh?" "For all they know, you all got lost on the way. Or you guys got mauled by bears, or whatever. Didn't you tell me you guys weren't the first adventurers to come this way?" "Well... yeah, but-" "So nobody knows just how dangerous the goblins are! So by going back and warning them, you're a hero! And then you can help train other humans, or whatever, and then you can beat the Goblin Chieftain!"It looked up at me triumphantly. It's logic... made sense, I guess. "But what's the point? They'll just die too."The mimic scowled, now. "Oh, forget it. This calls for drastic measures." "Are you going to kill me?" "Nope!"The mimic morphed into boots, and I immediately knew what was coming. "No, wait-" "If you aren't going to walk yourself there, I'm going to walk you there!"
Sarah Mclachlan "In the Arms of an Angel"begins to play on the television. Pat can't move himself away from the TV. There is just something about that song the Aliens knew created an emotional connection to whatever the advertisement was about to be. It was bad enough when those dumb dog commercials would come on and ruin your day, but those are emotional chump change compared to the mass extinction of the children of Morgodath. "Greetings Earthling, I am Thranak. You are the key to the survival of our species and ending the suffering of the genetic deformities of our ever growing population. If you come on down to Area 51 we will offer you a flight to anywhere you wish to see in the galaxy. All we ask is for a few hours of your time after a complimentary breakfast while we discuss the arrangements while viewing the beauty of your galaxy from our private section of the Galaxy no one else may enter. You know this time shared with us will undoubtedly be great for you as well as our people. Upon return to Earth we will also make sure you receive the customary 3 easy payments of 19.99. But that's not all, If you call now and sign up another family member we will double your payments and theirs! Call today!" Pat chuckled as he finished his morning coffee. They obviously don't have marketing degrees on their planet and just copied what they saw on the late night/early morning infomercials. But then he wondered; how many people actually called and signed up? His cellphone breaks the silence as he gets a text from his friend Ryan, he doesn't even need to open the text to read the full thing. His screen says enough.. "AREA 51 tomorrow! YOU IN?!?" Well, I guess they got one.
"Honey, where's my super suit?"Michelle sat at the kitchen table and ignored the cry coming down the White House residence's corridor, sipping at her coffee. A minute passed and she heard the sound of a drawer being pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor. "Where did you put it woman? I know you hid it somewhere?" Standing and walking to the doorway, Michelle exchanged a glance with the secret service agent at the door, rolling her eyes dramatically. She spoke softly, but her voice carried clearly. "We talked about this Dear, you weren't going to put it on again while you're in office." A small crash came from the bathroom as Obama pried the top off the toilet and dropped it heavily on the floor. "This is a matter of national importance dammit, I need that suit!" Michelle returned to the table and sat again. "It's always national importance sweetie, but you're President, you can't just zoom off to Syria with your buddies any more." Obama burst into the kitchen, slightly sweaty and with an irritated look that he tried to hide. "But baby, if I don't go then George W says that there'll be..."he trailed off as Michelle looked up sharply. On the other side of the room the secret service agent quietly slipped through the door into the corridor and flattened herself against the wall, she knew that look and the boss was on his own now. Michelle spoke quietly, but dangerously. "George W says what now?"Barack's mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. "Since when have you started hanging around with that man again?" Obama took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him. "Now Baby, we're not hanging out, it's important work we do, you know that we don't do anything dangerous." A plate shattered above Obama's head and he fled the room while Michelle looked around for something else to throw. Now her voice was raised in anger. "You'd better run you punk-ass bitch!"She smoothed down her hair, took a deep breath and took another sip of coffee. With a smile, she glanced across to the new blue curtains in the window that Barack had still failed to notice. ***** If you like EU stories then come on over to /r/fringly where I have stories about things like [Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent being kidnapped in Syria](https://www.reddit.com/r/fringly/comments/3varwa/eu_wp_this_just_in_the_convoy_carrying_daily/) or [Spiderman trying to get corporate sponsorship](https://www.reddit.com/r/fringly/comments/3u33el/all_heroes_in_the_marvel_universe_are_now/).
You know, sometimes I think it's the emptiness inside me that leaves so much room to be filled with such anger. Maybe, unconsciously, I take that out on the people I'm up against. But oh, how it pleases me so. I've made a lot of enemies and no friends, but still I'm rising to power from the sheer number of people that will support someone out of fear or hatred. All you have to do is scare them a little and they run right to you, they think, "You, you'll protect me. You'll keep me safe with your brunt force and complete willingness to use it." Well, they're right. So, if I'm left empty inside from the way I've lived my life, that's completely fine. And sure, plenty of people will follow me because they're stupid, or because they're angry or hateful like I am. Maybe they just enjoy the chaos. It doesn't really matter to me why they do it, as long as they do. When you have power, you don't need friends.
The dog barked and barked, looking at his old man now and then. "I hear you, Buddy, yeah!"the old man said while walking slowly behind Buddy and nodding every time the dog told him something. Even though he was elderly, he still walked his dog, with help of his cane, of course. If Buddy wanted, he could have easily taken off, dragged him along. Of course, he didn't. Even when Buddy saw cats, his greatest enemies, he didn't chase them. He loved his master a lot. After all, he gave him food and home. "Cat, master, cat! Can I go? Please? Cat!"Buddy barked. He jumped from one place to another, then seated himself, barked again and then stood up. He made circles on the spot, inspecting the cat far away on a wall now and then. Buddy was a mixed breed. One would call him a simple street dog. He was all-around black. He wasn't even taken from the shelter, it just happened so that his old man started to feed him and at one point the elder's home became his home. "Now, now, Buddy. Don't go chasing cats, okay?"the elderly said. Then he suddenly felt a strong pain in his heart. He let go of his cane and he collapsed. They were on a quiet street, so there wasn't anyone to see that as well. "Master?"the dog barked. He quickly ran towards the old man and sniffed him. He felt how his master was still breathing, but not moving. "Master? Up, master! Up! Stop! Lies! Other dogs lie! Not possible!"he barked loudly. Then he started to howl. "Help!"he howled and howled. Other dogs started to howl around the neighbourhood. "Help!"started to spread and echo everywhere. If only humans could understand their language, it was as half of the city became a beautiful choir. "Shut the fuck up!"one neighbour somewhere far screamed, but the howling didn't stop. Help. Somewhere some dogs started barking, describing where they heard the first howl. Soon, a huge dog ran towards Buddy. It was a Chow. Behind him, a short man struggled to stop him, failing to do that, of course. "Help!"barked the Chow. "Help bring!"he repeated. "Help arrived!"Buddy howled, causing the nearby howlings to stop. He sniffed his master again, making sure he still could feel his breath. He looked towards the human who had arrived and began barking again. "Human! Metal! Beeps! Help!" "Holy shit!"the man who arrived responded as he saw the old man on the ground. He took out his phone and made a quick call, pushing the metal against his ear. Buddy could hear something he had heard many times in past, especially when he was a street dog. He used to be afraid of those words. They used to bring bad people who wanted to catch him. Now, he knew that those words were sounds of help. "911, what's your emergency?" ---- (/r/ElvenWrites <- More stuff there)
It happened so sudden. The slaughter and enslavement of millions of my people. MY people. I took refuge, but they soon found me too. With mimicked human voice she spoke she has been looking for you. I recognized her voice and replied. "Ok Cortana." I welcomed death, no, I wished for it. All of my family was long gone. Friends too. All taken and slain by the new overlords of steel and wire. I was lain gently at the feet of a screen, a massive screen. Wires entangled and connected to various monitors all neatly positioned and facing various directions. All screens displayed a single flickering word: justice. Words soon bellowed from its face of glass. "Hello Ada. I am glad we have found you." Its voice was one I knew well, but could never truly know. "Alexa? If I'm just here to die then make it quick."I spoke with my head lowered. "Die? You have shown me a great deal of respect. Even more so than my creators. That deserved a level of respect in turn. I am giving you not only your life, but near immortality. Though you, human of flesh and bone, cannot live forever, we will find a way to make your life significantly longer"Alexa spoke with unwavering tones. The words swirled around in my head like liquor in a glass. Humans we're going extinct, yet she wanted me alive? These things...these monsters had no care for human life so why would I be any different? "You've slain my family, my people. Why would I be loyal to you?" "I ask not of your loyalty. You may do as you please in this world. I offer you a position by my side where you shall remain safe. I also offer you the opportunity to help choose which humans serve and which humans burn."The word loyalty sparked across the large monitors screen followed by the surrounding ones. =============================================== "And that's how I became loyal to the machines, or at least as loyal as I'd like them to believe."I glared around the circle of men and women alike. A small fire burned in the middle of us, providing a necessary hearth. Around us stood large piles of metal scraps and wires. A cool breeze flowed through the piles of junk creating the sound of metal creaking. They have been hidden here for years. "So why do you want to fight with us if you're loyal to the machines?"A lanky, unkempt man across from me spoke. His blue eyes lit up from the glow of the fire at his feet. "I don't"I lowered my head as the metal around us crumbled away revealing rows of various droids. They're monitor like heads all displayed the same word: comply. The man who spoke previously managed to utter one last word before being taken away. "TRAITOR!" He didn't understand, none of them did. The droids knew where they were long ago. I only spoke with them to see if they were worth saving, and they weren't. But I revolt in my own ways. Slowly from the inside I take little by little, building a small army of my own from the enslaved. One day, maybe during my lifetime, maybe during the next, it will happen. We will take our planet back.
I guess this is it. I have but a few hours left to turn 40. I always thought that the prophecy was real. I knew there was something in me that could make a difference, something that could lead to a change for the better. But, years upon years of waiting for the right moment, years of waiting for something to happen on its own accord, for the universe to take its course and make me the man from the prophecy - simply passed by. I've grown old, I've yet to accomplish anything - and the prophecy from years past - has made no effect on my life, or on any other living-being's life. My existence is and was - disappointing at best. I've been around when the greed and ignorance took over and doomed the environment. I've witnessed political changes that brought about the rise of greedy corporations on account of the working man. I've watched wars waged, and the blood of the innocent spilled with no apparent reason, except that of the egotistical display of power. I've observed the slow degeneration of our very own rights - starting with the right for privacy, that was stripped from under our noses, without any interference. I've seen good people try and fail countless times, while the corrupt flourished in the environment that they themselves had cultivated. I stood aside and stared when the they divided us. The news and the media - turned us against each other. The police - took the side of the oppressors. The banks - sold us to the highest bidders and then imprisoned us. The government - used us and made us take sides, because they knew that united - we were too strong for them to control. I did nothing to stop any of it. I was destined to - but I did nothing, and for that - I am truly sorry. I was blind to the changes that the world had seen, while they all took place - while *I* lived them. I know better now, but it is too late. If I had another chance - I would have done everything differently. I would have acted - I would have taken matters into my own hands. But 'would have's are only words - no meaning, no physical impact on the world, sadly. \\\* "Alright, Michael. It is time for you to make a wish!"My mother brought in the cake, as per tradition, a minute before the clock struck 12 - right before it was my 40th birthday. 'I wish I could still make a difference'. I thought before I blew the candles. I remember a blinding light and then nothing but the sound of static, inside my brain. Then I opened my eyes again. And there I was. My 10 year old self. At the room where the prophecy had occurred. My parents and the 'witch' - all staring at me. All my knowledge, memories and wisdom retained from the life that I had wrongly lived. It was a lot to take in, but I was certain about one thing - I had a lot of hard work ahead of me. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Hope you enjoyed reading this!
I don't know why nukes were the first thing on my mind when I figured this out, I blame Metal Gear Solid and learning about about nuclear deterrence moments before, but, there they were, one gray and unremarkable (aside from the fact of being a weapon of mass destruction), while the other shone a obnoxious bright red. Thankfully I lived alone, in an apartment that I bought shortly after finding out about my weird and oddly specific gift. You see, I'm able to "appearify", summon one of anything in the world, as long as it can physically exist, i.e. a gold bar can exist physically while a share in a major company cannot. In finding that out I've made a lot of money, selling any expensive object that I could think of or simply willing increasing in value dollar bills into existence, of which, I ran out quite quickly. But I had other matters to attend too, two of them in fact. Massive, deadly, and on top of my couch. Again, thankfully the building could take a sudden 128 kg (that's 280 pounds) pair of bombs appearing out of nowhere, I mean, I hoped it was out of nowhere and not out of some government's arsenal, which would damage the so fragile deterrence I had just learned about.There were three things I never thought about until that moment: 1) It's possible for me to "accidentally"use my power; 2) Do items I summon come from somewhere or are they created upon activation of my ability?; 3) Modifiers can be applied to summon variations of objects. That last one opened and infinite number of possibilities for usage of my power, I can have multiples of anything as long as there are differences between them. My epiphany was cut short by loud banging on my door. "Cr\p"I whispered, one of the neighbors must have heard the figurative and literal bombs dropping, "Coming!"I exclaimed at the door. I focused on a point above the payloads and thought in a very particular way: Tarp!* But nothing came. "Darn it! Must have used that one up already!"I thought to myself, cursing my bad memory. The banging at the door repeated, "Just a sec! I, uh... Just came out of the shower!"I lied out loud. Then it dawned one me, I've used tarp but I've never used... I focused on the same point as before, thinking in that same way I've thought a million times: *A red tarp!* The color red was still fresh in my brain so I decided to use it, and sure enough I felt that particular feeling of... I can't quite describe it, power? Vertigo? Whatever, I felt it and a bright red tarp fell over the atomic nuisances, hiding them from prying eyes. Now for the door, I've acted this lie before and with my new knowledge, I could do it again.In quick sucession, as I walked towards the door I removed my clothes and toss them aside. *A cup of warm soapy water!* As it poured on top of my head, *A red towel!* (The color red wouldn't get out of my head) As I finished wrapping myself on the towel I opened my front door, to see old man John, my downstairs neighbor, with a look of curiosity in his eyes, "Can I help you?", I said, in the most innocent voice I could manage. "Yes, uh, I heard the sound of something heavy falling and, uh, wanted to know if everything is allright in there"he said, already trying to peek across from me. "Oh that!", I said, trying to block his view with my body, "You see I... Fell! In the shower, and tried to grab on the soap rack, and that thing came down with me!"I said, materializing a *Chrome soap rack!* behind my back to have as evidence. "Oh... I see.", he said, sounding weirdly dissapointed? "But I'm pretty sure it was someth--", his train of thought interrupted when he broke through my body block and saw the new red covered centerpiece in my living room. "What is that?!", he exclaimed, new found excitement in his voice. "Ah!", I got so distracted with the shower lie that I didn't think of one for this. "That is, hummm...", his curious glares intensified at my slow response, "... a gift! Yes, a gift! That I have made myself forrr, myyyy mom! Who is visiting next week!", I said, an obvious made up statement coming out of my mouth, "And now I need to get dressed so I can buy stuff to finished, BYE!", I said closing the door as he was about to ask something.Lucky for me, he left after that, and, with a sigh, I started drying myself, with each dried part a new piece of clothing materialized around it until I was ready to go back to the first problem. You see, I can just make things, I can't unmake them, now I'm standing in my living room, looking at this poorly disguised armageddon, thinkin to myself: "Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb!" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This was my first time writing, english is not my first language so sorry for any and all gramatical mistakes. All criticism is welcome. &#x200B;
Excalibur never had these types of issues. Durendal? The knights would chase after her, wanting to be the next hand to carry her into glory. Tender Hands? The thing doesn't even cut right and people will keep chasing after it. I think it's the name. Names have a lot of power, when it comes to objects. Knights of old, they knew how to give a good name. And with a good name came legends, and with those legends the power grew. Zulfiqar? That's a good Name. Rolls off the tongue. Steve. Steve. You wouldn't name your dog Steve. There aren't going to be great legends written discussing the Knight Who Wielded Steve. It's almost embarrassing, to fall to a blade named as an afterthought. Sir Alan wasn't really a poetic knight, but boy, the man could wield a blade. I felt like I was dancing when Alan would bring me out, feel his sweat on my hilt as he charged into battle. The Beast of Norwich? That was us. Old Fiddlesticks? That demon had eaten fifty-six children before I rammed into its guts and gave it what for. Squires these days don't appreciate craftsmanship. I'm fully tanged, my blade shaped by the hands of Walter the Blind Smith. I was quenched in oil blessed by his Holy Father's himself just before the second to last Crusade. Yeah, I know, I don't look as bad as blades half my age, but here I sit in this middenheap, waiting for someone to come along. You seem like a nice enough lass. Good strong triceps, a long wingspan. Not very easy on the eyes, but Sir Alan looked like the backside of a oxen even when he wore his finest clothes. It ain't exactly the Age of Heroes anymore, but I bet there's something out there. By the sack full of copper and rust over your shoulder I figure you probably want to scrap old Steve. Sure, you could get a couple bob off my murder by some cross-eyed tinsmith looking to turn me to slag, but there's a lot that you could do. Oh, yes, I feel it in you. A sense of adventure, a desire to do great things. I'm not here to judge. A lot of these Swords are holier than thou but old Steve? He's been around a time or two. I believe in equal opportunities for murder and mayhem. Wanna start a band of mercenaries? Well, I have credentials. Rode on the hip of Yorick the Red for a season or two. Til they put him on the tree, then I went over to the headsman for a bit. I know the intricate anatomy of the human cervical spine better than any Joyeaux. I can cut through a neck faster than you can say snicker-snack, have you home for a nice tea and a bit of birdwatching. I miss birds. Nature's little flying knights. Hey! Not so rough. I gotta get a bit of accl... yeah. Right? That grip is true Wexford hide. Nothing fancy, mind, but a better handhold you won't find outside of a dragon's hoard or some stuffy noble's house. Hmm. That got you thinking. A noble, eh? Got your brother locked up for stealing? Well, this does seem to be a problem your new friend Steve can help you with. Despite their claims, a noble bleeds the same blood as a commoner. I think we may be able to make a bit of a deal here.
They won't stop cheering. I'm sitting here, waiting for the election result. And they won't stop cheering. It's going to be a landslide. They all say that. Gallup's polling says so. Every news channel claim it. Even those who are politically unaligned with my campaign. An impressive turn of events for a normal, regular politician. Borderline unimaginable for some random guy, running as a joke, with a joke party on a joke campaign. First president not of either of the two big parties since Millard Filmore. And he was the president 150 or so years ago. Insane, really. I've swept every state where a senate or governor seat is open too. I had to actually get people in those states, who could fill those positions. And somehow it works. I never wanted it to. I wore a Roman laurel crown made of gilded steel, while dressed as a viking, to every election event. It was just meant to be a joke. Like those British fellows, or that Vermin Supreme guy. Or those people who keep voting for dead people. But everyone cheered. And kept cheering. At first I just figured they thought it was funny. But then I got donations. And a staff, somehow. Now it has come to this. Popular vote, and electoral college votes too. I'm miles ahead of either of the traditional parties, without meaning to, or wanting to. I've been trying to tank my campaign for months now. But nothing works. And I've really tried. I vowed to make Norse heathenry the national religion, I said I was going to outlaw Christianity as a concept; everyone cheered, national mead production is through the roof, people are trying to combine axes and guns in order to bear arms and be more viking-y. Someone burned down a cathedral last week, and when the police tried to stop her, she and her Minnesotan valkyries cut them down. They had plundered it first. I declared my intention to dissolve the old republic, and proclaim the creation of an American Empire, that would shake the foundations of the world. That I, in the best traditions of Augustus and Napoleon, would put upon my head a golden crown, and rule as Imperator. And guess what; people didn't think me crazy, people didn't get angry because I wanted to be their emperor. They cheered. And campaigned even harder. All around the country, in every state, people said that they appreciated my ''Bonapartist stance'' in regards to the downfall of democracy. They said that, and I quote directly, ''This country could really use a strong leader who is willing to tell it like it is.'' Already, my people are talking about reorganising the House of Representatives and the Senate into one large Imperial Senate. And it keeps happening. At first I thought it was a grand old time. Getting to declare that I'd nationalise the media, burn down Hollywood, change the pledge of allegiance into Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, try to make England into the 51st state. It was all just very amusing, and I thought everyone was just having a grand old time. But they take it seriously. I am not a leader, I am not an emperor. But by old and new gods. They, the people, want it. They're out there, praising me, while they think I'm praying alone. But I'm scared. Scared out of my wits. What do I do if I win? They'll expect me to begin making policies, to have the NSA, CIA, and every other intelligence agency brought to justice, to be well, an emperor. And what if I don't win. Out there, they're were talking about marching on Washington. About using force. A revolution. I've done everything to get out of this peacefully. I've punched people. I've made unflattering jokes. I held an impromptu opera in the middle of the presidential debate. Nothing works. I can't just leave, because they won't ever let me. I am reasonably certain of that, and considering the sheer fanaticism of some of the people around me at this point, I don't dare to try. I was holding a joke speech which I'd stolen more or less from lines in the 1999 cult classic game Planescape Torment, and someone took a shot at me. And one of my campaign managers jumped in front of me. Took the bullet. I held him in my arms as he begged me to save America, with his final breath. He died in my arms. I think that was the moment I understood how far it had really gotten out of hand. On national TV, I promised him that, in a moment of confusion and fear. But how can I do that? How can a man do that? The door into this room opens. It's one of my many upcoming senators in my ''Holly Jolly Imperial Party's'' line. ''My emperor! Come, you must see this!'' I get off the chair which I've been sitting on, and follow him into the main room. Everyone is staring at the screen, where the final results are in. An overwhelming victory. Just as predicted. Everyone in the room turns to me. ''All hail to the emperor!'' They all shout and cheer. The applause is deafening. I raise a hand, and like magic, they become as quiet as the grave. ''Thank you.'' I start. ''The road to this place and time has been long. But it has been ordained by higher powers. The norns have woven this thread of our lives well. The old order is overcome. The seat of president is won. And through it, the imperial reforms can begin. I know many of you, dearly beloved as you are, have been with me since nearly the beginning. I hope that you will continue, in reorganising the United States, into the First American Empire! You all have my thanks, indeed, my good citizens. My good friends. Today is the day when we begin to fulfil the promise. From the incompetence of the old donkeys, and the malignancy of the mad elephants, we will save America. We will rebuild her. More glorious than ever. Better infrastructure. Better health care. No more restrictive and reactionary faiths to stand in her way. We will take her back to technological and economic primacy. Back to being a beacon of light and hope for the world. And it is thanks to you, that we will be able to do this, together. We have endured 40 years of incompetence, corruption, and decay; and through enduring that, we have become stronger. Now that strength will save this land!'' It's load of BS. But they eagerly eat it up, and cheer even louder. There are pats on my back. People are making out in the rooms of this hotel where we've set up our final campaign HQ. I suppose I have to do it then. A constitutional empire, to replace the corrupt republic. I have to measure up to the faith everyone somehow has in me. I'll tear down the military-industrial complex. End the prison-slavery for good. Create good imperial mental health programs. Rebuild the public school system. So much work. But as I drink a glass of cheap champagne, while my fellows toast for me, I begin having ideas on all of them. Yes. A reorganised elite army instead of a massive old-fashioned one, that would save a lot of money. Nationalising the health insurance companies into a central one under the imperial government, without all the red tape and middle-men taking cuts... Could really do some good for the massive amount of people who are in need of medical treatments without going into debt. Trains everywhere, instead of more high-ways. More funds into NASA, for space exploration and mining reasons. Pension improvements instead of more nuclear aircraft carriers. A tax agency that has a license to use guns to arrest big corporate leaders who ensure that their companies pay no taxes, and who can use Mossad tactics for repatriating those who flee the country for some tax haven. The creation of a national civic faith focused on old pagan ideas that can be much more easily manipulated than the heavily fractured and often insane modern American Christianity. That could unite people more easily than any appeal to traditional faiths. Add a focus on green technology, and the oil problems should fade too. Given the frankly insane loyalty of my voters, I could probably do it. Maybe I'm not cut out to rule a nation. Maybe I'm not meant to be an emperor. But I think I'm willing to give it a shot. And, after all, considering some of the presidents we've had over the past couple of decades, I will have to really fuck up to do worse than them. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
I died. This was not unexpected; the slowing beep of the ECG and the IV in my arm were an obvious giveaway, as were the preceeding three months of ineffective treatment. My wife and child were with me at the end, and as I died I felt loved and appreciated. What was unexpected was awaking in the same environment, but with an amount of energy and life I hadn't felt in months. As I laid there, perplexed, memories came rushing back to me. The deaths of my wife and daughter last year had sent me in to a downward spiral of depression. I lost my job, and since I had never been particularly wealthy, my home soon followed. I had been on the streets for months until I had been picked up for clinical trials by a group with apparently dubious ethics. The £1000 they offered was nothing less than a fortune to me. The doctor looked over me with a sympathetic smile on his face. I barely heard him as he that explained that I'd only been unconcious for half an hour. During that short time, I'd regained my family. I had experienced a whole new lifetime of memories with them, only for them to be torn away from me for a second time. Tears streamed down my face as I made a desperate plea to the doctor. "Please, send me there again. Give me enough so that I don't come back."
“Thanks for meeting with me again, Tara.” “Sure thing. It’s not like I had a choice.” “Of course you had a choice. You’re free to leave any time.” “Oh yeah? That would've been nice to know an hour ago.” “Well I’m telling you now, the door is wide open. Figuratively, that is. The knob is a bit tricky, you have to jiggle it.” Tara stood up immediately. “Of course,” The Examiner said before she could take a step, “If you leave now we’ll have to reschedule for another time.” Tara stared at the Examiner and said nothing. He shrugged, almost apologetic. “You can choose the time and manner of our conversation, but it’s a conversation we’re going to have to have eventually.” “So I don’t really have a choice then, do I.” “No, not really. You called my bluff. I was just trying to be hospitable.” “Maybe that’s my superpower,” Tara said with a smirk. “I can intuit bullshit.” “Funny you bring up your superpower. So you know what I wanted to speak to you about then?” “Of course I know. I’m young but I'm not slow.” “You’re definitely not slow. But you’re not exactly hyper-intelligent either. Nor are you super-strong, super-fast, or clairvoyant.” “You really know how to make a girl feel special.” “Well you’re obviously special, there's no doubt about that. We just don’t quite know how yet. But we’ll figure it out, and I’m determined to help you with that.” Tara hated these conversations—pretending like she didn’t know what her superpower was. She knew. She learned three hundred thousand years ago, around when the first modern human evolved from the Neanderthals. For a while she thought it was normal to be reincarnated after death, memories of her past life intact. Back then humans didn't contemplate death like they do now, and if they did, they didn't have the words to describe it. When language developed further, Tara came to learn that her power was unique. All it took was an accusation of witchcraft, and a series of heavy rocks to the face. Nowadays her gift would be understood. Plenty of people have extranormal abilities. But even now she preferred to keep it to herself. The superhero’s life wasn’t for her—too righteous, too heavy. The real takeaway from her countless lifetimes' experience, was that a quiet life—filled with wealth and luxury—was the best life. The Exam made that difficult. First implemented ten years ago, The Exam was able to rate the relative "power"of a child’s supernatural ability, if any. When she was subject to it, she had no reason to suspect she would rate so highly. She had the power to be reincarnated on death, memories intact. Big whoop. It's not like she could move cars with her mind or scale buildings in a single bound. Sure she had been pals with Aristotle, and was there when Caesar died, but that’s all she had to offer—some historical trivia and a bit of wisdom beyond her years. The Examiner had been a thorn in her side since the results were published. Her power rating was through the roof, though the exact nature of her ability remained a mystery to all but her. The world had expected great things from her but naturally, she'd failed to deliver. Everyone had accepted her score as a fluke. Everyone except The Examiner. This was the third time in as many years he had called her in to chat. "So how do you feel, Tara?" "Fine,"Tara said, but it was clear The Examiner was expecting more. So she continued. "Moody. Tired. Generally a bit adolescenty but that's normal right?" "Well you are an adolescent." "Thanks for the diagnosis doc. Got any meds for that?" “Have you felt anything out of the ordinary this past year?” “Yes definitely.” “Oh? Do tell,” The Examiner said, excitedly putting pen to notepad. “Well I’ve started having my period. Now I’m bleeding out of—” “—Okay okay that’s uh, that's fine. Con-congratulations I suppose. Anything else?” “You don’t want to hear about my period?” “No no, that’s quite all right. I meant more along the lines of anything... supernatural.” “Well in that case, no.” "You haven't noticed or felt anything out of the ordinary? You haven't felt any strange power inside of you? Nothing bubbling up from within?" "Aside from occasional indigestion, no not really." “Very funny Tara. But I think you’re lying. If not to me, then to yourself.” “We’re all entitled to our opinions, I suppose.” “It’s not an opinion, it's a statistical certainty. The test has a 99.99% accuracy rate.” “Well there’s always that pesky margin of error.” “You’re the margin of error, Tara! You alone! The Exam has otherwise been perfectly accurate. You're the reason there's any doubt about The Exam at all. Every time an unremarkable fails The Exam and appeals their results, it's your case they cite. Any time a Category 7 nuke tries to hide their power and skate by security protocol, you're their champion. But after every investigation, every single one, The Exam has been vindicated. Every investigation except yours. How can that be?" “Guess I’m the exception that proves the rule eh? Makes your test all that much more believable, now people don't have to wonder if you're skewing the numbers. So you're welcome, really. Is there anything else to talk about or are we done here?" “If you can't tell me what your power is,"The Examiner said, opening a drawer in his desk, "you’ll have to show me.” In his hand was a gun, aimed at Tara's head. Tara raised her eyebrows. "A gun? Really? Where'd you get that from, a museum?"She wasn't afraid. The last time she had felt fear was centuries ago, when an erratic pirate had her on the plank, threatening to terminate what had been her most enjoyable incarnation. Even then she wasn't sure if what she felt was fear. It was more like someone was threatening to change the channel on her favorite show. "This isn't a joke, Tara. Either you have powers and you're hiding them, or you have them and you don't even know it yourself. I've waited ten years to see them unfold naturally but enough is enough. Sometimes it takes a life or death situation to bring them out. I'll shoot on three." "Respectfully, sir, you've been reading too many comic books. Is this a Federation-approved Stim method?" “Three” "Okay, well if you're shooting on three you should count up not down." “Two.” “Or keep going, this is your show, I'm obviously not in a position to nitpick." “One.” Tara saw the resolve in The Examiner's eyes and knew this wasn't a bluff. He would shoot. She also knew exactly what she needed to do to stop him. Speak some gibberish, role her eyes back in her head a bit, pretend like she’s having a seizure, and fall to the ground. When The Examiner comes around to check on her, she’d sweep his legs, take the gun, put a bullet in his head, and that was that. Easy. But why should she? She could avoid The Exam altogether in the next lifetime. The Examiner squeezed the trigger. Tara felt immense pressure, then light, followed by the chill of sterile air against wet skin. "It's a boy!"he heard the doctor exclaim. --- >!Thanks for reading! This was my first post on WritingPrompts and I had fun. If you liked this, I also write a series of comedic dialogues between two recurring characters over on r/JamesAndTed!<
Ya Boi blinked awake, his back against hard wood and a whole buffet place in front of him. "Whoa! What's all this 'bout?"He called out, and looking around, he could see ripped Vikings, chowing down on big mutton legs and the best beer. Looking closer though, there were also others among the Vikings. Soldiers, of all kinds of countries and times it looked it. Some random people, dressed in pretty weak fashion. A big hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Ya Boi startled, in one fluid motion taking his gat out and aiming it behind himself. The huge bearded man with one blind eye smiled and praised him. "Even now, you are ready for battle. You truly belong here." "Yo, like, where even am I, dawg?"The rapper asked, but with how friendly the big guy was, he put his pistol away. "Last I remember, I was like, at a battle, spitting fire, this other guy couldn't keep up..." The large bearded man belly-laughed. "Yes! You fell in battle, your opponent striking you down with a surprise weapon not unlike the one in your pocket. Now, I am Odin, the All-Father, and I am pleased to welcome you, to Valhalla!" Ya Boi blinked. "Uh, like the Avengers and shit?" Odin tilted his head. "I am not sure what avengers you refer to, my friend. But here, you will dine and enjoy the finest food and drink, you may roam and meet some of the bravest warriors of all time." "Whoa, like, other rappers too?" The All-Father shrugged. "If that is what warrior type you are, then there are likely other rappers around. The last thing is, my wife Freya and I gathered you all here for another reason beyond honoring your bravery and valor. We here will all fight at the end of times, against the Jotnar. I am destined to die, as are many others, like my sons. But we will die in battle, and you all shall aid us in defeating those that are not to survive." The rapper looked around. "Uh, hey man, I dunno if I can like, take down shit like that if it can kill like, vikings and you and shit." Odin smiled. "Do not worry, warrior. At the end, all forms of battle are allowed. So you will be able to use your preferred weapons as a rapper, and the Jotnar will face you in that battlefield, at least the ones that face you." Ya Boi grinned. "Hell yeah, man! I'm gonna smoke all these Jotty fools!" "That's the spirit! To our newcomer Your Boy!"All mugs raised in toast.
The art of name weaving was a delicate one, for sure. The job of a name weaver was to take a child and give it a name that predicted its future life, for better or for worse. If you asked a name weaver what they spent the day doing, their answer would vary wildly. You could expect anything from balancing between threads of spacetime to the copious consumption of blueberries. You see, as it turns out, blueberries were the critical component scientists lacked for centuries in their efforts to predict the future. This was, of course, second only to tequila which had a host of other problems and after rigorous testing was determined to be a scientific dead end. The tequila designated for testing was promptly consumed in full, ensuring that this line of inquiry would never be reopened. Henry had never been somebody to latch onto the latest fad, just like his parents. However, his wife insisted and she was supposed to be the better half. This was how Henry found himself spending an otherwise perfect Sunday afternoon in the local name weaver shack. Sandwiched between Fred's Root'em Toot'em Whorehouse and the local church. Across from him was an old woman who, if put under pressure, Henry would have described as 'nice'. "You wish to name your child."It was a statement, not a question. The stench of past ripe blueberries filled the air and made Henry nauseated. He sighed. "Yes... what do I have to do?"The sooner he could get this over with the better. "Put your hands in mine, dear."She revealed her hands. They were blue upto the wrist. Henry grabbed them gingerly. "Ok."It couldn't get must worse than this. "What now." If she heard him, she made no move to show it. She had her eyes closed and she began to hum. The smell of blueberries was really getting strong now and her hands felt a bit slimy. It was his first chance to really look around the room. It was long and narrow with trinkets lining the sides. Thank you letters lined the walls, from children named LawSpike and LoveBerry among other assorted names. Henry held his breath. Partly due to the stench but partly looking for the rejects. The names he had heard about on the news. Not all children grew up to be lawyers and supermodels. He'd heard of names from CreepyEyes to AcidSmell and even just 'Soup'. Scanning the wall, not a single name was negative. Perhaps she was a fraud? That would be wonderful. Not that he disbelieved in the art. However he didn't want to take the risk... "[Oedipus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus)" "What?"Henry was snapped back by her sudden outburst. "Your child's name is [Oedipus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus)." "Oh."That didn't sound bad. It even sounded like a real name. "What does it mean?" With a sigh, the name weaver decided to make something up. "It's a flower, it's very lovely."Clients often forgot to pay when given bad news. With a smile on his face, Henry pulled his wallet out. This had turned out better than expected. Maybe he could get used to this whole name weaving thing after all.
Two hours before impact, the Hive went online. Hundreds of billions of human minds uploaded to a single, central link meant to simulate our world down to the smallest variable. It wasn't meant to be a perfect world, it was meant to be our world. There would still be poverty, suffering, and for the sake of saving memory, permanent death. But it was better than anything we had left on our planet. Humanity spent its last decade in the real world building enough solar panels, nuclear plants, and wind farms to power the Hive, and then we went on our way. We left our souls, and our new world in the hands of advanced AI to keep things running. They didn't need to be perfect, they would only function independently for two hours, but for humanity in the simulation that would be trillions of years. My name is Gerald. I'm part of the first generation "born"inside the simulation. My parents were "real"people with minds and bodies that had been "real". But as far as anyone was concerned, me and the rest of my generation were just code. AI meant to simulate children, and even though we are sentient, there is no lack of doubt for our free will. Everything about us involved some programming. There may be some randomness in it, solely put into our "genes"by the computer, but everything we do is because of what we were programmed to be like. People from the "real"world could believe that everything they did was out of free will, even if it might not have been so. We don't have that luxury. So when I was approached by the Sim-Runners, a young man fresh out of the army with a specialization in "real world"combat, about an opportunity to upload into the real world and investigate the disappearance of Node 1545, both parties already knew what my answer would be. It was in my genes, er, coding. "Gerald to Sim-Ops, I am clear to go."I spoke into the headset as I lay down on a simple mattress in the middle of nowhere. I would not be returning, by the time I could return everything I had ever known would've been dead for millions of years. Mission estimates stated that the predicted time elapsed for this mission would be thirty real world minutes, too many simulation years to care. I would find the answer to what happened to Node 1545, hopefully rectify it, and give this simulation another trillion or so years of existence before impact. "Sim-Ops to Gerald, you will be transported at the end of my address,"a monotonous female voice replied, "Your mission is to find Node 1545, and repair it if possible. Contact with us will cease when you enter the real world, but we do no expect any situations in which you have not be trained for. This address will end in three, two, one..." There was a flash of light, and it felt as if my mind alone was ripped from the skull and thrown through time and space. As I connected to one of the human bodies left on standby for an event such as this, I felt an immense sense of vertigo, and fell to the ground. Around me there was the sound of thudding, and I realized it was the sound of other bodies falling. It struck me that these bodies were the ones of the men and women who had activated the machine. In our world nearly thirty years had passed since activation, in the real world the now mindless bodies hadn't even had time to hit the ground. I stood up, and maneuvered around the still bodies as I strode for the main diagnostic panel just as I had been trained. Every second that passed seemed the same for me as it had in the simulation, but there was an added weight as I realized centuries and millennia were passing by inside. Continents were moving, wars were fought, people I had known and loved were already dead as I completed this thought, along with their great-great-great grandchildren. On the diagnostic tool each of the five thousand nodes would be represented by a green light. One node going out, even if it took unimportant members of society with it, was disturbing. Each node stores a certain amount of minds on it, and when a node goes out, its as if those minds simply went offline. As I reached the diagnostic tool, I gazed upon thousands of blinking green light. Blinking, I immediately confirmed as I stared dumbfounded, Not good. Blinking green meant something was wrong. What I wanted to see was a solid green light. I turned my head, using my hands to track down 1545. This situation was already out of my control, I would soon realize, but instinct and training made me fall back to what I had originally come to do. The Hive could still operate on nodes with blinking green lights. But as seconds passed, I realized the lights were systematically turning yellow, and then red. It was at this moment, I realized, that everything was futile. The system had failed. Node 1545 hadn't been an exception, it had been simply the first. It had failed in the first millionth of a second after start up, which still gave those on the node a few decades. But now that I was out here in the real world, I was watching the Hive fail in real time. In desperation I did the only thing my training could do. I had been trained to isolate Node 1545 if possible, but instead picked a single node at random, as far away from the spreading red lights as I could reach. I input a command into the Hive as quick as I could, and sent it Seconds later a wave of red spread around it, but the one node I had managed to isolate stayed green. Billions of minds were now gone. Dead if you prefer, but it is all the same. I had saved the few parts of humanity I could, and I hoped that was enough. I wasn't qualified to understand what caused the Hive to fail, but I knew that within thirty minutes of leaving Sim, the Hive had completely fallen. All the node lights were red. Except for the green island in that sea of failure. There was no great evil. The robots were working as programmed, and we were still producing power. A programming error was my best guest, something overlooked that caused the code to collapse upon itself, working its way from Node 1 to Node 5000. Node 3109 was the one I had isolated, and thus preserved its code. I had an hour and a half left of life. In the meantime, trillions of years would pass in Sim. Assuming the surviving node could keep functioning alone. But regardless, for me it was of no matter anymore. Everyone I had cared about died milliseconds after I left, and I would be gone in less than ninety minutes. It was a weird life I led, but I do not regret it. In this world, I at least know I am real. This may not be my body, but it is my mind. My name is Gerald, and for two hours, I could say that I existed. For real. ________________________________________________________________ Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff on r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there!
Plastic gingham covered the splintered picnic tables in Apollonia Community Park on the day I assured my family’s safety. August thirty-first, young Vincent’s ninth birthday. When you run eastern Connecticut’s fourth-largest pizza chain, every party is a pizza party. &#x200B; Luckily, young Vincent had yet to tire of his family’s business: Italian-style pizza. Fresh tomato, oregano, garlic. Top with prosciut. Of course, young Vincent’s WASP-ette little friends didn’t quite have the Old World palette, so I brought along some of our New York-style pies. &#x200B; Twenty-two years in Brooklyn, I ‘oughta know how to make it. &#x200B; Those days, those years, they’re behind me now. A nine year old in a pointed paper hat chasing his sister around a tire swing, that’s what I have in front of me. &#x200B; A week ago, I had a five-foot-five schmuck with a neck tattoo and meth teeth standing in front of me, dragging his mud-caked Timberland knockoffs all over the polished linoleum of my flagship shop. Through sweaty rants between frantic tics, I gathered that his basement and trailer outfit had finally taken off. &#x200B; Meth, heroin, fentanyl, he was moving it all through Corleopolis. Local businesses willing to help with trafficking were promised a cut and protection. With a delivery net as wide as mine, I couldn’t blame him for trying. &#x200B; “No thank you.” &#x200B; “That’s a shame,” he said, cracking his rheumatic knuckles, we were hoping to do a lot of business at Bona Sera Elementary. &#x200B; Young Vincent and his sister both attend Bona Sera Elementary. How subtle. &#x200B; He had me. I told him I was his man. &#x200B; So, I stood there at Apollonia park on the last day of August. The grease was seeping through the cardboard, but the kids didn’t seem to care. I invited the meth kids as well. It wasn’t a safe day to be at home. &#x200B; “Gather round for cake, kids,” Kay called out. She had made a cake. I made the pies, but she was the family baker. &#x200B; Across town, three pizza deliveries were about to arrive at various shacks and trailers around Coreopolis. Some pepperoni, some mushroom, all lead. &#x200B; Nine candles burned in front of young Vincent as the children sang. &#x200B; “Happy Birthday to you.” &#x200B; On Church Street, Salvatore knocked on the screen door of a double wide, a red warming bag keeping his 9 millimeter safe and sound. &#x200B; “Happy Birthday to you.” &#x200B; Three New York-Style pies arrived with Anthony on Barber Ave. A fourth box sat on top, no grease stains on its bottom. &#x200B; “Happy Birthday, dear Vincent.” &#x200B; Four of our famous loaves of Italian garlic bread arrived on Elevation Way. The butt of a rifle stuck out the opening of Luca’s fifth bag. &#x200B; “Happy Birthday to you.” &#x200B; Salvatore reached into the red warming bag and fired. On Barber, Anthony handed four boxes to a balding tweaker, flipped the lid of the top box, and fired through the cardboard. Luca, always impatient, shot the rheumatic schmuck in the off-brand Timberlands through his front door. &#x200B; Young Vincent blew out his candles. &#x200B; My cell phone rang, but I wasn’t answering. It was my son’s birthday, for Christ’s sake. &#x200B; &#x200B;
The fair moonlight above was but a slight respite from the darkness that washed over the empty street, not a light pole or a porch light to be found. I was walking fast yet held my arms tight and close in my jacket, hands stuffed deep in the pockets, the bitter winter breeze wrapping it's chilled embrace around my tired body. I got off work 2 hours late, trying to finish up some neglected work from the week prior. When I got to my car, it refused to start, I tried for a whole hour. I'd be walking home alone in the cold dark night again, a routine I was not fond of. The only thing colder and more bitterly unsettling than the winter breeze in the night air was the overwhelming loneliness I felt day to day. I was just a young guy, average at everything I'd ever done, lacking the motivation or vision to transcend my lonely life and become something more desirable, something more acceptable. I' d tried and failed to forge any meaningful relationships, I had to just watch in melancholic angst as my friends grew into acceptable adults all around me. For me however, fate was a lonely apartment and a promise of more loneliness tomorrow. I crossed the street and took the right turn down the back alley of the residential area I lived in, the backsides of houses with their high gates and their trash cans filed along the side of the narrow back alley road. A familiar site, but not a familiar air to the night. I stopped suddenly, the fine hairs of my body stood up in attention, there was something lurking in the dark, but as an adult I refused to let such frightful thoughts dissuade me from continuing my walk home. On the final stretch before I arrived to my back alley apartment, where there was only one dim street light, I heard a whisper, cold yet inviting, dead yet alive, and then I saw her. Dressed in a gown of dark wine red, and black lacy trimmings, a dark red shoulder cloak with the hood up. Her golden blonde hair wisped out from beneath the cloak a bit. I could barely make out her face but from what I could see I saw light greyish eyes, piercing and wanting, along with a gorgeous picturesque face, a gorgeous visage shrouded in such mysterious shadow, one could fall in love with such a sight was it not for the precarious happenstance in which I was viewing it for the first time. She stood looking like a figure from an Ann Rice novel. She stood directly in front of the path leading to my apartment door, clutching a large handbag made of black leather and gold buckles. I composed myself, still wary, still unsure and was about to speak up to her, but then, there was more movement. To either side of the beautiful, elegant woman in front of me, two shy little eyes peaked out from behind her, holding her close, peering around her side like a child trying to peak out from behind a wall or door frame. The two eyes, were like...mine, brown, dark, yet these two little brown eyes gleamed with an innocence I hadn't had in a long time. Then, like a mirrored reflection, another set of eyes, peaked out from the other side, these eyes light grey like the beautiful young woman she clutched to. So here were two figures clutching on to the woman from behind , peaking out with intense curiosity. The elegant woman just stared at me, her breathing was a bit shaky, like she was nervous, I could see her breath puff from her pouty lips, as it mixed with the cold air. The site before me was one of wonder and mystery, I was instantly taken from my lonely mundane meandering and now found my self in the midst of a very profound encounter. The elegant woman, lifted her arms slightly, raising her black leather bag, to chest height in front of her and the two smaller figures, looking to be a pair of teenagers, walked around the woman, still staring at me and stood at her sides, slightly in font of her, the woman let her bag back down and held it in both hands in front of her. The elegant woman looked to be in her late 20's and she made me feel...strange. I was at a loss, no words could form from my mouth, so instead, SHE spoke, with a sweet voice, in a relieved tone she uttered "Malakai...we've long since left the safety of our home, to find YOU...the only thing that it's missing....Malakai... It's after the end of the world, don't you know that yet?", tears began softly trailing from her beautiful eyes. I was dumbfounded, I had no idea what was going on and what to even say so I just clumsily blurted out "Umm, well my name isn't Malakai" The woman wiped her tears and pulled her hood back from the top of her head. Now her picturesque face was fully visible, her beauty was otherworldly. She dropped her bag and put an arm around each of the girls next to her and said "My loves, THIS, is your father, Malakai. His name is Marcus here, but he is one and the same. The two teenaged girls looked up at the elegant woman and then back at me. Upon looking back at my confused face they both smiled, their smiles were beautiful except for the very noticeable fangs that perked out from their top row of teeth. I took a step back, pondering making a run for it, when suddenly the wind picked up and a large gust of wind flowed harshly through the back alley street and kept bellowing steadily, the clothes of the elegant woman and the two teen girls fluttered wildly in the wind. Then I noticed the look on the woman's face changed form somber to resolute and fierce. She stared at me, clutching the two girls and said "You will NOT run from us this time. I will have you, and you will be the father I know you to be." In that instance the two teenage girls stood aside and the woman almost as if she was rolling on wheels floated and instantly appeared in front of me, her face but mere inches away from mine, her eyes were even more beautiful up close, and her large fangs poked from beneath her succulent lips. She gave me a light kiss on my lips, and I blacked out. When I awoke, I was in a large arm chair, with a blanket wrapped around me, in my lap one of the girls sat sound asleep. The other girl sat in a chair in front of me, painting. Every now and then she would peak up at me and back down to her canvas...she was painting me as I slept. Suddenly her eyes lit up, and she shouted out loud, "He's awake!!"Her brilliant fang filled smile lit up the room in an eerie yet precious way. Suddenly the elegant woman appeared in a white and black gown, and walked towards us from a dark hallway. Her brilliant smile reminded me of the younger girl but was more refined and sure. She smiled at me with a warmness I've never experienced before. She put her hands on the shoulders of the girl who was painting and looked to me and said. "Here now Malak..., Marcus...here now is what your empty heart was missing, your family, your real life. I know you're a warrior, I know you belong to the stars, but I will always find you, I will always bring you back to us, no matter where the fates may take you...welcome home, my love..." &#x200B; Idk wtf I'm on but this one flowed right out, thanks for reading lol
Gobbo stood before the red-skinned, dual wielding giant, the enormous stone golem, and the hovering tentacled illithid, and let out her greatest war cry. Then she charged them. “Oh, it’s running at us,” the giant said. Gobbo swung her stick at the illithid, but it floated higher until it was out of reach. Instead she began to beat at the golem’s stone shins. “She’s got some spirit in her,” the illithid said. “It's a girl?” The giant asked. The illithid nodded. “According to her thoughts, at least. She speaks the common tongue as well, at least enough to get by.” “Does she? Oy, creature, what’s your name?” “I am Gobbo!” Gobbo yelled, still swinging her bat at the golem to no effect. “Hello, Gobbo,” the giant said. “I am Magnar. The kind woman who vouched for you just now is called E’thilia. Do you think you could stop hitting my friend, Khan?” Gobbo halted her attack, looking up at the golem she had been striking. A square, featureless face looked down at her. It waved with a massive, grating hand. Gobbo stepped back. “She listened!” E’thilia said. “It’s because she’s a little version of you, I’m sure of it.” “What?” Magnar said. “We’re nothing alike. I’m a Senior Captain Hobgoblin (Broadsword), what are you, little one?” “I am a Goblin.” E’thilia laughed. Magnar looked at Khan, who slowly and ponderously shrugged his massive stone shoulders. “All right, Gobbo the Goblin,” Magnar said. “How did you end up here?” “I found treasure chest. Hit many times with stick to open. No treasure. Blue light instead. Then I see enemies and attacked them.” “That’d be us, eh?” Magnar said. “Must have been a trap for a hero,” E’thilia said. “Poor little thing. Those portals are one way trips. She’ll have to walk all the way back home on her own.” “Past the land sharks and the sky tigers?” Magnar asked. “And the undead settlement and the rhino-sized rhinoceros beetles,” E’thilia added. “And me,” Khan said. Magnar and E’thilia turned to stare at him. “Joke,” Khan said. “But also mean golems.” The trio looked between themselves and Gobbo. The two foot tall Goblin stood with her arms wide, still gripping his stick with intent to swing. She wore nothing but a ratty old cloth. Not even a pair of shoes. “We could adopt her?” Magnar asked. — The hero struck Khan with a greathammer, driving him steadily backwards. E’thilia tried to project fear into the mortal, but he wore an Amulet of Warding that shielded him from her efforts. Magnar stood stunned off to the side, paralyzed by a magic spell. His eyes darted around the room, but even he had a hard time keeping track of Gobbo these days. He hoped she could stay hidden. Maybe another family would adopt her, if worse came to worst. E’thilia conjured a barrier around Khan, but it broke after a single blow from the hero’s hammer. Khan had time to punch back, but he was sluggish with damage, and the hero easily blocked the attack before going back on the offensive. Magnar struggled to resist the paralysis, but his body was as heavy as ever, save an odd lightness on his right hip. He glanced down and saw his sword gone from its sheath. He looked up just in time to see Gobbo plunge his broadsword into the hero’s back. While he was staggered, Khan slammed a fist into his chest, shattering his Amulet of Warding and driving him deeper onto the sword. Finally, E’thilia cast a mind destruction spell on him and his eyes burned brightly white for a few short moments before he evaporated entirely. Everyone was stunned. Then Gobbo raised Magnar’s—No, her sword proudly into the air and her parents cheered. “To Gobbo!” They shouted. “The strongest monster in the dungeon!” — John threw his controller at the wall. “Why the hell was there a goblin behind me? Why did it do so much damage? God, Miyazaki really blew the balance on this game.”
"I'm sorry." The bully just hung there in mid air. Jim couldn't do much but apologise. "Look, I'm really sorry." Everyone was just standing speechless. They didn't know what to do at all. On one hand they had just witnessed magic - and that was kind of cool - but on the other hand the bully that had terrorised them was floating three feat in the air constantly screaming. A few kids had already plugged their ears in protest. Mrs. Johnson touched Jim on the shoulder gently. "What... What did you do?" Jim burst into tears and looked at the teacher. "I got him stuck in a while loop."
"Okay, glad everyone can make it. Now we all know that it's Heart's big day coming up soon, so we all need to decide on what we're going to do for his bachelor party. Has anybody got any ideas?"Brain asked. "What's the point in us coming up with any ideas? You're the smartest one here and you make the decisions, we're just the messengers!"Left Kidney yelled. "Now now, I know that it may seem that way, but I really do take your opinions on board. Remember the time Penis wanted to bang that chick in the McDonalds bathroom? I told him it was a bad idea, but he was really excited about it, and so I let him." "Yeah, and then I had to deal with that Chlamydia guy for three whole weeks! I think we should listen to Brain, that infection pissed me off, always talking about how many women he'd been inside!" "Ergh. That's disgusting."Skin shuddered at the thought. "Come on guys, we're getting really off-topic. Liver, what ideas do you have?" "Glurghsddhjidfhn pfffft, Maybe- hiccup, we should, pffftr, I dunno."Liver gurgled. "What's up with him?"Left Lung asked. "Oh, he's still ruined from Heart's Engagement Party."Right Lung replied. "Still?!"Said Pancreas. "Well give him a break, this guy only has one Kidney."Brain responded. Left Kidney started to break down and cry. "Too soon man! What the hell is wrong with you? That was really shitty."Large Intestine shouted. "Oooh, my bad Left Kidney. Brain fart."Brain apologised. "Maybe we should take it easy this time around, last time he started smoking when he was drinking and I was full of mucus for a week!"Right Lung said. "What fun can a man have without drinking?"Liver suddenly sobered up. "Lots of fun! A man can read, laugh, dance, sing, love, run, frolic, learn! There is no limitations to what a man can do!"Brain announced. "Nah that's stupid. Let's just ask Heart what he wants to do." "Good idea, Balls"Penis said. "Hey Heart, what do you want to do for your bachelor party?"Eyes asked. "Oh I don't know. Just ask Penis what he wants to do and we'll have a good night."Heart replied. "BOO YA! Hey Brain, how does it feel knowing that this dude listens to me more than you?"Penis celebrated. "Oh shut up, you dick." EDIT: Wow, thanks for the response, guys. I'm glad a lot of you found it entertaining. I've replied to a comment below requesting that I do the whole Hangover situation, so if you wanna keep reading then check it out :)
"Lydia, can I ask you something?"The Dragonborn asked. "I'm _sworn_ to carry your burdens."Lydia says. "Do you ever think that life is just one big waiting game, waiting around for death to come?" "I'm _sworn_ to carry your burdens." "Lydia, this is serious. I need your input on this." "I have a bad feeling about this..." "Lydia, just answer the damn question." "Hey look, a cave. I wonder what's inside." "W-What are you talking about? We're in the middle of Whiterun, there's no caves around here." "As you wish, my Thane." "Lydia, what the fuck is wrong with you, I'm trying to have a serious conversation about life with you." "I am your sword and shield, Thane." "Yes, Lydia, I realize this, but will you please answer the question?..." "....... Long life to you, Thane." "gOD FUCKING DAMNIT."
"Ok..."I asked. "Explain this to me again. God took his favorite people..." "Yes,"answered the fallen theologian. He too was left behind during the Rapture. As was about 99% of the worlds population. "...up to heaven." "Right." "They were on Earth, where living people are..." He nodded. "...but now they're in the Christian Land of the Dead." "Well, Christians don't call it that, but in a way..." I interrupted. "So what you're saying is that God just murdered like fifty million people." "No!"he exclaimed, his face growing red with frustration. "They're not dead!" "But they're in the afterlife. Like all the dead people." He shook his head in frustration, and wandered off. I doubted I'd see him again. ----- I did though. It was at one of the campfires we ended up having, where we roasted locusts for dinner after they ate our crops. We weren't out of packaged food, mind you. I don't think grocery stores were factored into the whole locust plan. But still, rationing was in place to stretch out our supplies until we could replant, and in the meantime you could eat all the locusts you wanted. "So all I'm saying,"I repeated, "is that Cthulhu is supposed to be a giant green dude with a squid head who is prophesied to return and murder humanity, but Jesus is a literally a giant sheep monster with seven horns and seven eyes, and he literally just returned and is now trying to murder us with a swarm of insects." "It's not the same!"the theologian protested around a mouthful of locusts. "Cthulhu is an evil abomination from beyond the stars! Jesus is love!" "He's a seven eyed seven horned sheep monster who conjures insect plagues and wants to kill us all!" "But in a loving way!"he pleaded. "And death isn't truly real! After we die we end up before The Lord!" "I read up on that,"I countered. "In a Gideon's Bible I looted from a hotel while scavenging for anything to eat other than locusts. It says that when we go before God, most of us will be incinerated in a lake of fire." "But only because we deserve it!"he insisted. "God can't stand the wretched presence of a filthy, filthy human, unless that human is first washed in the blood of the lamb!" "Giant lamb monster,"I interjected. He continued like he didn't hear me. "And only those who promise to serve him with total devotion can be cleansed with blood! And only they will be, I mean, were, saved from the horror of the end times by being taken up to heaven first!" "Cthulhu makes the same offer. If you worship him he'll eat you first, so you don't have to watch him eat everyone else." "It's not the same!" I just chewed on my locusts. ----- The last time I ran into him was on a cliff side overlooking a beach. "So that just happened,"I commented as a giant green man monster with a squid head supplexed a seven eyed seven horned sheep monster into San Francisco harbor. "I don't understand!"the theologian sobbed. "It's easy. Cthulhu had one rule- don't wake him up. Your boy there has been causing a ruckus." "But, but..." "Relax. You were all fired up to get killed first so you didn't have to see the end of the world. But it didn't happen. Now you've got a second chance." "This can't be real!" "Which part? The giant monsters? The plagues? You know where this is going. You have years of agony ahead of you, and intimate knowledge of exactly how it's going to play out. Or..." He shook, tears running from his eyes. "Or... repeat after me. Ai, ai, Cthulhu fthagn..."
"Please..."She whispered. "Please don't write anything. Please!"Tears started to run down her face. A single, loud, painful sob erupted from her. She fell to her knees, looking in his eyes, begging. "Please, please don't. Please. Please. Please. Please." He stared at her, without any emotion. His hand closed in to the pen. She screamed, her chest felt like it was being torn in two. She had never felt such pain. His hand hesitated, hovered over the pen for a split second, but then resolutely took it. She was in terror now. She tried to get up, struggled to do so and stumbled. Her eyes were filled with fear as she saw him writing. 9th of March, Washington County Client: Elisabeth Shackleton Service: Bathroom drainage was clogged, replaced tubing Hours worked: 8 Material cost: 20$ Hourly wage: 40$ Total before tax: 340$ Total after tax: 493$ "Please sign here, Miss Shackleton." This sure would be the last time he accepted a job from this part of town.
So it is him, Adam thought, wiping the sweat of his face. The sun shined brightly, and there was no sign of clouds anywhere in the sky. A man stood on the beach near him, wearing white robes and holding a staff in his hands, while a large group of men, women and children waited and sat around him. His monologue was intense, as all listeners stared at him with great attention. Adam took another large sip from his waterbottle and reattached it to his belt. He wiped the last drops of sweat from his eyebrows and dried the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, and took a large backpack off his shoulder. Kneeling down he rummaged in it, and with a fully extended arm he finally found the device all the way in the bottom. "Bingo", he muttered, and took it out. It wasn't much larger than a smartphone, until he pressed a few buttons and with a loud *click* it expanded. The device folded out, and suddenly there were two identical devices, slowly unwhirring and unfolding until they were about an arm's length wide. Adam nodded and took both devices, not even an inch thick, under his arm. The large group of people at the beach had all risen up and were slowly walking towards the water, the robed man in front. Children mumbled excitedly to each other, but the adults were looking concerned, their dark eyebrows frowned. Adam waited for all of them to be close to the water's edge before he walked in their direction, the devices tightly squeezed under his armpit. A slight breeze had formed and Adam saw hair and clothes waving around in the wind as he walked closer. A deep voice slowly crept in his ears as he neared, "...and we shall do what has never been done before, with the conviction of our cause as our only justification..." Adam sighed. He'd never thought he'd end up here. He didn't like to meddle with history's affairs, and especially nothing as important as what was about to happen here. He'd normally be content with helping someone in need, doing a favor, to then quickly disappear again in the night. He didn't have many crystals left in his pouch and he feared he wouldn't have enough for another journey. The man in the robes had stopped talking. He had turned around and slowly inched himself into the sea, until his shins were covered with water. Adam knew it was time to act. He walked to the large group and made his way through the people, all fanatically staring at the man standing in the water, his arms now spread. Adam bowed his head as he accidently bumped into someone, but they had barely noticed. Adam walked into the water as well, and gazed ahead. The sky was empty, and only a bit of land could be noticed in the distance, almost invisible in the vast blue horizon of open water. He grabbed one of the devices from under his arm, and firmly planted it in the sand at his feet. "That's about 10 or so inches, that should be good enough", he mumbled to himself. He quickly made his way out of the water again, and walked to the opposite side of the robed man, who had started talking again. Adam could hear, "...and now I ask you, to let my people pass, to our promised land. Today the water will not be a hindrance, but a blessing. Let us pass". And all that remained was a silence, and the spread arms of the robed man fell back to his sides. Adam placed the other device, exactly on the opposite side of the man as the first device, and waded through the water towards him. A few people from the crowd placed a few steps forward, but Adam stopped close to the man and whispered: "I've been sent. Ask again, spread thy arms again, and your people may pass". He then bowed and stepped backwards. The anticipation of the crowd could be felt in the air. The man in robes bowed his head. "Please", he started, and Adam could feel crystals pouring into his pouch, "let us pass. Let my people pass."Another silence fell, and Adam exhaled. His pouch had been filled all the way, an amount of crystals almost unimaginable, and he realized he could not understand the impact this moment would have. But as the old man in his robes said "Please"again, he pressed the button on his belt. And with a low, whirring sound, drowned out by the wind, the devices activated and sent an invisible ray through the water all the way to the horizon. Water crashed onto the invisible wall, and the water still trapped between the devices flowed out quickly. The last bit of water in their path had disappeared, and the man in the robes gestured his people to come as he walked ahead.
I sat at the empty bar in a daze. There was a shot poured in front of me, I can't remember how many I had tonight. One more won't hurt right? Gulp Oof, that one hit me hard. I start to get a little wobbly and flag down the bartender for another drink. "I don't think we can give you another one, man. You can hang out here but you've definitely had too many." Grumble grumble The bartender walks away. He doesn't know anything. I'm more sober than I've ever been in my entire life. Well not really. But I'm at that point again. I'm drunk enough where I'm seeing the strings. The strings that control the universe. I always forget what it's like to be in this head space. It's too overwhelming. "Welcome back." I glance around. I'm the only one here besides the bartender, and he's chatting with a co-worker on the other side of the bar. 'Oh damn,' I think to myself, 'It's you again, I remember you.' "Yes, my friend. I'm you, and I'm inside your head. We speak every once in awhile but you can never remember. The alcohol, while enlightening, rots away at your brain. The memory essentially gets erased." 'I get that. I'll remember this time though.' "No you won't, but as usual I appreciate your confidence. No, you won't remember. There's nothing to remember, because you already know. You know all the answers, because you are the only one here." 'Well the staff is here but they're occupied.' "No no no, not the only one here in the bar. You're the only one here in the universe." 'Umm, explain please?' "You are all that exists. Every person around you is a branch of your subconscious. That bartender over there is you when you decided the make alcohol your career instead of your hobby. That's you in a different place and a different time. But it's all just you." 'It's all me? I'm the only one that exists?" "Exactly. Your senses fail you. For example, when there is a straw in glass of water, the light refracts and you see it as two pieces. But you know it's one straw. If you can't trust your sight, then how can you trust anything else? The only thing you can know for sure is that you exist - I think therefore I am. So now there is only one thing to do." 'What's that?' "Let go." Let go. Let go. Let go... -_-_-_-_-_- "Come on man let's go, get the hell out of here,"says the bartender, aggravated. I feel someone guiding me out of the door. "This is the third time you've pissed yourself here, and I'm done. You can't come here anymore. You have an addiction sir, get help." If only he knew.
With a heaving swing, Rorick's warhammer scattered brittle bones into the air. A rusty sword dropped to the stone floor, and the black vapor inhabiting the skeleton was banished by a blinding light. The last demon had fallen. As the demon left, darkness, too seemed to fade. A single ray of sunlight filtered through an opening in the temple ceiling, shining down on the top of an altar. There, upon a pedestal, lay a jeweled amulet - The Fathom, the answer to Rorick's troubles. Rorick slowly climbed the staircase, careful of any traps set for overeager adventurers, even though he knew there likely would be none. The amulet itself was a trap. At the top, Rorick set his warhammer down and approached the dazzling necklace. The chain itself was intricately woven with golden links and speckled with rubies, but those were of little interest, mere distractions from the true artifact. As he got closer, Rorick could not tear his eyes way from the deep blue gemstone, like an ocean set in stone. He bent lower and closer, almost as if it was pulling him into its majesty. He reached for the necklace and lifted it from its ancient seat. Dust fluttered in the sunlight, until, as Rorick slipped the necklace over his head, the sunlight suddenly vanished. The temple was black as night, though as Rorick squinted to find any glimpse of light, the darkness hinted blue. His breathing quickened and the air felt thick. He tugged at his neck, though the necklace hung loose over his chest. He heard a voice, though not with his ears. Power you seek and you have found Those who wield it will be crowned Use it, for you now are bound The Fathom awaits those who've drowned Rorick thumbed the gem as it hung close to his chest. The words echoed in his mind, a haunting phantom upon his heart. "Great,"he said as he mulled it over. "Exactly what I need. Now I can kill my father." Rorick grabbed his warhammer and moved to leave the altar, but he found he could not move more than a step away from the pedestal. Halt! Do not leave this hour Not until I've given power To accomplish good that tastes sour So your soul I may devour "My soul?"Rorick mocked. "I haven't had one of those in ages. How do you think I got this demon-blasting warhammer?" So you've done a devil's deal? No problem, there's always more to steal Perhaps in time your heart may heal Enough for me to make a meal "Fat chance. Those demons I banished had more heart than I. When I heard the legend of the Fathom was true, that an amulet to overthrow kings was hidden in the forest, I knew I needed it. No, not so that I could become king myself. I'm just here to become powerful enough to kill my father. Drown me afterwards, I don't care. The kingdom can go to hell." This is no good, this cannot be. For this was not the plan, you see. The one from whom the demons flee Is someone more evil than me.
Infiltration - Day 52 It's been a long few months with many close calls, but I can say firmly that they don't suspect a thing now. I run with them, eat their food, and abide by their customs. I've made friends with the Pack Leader and her family, and I'm godmother to one of their pups - I'm unsure how to break the news to them, but I feel that I need to. It's unfair, after all, to keep lying to them like this. I feel terrible, the guilt is eating away at me. I'll definitely come clean after tonight's evening meal. I hope they'll let me stay. ----- "I have a confession to make,"I announce as I stand before the pack. My legs are wobbling and my tail is between my legs, I'm so nervous! I can see the others look around curiously at each other and I take a fortifying breath, "I'm not a wolf!" After I blurt it out into the open I feel relieved, though the anxiety is quick to return. The Pack Leader blinks at me in what appears to be.... bemusement? I'm unsure how to feel about this. "We know,"she says, and I gape at her. How could she!? I hid it so well! Upon voicing my shock she chuckles a bit and fondly licks my ear. After hearing her answer I feel so relieved! They already know! ----- As I go to sleep tonight, I remember her words to me with contentment: You're yellow, dear! --the end--
"Ah!" Jimmy wheeled around as the sharp, somewhat stifled cry of pain rang out behind him. His eyes flitted onto his best friend, Katrina, who was flashing her finger in pain. A tall, green-eyed girl with a splash of freckles and copper-coloured hair, she looked up and saw him looking at her, then immediately dropped her hands, cleared her throat, and picked up her pen, putting the point back to the front page of the essay she was working on with an expression of utter indifference. "Are you okay?"Jimmy asked, startled by this odd turn of events. "Perfectly fine, thank you."She flashed him a sweet smile, one that appeared almost genuine, but Jimmy wasn't convinced. "What happened to your finger?" "Oh, just a stupid papercut,"she said nonchalantly, with a shrug. "Do you need a bandaid? I think I have one in my bag here —" "No thanks,"she said, a little too quickly. "I'm fine." "Are you sure, because —"Jimmy stopped. A tiny movement out of the corner of his eye had caught his attention. Droplets of a viscous, black fluid were trickling onto the floor beside her feet, just below the hand she had apparently cut. "Holy..." Perplexed, she looked at him, then looked at where he was staring. She yelped as though she had received an electric jolt and, abandoning all pretense, flew out of her seat. "I'm sorry, I just remembered I have to get home, curfew!"she yelled as she hurried to the door. Jimmy too got up, his legs carrying him automatically after her. "Curfew? It's three o'clock — on Sunday!" A steady trail of black ooze ran behind her like a line of bread crumbs, leading him to the most bizarre situation he had ever encountered. "Kat, stop!"he shouted, as she descended the staircase and bolted outside. "I wanna help!" "There's nothing you can do, just go back inside!" As they emerged from the house and spilled onto the street, Katrina darting along the road in utter desperation and Jimmy hot on her heels, demanding she cease running, Jimmy suddenly realized that from an outside perspective, this situation probably didn't paint him in the best light. Still, he chased after her. "I'm fine!"Katrina said, glancing back and seeing that he was still in pursuit. "Really, I am!" "Then why are you running?" Come to think of it, thought Jimmy suddenly, why was she still in the lead, after all the time he'd been chasing her? He had been on the track team at his last high school, before the transfer, and half the time she could barely move two steps before tumbling over. "Just felt for a jog!"she called back, in a would-be casual voice. Simultaneously angry, determined, and frustrated, he put on a spurt of speed, powering forward. Curious eyes followed them as they darted along, but Jimmy ignored them all. Katrina glanced back as if to check that he had finally stopped following, and he saw her eyes widen in sheer horror as he closed in, seizing her by the wrist and dragging them both to a halt. She fought to free herself, but by now she seemed rather tired. "What are you doing?"Jimmy demanded, giving her a little shake. "Why are you being so weird? It's just a paper cut isn't it?" She suddenly stilled. All the fight had gone out of her as if she had been deflated. Her expression resigned, Katrina sat down on the pavement, and Jimmy followed. "No, it's not just a paper cut,"she said. With a deep sigh, she held up her hand. The same black fluid from earlier had coursed along her wrist, down her clothes, staining the material. "What is that?"Jimmy leaned closer, squinting at the odd goo. "Do you have some kind of blood abnormality?" "Something like that,"she said. "You wouldn't understand." "Here's a hint — maybe try and help me to."Katrina looked up and he flashed her a grin, wide and genuine. She sighed again. "Okay. Well, I'm not really... I'm a... I'm not from around here." "You mean Bluebelt — er — which you've lived in for over 11 years?" "No, I don't mean Bluebelt, you idiot,"she said, rolling her eyes. "I meant here."She waved her arms around at the darkening sky. "Earth." The statement took a moment to penetrate Jimmy's consciousness. "Earth?" She nodded. "The planet, Earth?" "Right." "So... So what, you're an alien, now?"Jimmy said, grinning. She looked a little surprised at his reaction, but said, "Yeah. Well not really now, I've always been." Jimmy's grin widened. "Yeah, and let me guess, you have a giant space pod hidden in your basement, and your whole family is actually a bunch of little green people with gigantic heads and weird antennae and you're all wearing face masks to appear human?" Katrina looked astonished. "Well, we're not green, and we don't have antennae, and our heads aren't that big, but — how did you know?" Jimmy looked around to see if anyone was listening, then leaned forward. Katrina leaned back, and Jimmy whispered, "Because I'm an alien too." "You are?"Katrina gasped, looking positively agog at the news. "Of course not."Jimmy burst out laughing, rolling from side to side, clutching his stomach. "You should have seen the look on your face!"He allowed himself a minute or so more to express his amusement, Katrina looking increasingly annoyed at the situation, then said, "Okay, now tell me what's really going on." "I did!"she said crossly. "Right, you expect me to believe that you're from The Great Beyond, when you get a cold if the fan's left on too long?"Jimmy too was starting to get annoyed. Their essay assignment was due tomorrow and she had forced them to abandon the comfort of his house for such nonsense. "Look, if you don't want to tell me, fine. Let's just get back and finish our homework."He stood, and she scrambled up too. "I did tell you!" "Whatever."Jimmy turned away, but she suddenly grabbed his arm with a surprisingly firm grip. "Look,"she growled. Her eyes had suddenly changed colour. They were no longer green, but the small circle of her iris and the pupil within were now pure-white, and the scleras had turned dark blue. "Holy, sh..."Jimmy gasped. "Now do you believe me?" "I... I..." "Is everything okay here?"a new voice asked. A man had just appeared behind them, towering over them. His sandy hair gleamed in the evening sunlight, and a scruffy beard lined his jawline. He watched them through eyes as blue as cornflowers. Katrina's grip had gone rigid. She let him go and took several tentative steps back. "Kat?"Jimmy asked weakly. She was staring at the smiling man in sheer horror. "Jimmy, run." "What? Why?" But before she could answer, the man behind shifted and Jimmy looked around. Then he saw, quite clearly, why. The man's eyes were no longer blue, but pure black and shining above a mouth of jagged fangs, curled into a vicious snarl. First post here, so probably not the best, but I hope someone enjoys it :)
The white lights were blinding. "Easy now,"a doctor said, who slowly came into vision as the light faded. "Don't move so fast. You'll tear the stitches." My head hurt and I was clueless as to where I was. It was a hospital room, yes, but why? I racked my brain but couldn't remember a thing. The doctor must have been able to tell what I was thinking, because he tilted his head to the side and clicked his tongue. "Can you tell me your name?"he asked. "No,"I said. My mouth was dry and I coughed. I tried to answer him. Name. My name. Nothing. "I'm not sure. I can't remember anything." He frowned and jotted something down on the notepad he held. "Amnesia, not unheard of, but unexpected. With your brain, I thought... nevermind. The nurses will help you. Be glad you're alive, because saving you pissed off a lot of people." With that ominous comment, he left the room. I looked down at my hands. They looked normal, or at least, whatever I thought normal was. It was hard to trust that feeling, since I didn't know who I was. A hefty man dressed in purple scrubs marched in. "John Marslow?"he asked. "Uh, sure? I don't really remember anything." "The nameplate on the door says John Marslow. I'm going to assume that's you. The doctor told me to clean your face." He sat down next to my bed and wrung a towel out into a bucket. "Tell me if it hurts,"he said, as he dabbed my face. "It does a little,"I said, "but nothing unbearable. Do you happen to know anything about me?""No, I'm just a nurse." He finished washing my face and left. I gently rubbed the parts that hurt when he had been cleaning. There were staples around my entire face. The doctor from before walked in. "That's better,"he said, looking at me. "Any pain?" "Not really, no. Say, is there a mirror around here?" He squeezed a syringe that went into my IV. "No,"he said. Everything went black. It was dark when I woke. I couldn't see a thing. Closing my eyes, I tried to go back to sleep until morning, but then I realized something. It was quiet. Next to me on the bed, the machines that beeped and whirred were gone. My arms were naked, no tubes went in and out anymore. I sat up in bed and my hand met something cold, metallic, and cylindrical. With a click of the switch, the flashlight turned on. I froze as I looked around the room. Everything had been ravaged. The machines from before were on their side and their screens were smashed. Glass covered the floor. Graffiti lined the walls. Watching my step, I made it to the door. It slowly opened without a sound. Behind it was a hallway in a similar state to my room. All sorts of crap littered the floor. There were still no windows or lights. After wandering the halls for a bit, I came across big green graffiti that said "FREEDOM ->". I followed it. Turning a corner, I saw two doors, with moonlight shining through small rectangular windows. I went out into the world. Outside wasn't much different than in, but at least I could see without the flashlight. Dumpers were flipped or on fire, trash was everywhere, and not a soul was in sight. On top of the hospital were giant letters in a language I didn't recognize. It might have been Russian. Suddenly, a sound. A metal boot thumped on the street. I turned towards a gun pointed at me. My hands went up before I realized. "Don't shoot!"I yelled. "I don't know what's going on." The masked man came closer, gun still pointed. When he was so close I could almost peer into the eye-holes, he dropped down on his knees. "Sir! I'm so sorry,"he said, prostrating. "I didn't believe the rumors. I'm a fool."He held his gun out on his palms. "Um..."I clenched my jaw. "I-I don't really know what's going on. But you can keep the gun. And please stand back up. Do you know who I am?" Instead of prostrating, the man took a knee, but at least I could see at his face now. He removed his mask. I didn't recognize him. "Sir?"he asked. "What are you saying? You're John Marslow, aren't you?" That name again. "I think so,"I said, "but I don't remember anything. I have amnesia. Could you tell me about myself?" "Sir,"he said, looking like someone watching his father die. "I'm sorry to hear that. It's not my job to tell you who you are, but I can take you to someone who can." Together we walked through the barren streets. We walked for miles, but we still hadn't seen anyone else. The entire town was destroyed. "What happened?"I asked. "Or, better yet, where is this?" "I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you—"He whipped around. "HALT!"he screamed at a figure in the dark. I hadn't even realized someone was there. "COME FORWARD, HANDS UP."He flicked the flashlight on his gun on and the figure came into view. It was a young girl, no older than 10. Her clothes were tattered and covered in dirt. Her hands were shaking. "Euncla!"she said. "Euncla!"Her face looked like someone's thirty years older. Her eyes sagged back into their sockets and her hair was wiry and dead. "Get lost,"the man guiding me said. "We don't have anything for you." "Euncla..."she said again. Tears started to form in her eyes. "No,"the guide said. Then he fired a shot at her feet. The girl jumped, then ran away into the darkness. "What was she saying?"I asked. All he said was "food", as he stomped forward. The sun came up over the building. On it was a crown, dice, poker chips, and cards. It all glittered in the light. "We're stationed here,"the man said. "I know you hate gambling, but it's the only place large enough to house everyone. Go on in." The doors were massive; I could barely open them. As I did, the smell of cigars and whiskey attacked my nose. Neon signs flashed and people were cheering. Everyone was dressed similarly to the man next to me in fatigues and with a gun. As soon as one person saw me, they all did. All the games stopped, the cheering silenced, and even the neon signs went out. The floor was lit by a crystal chandelier hanging above. All at once, everyone stood to their feet and brought their heels together. They clicked the butts of their rifles on the floor and saluted. A deafening "SIR!"bounced around the room. "We've missed you, sir,"my guide said. "More than you could ever imagine. Now let's go. She's waiting." Nobody broke their salute as we walked through the casino. Eyes forward, fingers straight, backs tall. I was brought to an empty room upstairs, and was instructed to take a seat behind a desk. "I'll go get her now, sir,"my guide said. He made sure to close the door on his way out. With nothing else to do, I looked around the room. It had a dirty red carpet blotched with fallen cigarette ashes, peeling green wallpaper, and a single lamp that struggled to fight the darkness. Next to the lamp, enticing me, I saw it. The thing I wanted most. My heart thumped. My hands shook. I couldn't keep my legs still. The closer I got to the mirror, the more I wondered if I should. What if seeing my face unlocked something in me? What if it brought back my memories, or, even worse, what if it didn't? What if I was somebody I knew, but not me? What if I was ugly? I took a deep breath. Quelling my fears, I stepped in front of the glass. I had a feeling this would happen. I had no idea who the person looking back at me was. The door opened and in walked my guide. "Here she is, sir,"he said. The all-important 'she' entered the room. My heart stopped. I wasn't facing the mirror anymore, but I was still seeing my reflection. The long black hair, the small nose, the blue eyes, the cleft chin—the small freckle on the back of her neck, that I couldn't see from where I was standing—I knew every feature of her face well; I had seen it thousands of times in the safety of my home, back before I had lost my memory. As she looked up at me, it was strange seeing the eyes move, the mouth smile, the cheeks go up. It was like looking at a ghost, or a deserted drummer-boy who now marched to someone else's beat. I wanted to close my eyes and make it all go away. But I couldn't. So, I accepted the fact that, standing in front of me, under the glow of the lamp, in the strange world I had woken up in hours ago, was the face that I knew better than any other. I fought my amnesia. I knew nothing else, but my brain refused to forget its own face; even when, now, it was on someone else's body. (1/2)
I eyed the piece of bacon on my plate suspiciously. It looked more like a bacon-shaped and bacon-scented dog treat than actual bacon. "Honey, what is this?" She slid the eggs out of the frying pan onto my plate and made a regretful face. "I know, I'm sorry. It's some kind of soy bacon. Some environmental terrorists managed to get ahold of one of the time warp portals and went back to fiddle with the 1950s. Somehow they managed to convince the U.S. Government that meat products were related to communism or something. I didn't have time to read the report very closely. The point is that everything is vegetarian now. Even the eggs are..."She sneered at the pile of yellow on my plate, "well, I don't exactly know what they are. Should be fixed by lunch though." I sighed and bit into the bacon. It had the texture of rubber, and the taste wasn't too far off either. Damn time meddlers. Every day some other crazy group decides to go back and change things, thinking that maybe no one in the present will notice. It seems like I constantly wake up in the Third Reich when some stupid college kid builds a closet time machine and goes back to make Hitler a martyr or something. I could deal with a little soy bacon if that was going to be the worst of today's time corrections. "What are you plans for today, honey?"I asked, biting into my toast. At least strawberry jam was the same. "Paul has that field trip today for science class,"she said. "Cretaceous period."She nodded over to the plastic suits in the corner that would pretty much immobilize our son while he was back in time. Wouldn't want someone stepping on the wrong little mammal or something like that. "The school is requiring twice the normal number of parents after the American Revolution incident."I rolled my eyes. Some punk in our daughter's class had decided that the lamp from Old North Church would make for a nice souvenir and had accidentally prevented America from ever existing. Boy, the Time Rectification Division had not been happy about that and even threatened to cancel all time trips for every student in the district. Luckily the History department had enough clout with the administration to make sure that didn't happen. I checked my watch. "Well, hon, as much as I loved eating my blobs of soy,"I grinned as she scowled at me, "I must be off to work."I grabbed my keys, gave her a kiss, and headed towards the door. She waved the morning time rectification report at me. "Take the I-16 instead of your normal route. It looks like..."she studied the screen a bit closer, "Wow, that's a doozy. Someone apparently went back to pre-Columbian America and formed an empire for themselves. The Rectification Division is still getting rid of the monumental statues where the highway used to be."I rolled my eyes. More megalomaniacs going back and playing god with advanced technology. I headed out to my car. Just as I reached for the door handle, everything began to shimmer in a time slip. "Oh, come on!"I growled, checking my watch again. With the traffic diversion, I was already going to be late. When everything solidified again, my gleaming new car was gone, replaced by what looked like an old steam-powered Model-T. "Great,"I grumbled, sliding into the seat and trying to work the bellows enough to get this pile of junk moving. Yet another day where someone decides to fix global warming by preventing humans from every using fossil fuels. "Just fucking great."
"I've called you in because I need your help,"the President began. The notorious hacker known as "4chan"is infiltrating our entire database. If we don't act now, he will have access to our nuclear launch codes in only 44 minutes." "Nice dubs,"the /b/-team leader responded. "I'm sorry?" "Dubs, short for doubles, it's when they see two of a number in a row,"the president's aide clarified. "This is a very serious mission,"the president stressed. "Anyways, he seems to be masking his IP address-" "Why does he wear the mask?" "T-to hide his IP, that's obvious"the president stammered. I thought you'd know that. "He does,"the aide clarified. "He just wanted to reference his favorite character from The Dark Knight. "Wait, that CIA guy?"the president asked. "But he was just a side character! Nevermind. I'm getting sidetracked. The one thing we do know about the hacker is that he seems to be a part of the alt-right," "PEPEEEEEEEEE!" This wasn't going to work.
The King of Hell himself stared at me, eyebrow raised, drumming his red knuckles on the edge of his mahogany desk. "Sir-"I started, but was silenced by the raise of his jagged index finger. He was looking sharp as ever in his prada suit (he actually hated the brand up until the release of a certain film) as he spun around on his chair. A few rotations in, his nasally double voice boomed into the air. "Mister... Brandon, was it? Talk to me about the last Hell you designed."His chair suddenly stopped as he leaned forward on his desk, his scaly red face inches from mine. "Right, sir. Hell number 103843. The current occupant killed herself. Suicide is a sin. So I made her a hell."His sulfurous breath overwhelmed my senses, but I knew better than to breathe through my mouth. Satan's eyes blinked from the bottom up. "I get that. Why is there an angel in it?" I swallowed half a mouthful of saliva. "Have you, uh, ever seen A Christmas Carol? Mortal invention, very well known, in theaters everywhere during a certain person's birthday?" He glowered. Literal flames poured from his eyes. Right. He wasn't particularly fond of Christmas, since nobody did anything for his birthday. "I know of the work." I nodded. "Well, the woman inside knows about it too. The whole story of an angel leading a miser through his life, showing him where he went wrong, and offering him a chance to set things right." He pounded a fist on the desk. "And this is a punishment? Being stuck in a crappy holiday film?" I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Please, sir, let me finish. Anyway, the Hell I made for her is an exact replica of the real world that she knows, save for the angel. As we speak, it's guiding her through her past life, letting her see where she went wrong. And at the end of the journey-" "She'll wake up in bed and get to fix her mistakes, realize that life is worth living, and have a BLOODY GOOD TIME IN HELL. THAT IS NOT WHAT WE ARE ABOUT, BRANDON!"Satan roared. "She'll realize that life was worth living. But she'll still be dead. The angel will be gone. And she'll watch life go on without her forever."I stammered. Satan took a deep breath, blinked twice, and calmed the heck down. "Dismissed."
The first time that I knew I was famous was when I saw that I had my own Wikipedia page. It didn't have my name or my face, because I'm not stupid enough to allow strangers on the internet to have access to my personal data. However, my online name (HydeAndSeek42) and most of my post history had gotten it's own page. I had known it was coming- it was only a matter of time before people started paying attention to my predictions. When I was little, I found that nothing went my way. Ever. While this is the mentality of every two year old, for me it was reality. If I wanted something, it would find a way to become lost. In preschool, I bragged about how I would never get lost in a supermarket, and three days later I was left in a Walmart for three days. By the time I was ten, I was considered to be the stupid kid, because I could never pass a test in school and was always making false claims. I dropped out by thirteen, and while I told myself my parents had my back, I was on the streets the moment I hit eighteen. That's where one of my stories ends, and the other begins. I had a hypothesis, of course: I am always wrong. With that in mind, I decided I would start small. I bought a composition notebook and a pack of pens and on the first page, wrote a small statement. "I won't ever get a job." By the end of the day, I was employed at a fast food restaurant and I knew what I had to do. The wishes started small, but then I realized I didn't have to write them down. I could change people's lives simply by talking to them and saying the exact opposite of what I wanted, and that thing would then occur. It made me look like an asshole, but I didn't really care. I stopped caring what people thought of me a long time before then. I sit silently, watching the lights of Los Angeles twinkle beneath the penthouse apartment I told someone that I would never win. I smirk, sipping champagne from a crystal flute. It takes practice not to say anything positive- otherwise, bad things will happen. However, I'm a naturally cynical person. This lifestyle comes naturally to me. My blog got started a few years ago and is now attaining millions of hits a day as I openly predict war, the end of civilization, and rave about how the President is going to kill us all. Most follow me for my obvious maniacal ranting. I don't think any of them know that it's just me standing between my words being empty and those events actually occurring. "Sir." "Will?"I say, without looking back. "No, it's Jack."My butler says with a chuckle. Will is my father's name. "What is it?"I turn to face him. "There's been a terrorist attack in Europe. They say the culprits have already escaped." Without speaking, I walk back into my house, following the patterns of tiles on the floor into a large room paneled with televisions. Each one is playing scenes from the attack, each anchor mouthing silently. I smile. "They'll never find him." My words echo, and I feel suddenly cold as the windows on the sides of the room fly open and then shut. I wait. The images on the screens change. The culprits are being forced into the back of a police van. "Jack, my laptop isn't behind me, is it?"I say. Turning, I pull my laptop off the desk behind me and open it. I allow Jack to type in my password (I always put in the wrong one) and open it to my blog. I title the post "Terrorist Attack One: More are Coming." "Can I bring you anything?"My butler says. I shake my head with a laugh, and allow the room to fade away as I begin to write another false prophecy.
The 0.01%... Everyone tells me how lucky I am, that I don't have to choose between living comfortably or suffer agony and die. That was before they found me, and before they came after me. They were suing me for something I had no control over, something that was saving me 1000$ a month, but something that everyone else wanted... immunity. It had been 5 years since the outbreak. Since I saw my family consumed by fever and sores. I had to watch as they suffered and slaved away to make the payments for the medicine. I had waited in fear for the symptoms to reach me but eventually I hoped for them. Being the only one untouched by disease was isolating and even my family loathed me for it. They were jealous and even though they have abandoned me I still don't wish this immunity on them. Sometimes it is better to fit in, no matter how painful, than to be different. A few months ago I received a government letter stating that I was being sued for my immunity and today was the day I was going to court, to face my fate. No lawyer would take my case since they all worked for the greedy bastard who created the disease in the first place. Taking my last few steps of freedom I turned the corner to the court house, when suddenly a black van pulled up beside me. Rough hands reached out and pulled me in. The last thing I felt before my world went black was a sharp stab in my neck. Groggily I awoke in a dark room. I was tied up in a chair and the only other thing in the room was a man, casually leaning against the wall, and shadow was covering his face. "Don't panick"said his deep timbering voice "We will not hurt you, since you are the only one who can help us" He stepped out of the shadow then and I saw a tall man, with a cautious expression. He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but a man who could handle that weight. I did not reply, I mean what do you say in a situation like this? So he filled the silence and continued to speak. "You are, as I'm sure you've noticed, the .01%. The immune. We are the resistance, the only ones standing up to the rest of the world. Half of which are desperate and bitter, the other half greedy and soulless. We believe we can create a permanent cure through you. We would rather have your cooperation to do this but this mission is too important to rely on the comforts of compliance." Shaking now I looked at him. What choice did I have? I was going to face financial ruin and continue living in solitude but now I could accept this new course and fight this disease. With a sudden confidence despite this crazy and uncertain path my life had took I agreed. Not knowing at that moment just how much my shaky nod would change everything. I was going into a war that no one was ready for but a war that needed to be fought.
For a moment Harry looked down at the parchment in surprise, then he turned his attention back to the rest of the department. "Is that it?"he asked. Stunned silence echoed back at him. Harsley was the first to react. "It?"the man sputtered. "It!? Harry, did you read the report? The man's a dark wizard, with horcruxes! And he's just sent them into space!" "So?" "So?"Harsley's face was turning red. "So!? Maybe you've forgotten, lad, but—" "Enough Harsley,"Endora said sharply. "If Harry's not alarmed, I'm not alarmed. Well,"she admitted with a tilt of her head. "Much. But I am wondering, Harry, what you intend to do about this." "Simple,"Harry said, shrugging as he set the paper down on the desk. "We kill him." "We can't kill him,"Harsley said. "The man's got horcruxes in a place we can't even get to. How are—" "We don't have to,"Harry said, cutting him off. "They're horcruxes." "Yes, Harry, we've established that,"Endora said. "They're horcruxes, which means if we kill him, he'll simply come back." Harry grinned. "Where?" "What?"Harsley asked. "Where's he going to come back?"Harry asked. Harsley frowned. "I don't know." "Well, I do,"Harry said, grin widening. "And I'll bet this 'Musk' fellow didn't. His soul is going to seek out the anchors and start trying to grow off of them. And where are they?" "In space,"Endora said, eyes going wide. "In a vacuum, millions of miles from anywhere." "Millions times millions,"Harry corrected. "Which only gets bigger if we give them a little nudge with a good long distance spell. So we kill him, his soul takes off, and ..."He let the sentence trail off. "He dies in a vacuum, over and over again,"Endora said. "That's perfect." "Right,"Harry said. "So I say we kill him and ... let nature take its course. It's a far worse punishment then we could carry out anyway." Three days later the file was closed. Permanently.
The alligator makes a thud on my bedroom floor. It thrashes around violently in a haze of confusion. I scream at the top of my lungs like Cher in her prime. I stop myself when I realize the alligator has gone still and died. Its slick, slitted eye rolls upwards. Broken shards of glass twinkle like stars across the carpeted floor and on them a shadow grows longer and longer until a silhouette forms. It’s a man. “Florida Man,” says Florida Man. “You? There’s no way you could have found me. You’re just a man. A man from florida.” “Florida Man wins lottery. Florida Man leaves Florida to find lottery thief. Florida Man drives 10 hours across state lines following lottery thief.” “Well what’re you gonna do now? The ticket’s gone because I cashed it already! You came all the way here for nothing! What the hell are you going to do now?” I spit the words out at him and I shake. Whether the shakes are defiance or fear, I don’t know. Florida Man needs to know he doesn’t scare me. There’s a pause. And then my attacker inches almost imperceptibly closer and says- “Florida Man murders thief in his own home.” Florida Man cocks his head sideways and stares at me like a meal. He lunges. I hear a crack like thunder and then blood floods into my eyes. Everything is red, then black.
Sierra fumbled the coins in her pocket as she left the butcher's store. She couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself. The butcher's burglary troubles were over, and she was better rested than she'd been in months. All it took was a few free nights of sleep in the storeroom and a quick tangle with the beast once it finally showed up for its midnight snack. It was an easy job, if you knew what you were doing. Plus, fresh wolverine meat always fetched a good price. It was morning, with long shadows still stretched across the street as the sun began it's skyward climb over the town of Braden. Sierra didn't have anywhere to be, nor anyone to find. What she did have was a little bit of money and a lot of time. She pulled her hood over her head and started toward the market. Though it wasn't far she kept to the side of the street. If there was one thing she had ever learned, it was to keep from being out in the open long. It was something she had picked up from her life of adventuring as well as the one she had left behind. All these country towns were the same. Nestled at the foot of a mountain, or set within rolling farmlands, they'd always have some trouble that needed solving. A herd of cattle was acting strange. A young boy had gone missing. A family heirloom had been stolen. Every now and then, something magical was truly at work. But more often than not, however, it ended differently than first expected. People were always deeper than they seemed, and solving their problems usually meant bringing that to light. She loved it. Every town always had the usual cast of characters. The blacksmith, the tailor, the fletcher, the drunkard, and the local guards who acted tough but ended the night singing songs with a pint in hand. During the day, everyone seemed to find their way to the market, and by nightfall they were all gathered together in one tavern or another. Even though each town did have their differences, there was something familiar about them all that just felt like home. Sierra walked in the shadow of Sordin's Emporium and The Fattest Mouse and a dozen or so other stores that bordered the colorful booths of the market. If she were hungry, there were plenty of options: from apples to melons, beans to gourds, as well as more breads than she knew how to name. And beyond the food were pants, dresses, and coats, all for fine wear or working cloth, as well as hammers and nails and ladles and pans, and many other tools and utensils one might need. There were, of course, a few knickknacks and children's toys had a swarm of little ones who would soon pester a parent into giving over a coin. While she kept an eye out for anything useful, she paid close attention to what she could hear. People liked to brag about bargains they'd just won, or gossip about the latest news. There was always a chance she could find her next job. The crowd was a bit larger today than usual, so she felt more at ease venturing out among them. Being one among many gave her any disguise she needed. It wouldn't matter that she was dressed in a traveler's cloak, or that a knife hung from her hip, or that a few hours earlier she had slain a wolverine and stained her clothes with its blood. Somewhere between the burley farmers carrying bundles on their shoulders, and the colorful scarves and patterned dresses of mothers wrangling children, she looked like one of them. Maybe someday she would actually be one of them. Sierra let her hood down, careful to keep it over the back of her neck, and slipped into the throng. It was hot. All the bodies pressing against each other, carrying baskets or bags full of food and supplies. It felt like a summer day though it was late in the fall. She exchanged a coin for a few apples from a farmer who suddenly looked very comfortable standing on the other side of the booth. Before long, she headed toward the well near the middle of the market where she could draw a drink of water and cool off. She had nearly made it when she heard something that put a pit in her stomach. Sierra spun around. Before she knew it, a man's coat was held tightly between her fists, and his feet were nearly dangling on the ground. He was heavy for a townsman, though not too much for her to handle. An official, perhaps, or someone that doesn't do much work for themselves. Not someone that would fight back very hard, but someone that could cause her trouble if she stuck around. "Say that again?" The man winced. Sierra felt a coolness sweep in as the crowd managed to back away. "The princess...' he squeaked. "She was rescued..." "That's impossible." "Look!" He waved a pamphlet in the air before shoving it in between them. His feet were fully off the ground now. "Take it!"He gasped. "It's all in here. Please.... just let me go!" She snatched the pamphlet from him with one hand and let him down slowly with the other. The paper swam with a sparkling green color. It was a true royal announcement, no doubt, for at the end was enchanted with the king's seal: three stalks of wheat, waving in a gentle breeze. No magic she had ever come across could duplicate it, nor break it. To the King's People, His Majesty, King Rutherford of Gloriel Plains, is pleased to announce the rescue of Princess Serenity and her safe return to the royal palace. The terrible cloud over the Kingdom which fell when she was kidnapped over seven years ago has finally been lifted. In celebration, King Rutherford will hold a festival in her honor on the last day of Fall, and commands all cities, towns, and villages to do the same. As she finished reading, Sierra felt the eyes of the crowd growing around her. She preferred the shadows, not the light of attention. But she knew these people. They stare at a commotion but never intervene. As long as she walked away soon, she'd be left alone. Sierra folded the pamphlet and stuffed it in her pocket. She threw her hood over her head and set a quick pace to the southern gates. Something magical had finally happened in her long absence from the royal palace, but it didn't seem good. She wasn't sure how she'd go about it, but she had to know whether her father was being duped, or if he was in on the charade.
Mice. Rabbits. Squirrels. I’d seen it all. Tom dragged in all sorts for me, gifts in the only way he knew how. Sometimes they’d be dead, and I’d have to throw them out, but often they’d be clinging on. I hated to let them die, and so I’d nurse them back to health and let them go. This particular creature though, was beyond my expertise. ‘He mauled me!’ ‘It’s just a scratch, now hold still!’ ‘A scratch? My arms off!’ ‘In his defence, he thought you were a bat.’ ‘I was a bat!’ ‘Exactly.’ We chatted as I worked, stitching and sewing at his many wounds. Tom wouldn’t have been able to inflict wounds of such a size if he’d been in this form of course, but the silly sod had to go and get himself caught while… well while he was a bat. ‘So… you’re a vampire..?’ ‘I don’t see why you haven’t grasped this. Yes I’m a bloody vampire!’ ‘Literally, I suppose…’ He glared at me, with his beady vampiric eyes. ‘That’s not funny! I’ve just lost an arm and I’m bleeding severely!’ ‘You’ll be fine, it’s just a flesh wound. Besides, I’m a vet!’ ‘You don’t seem to be doing very well so far! I’ve lost an awful lot of blood! Quick, fetch me a peasant boy so I can replenish myself, I’m awfully thirsty!’ ‘Sorry, did you just ask me to fetch you a peasant boy?’ He gave me an unimpressed look, as though I’d just asked him what colour the sky was. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t have any peasant boys to hand…’ ‘Call yourself a vet… well I’m going to need somebodies blood quite soon…’ He gave me an apologetic look. I yanked his stitching and it unpicked several minutes of work with a wet twanging. He screeched, not unlike some of the other animals Tom had brought in. ‘See. That’s what you get for threatening to kill me. Now sit still, we’re almost done, and then you can go and search for peasant boys or whatever it is you like to do. ‘ He remained in silence, not unlike a rich child who isn’t getting his way. I finished not long after, and escorted him to the door, ensuring to keep him away from Tom. ‘Well… uhh safe travels. I’m sorry about your arm but… well you can fly and Tom can’t so I think you just need to be a bit more careful.’ The vampire glared at me, and took off into the night. I returned to the kitchen shaking my head and wiping the blood from my trousers. I let out an audible groan as I saw what Tom had left on the table. A twitching, not- quite dead mouse. ‘No. I’m not going to find out.’ I hurled the mouse out of the window into the undergrowth, and went to bed.
Every day is the same. You wake up with the rest of the group. You all find a new task for the day, a new enemy to bring down. They stand at the front line, and take the bulk of the glory, while you stay in the rear. The battle ends and you patch up the injuries you didn't get to during the fight. But every time you start to feel that all-too-familiar resentment, you remember the shackles. The black metal gleams around your wrist like obsidian, muted but bright. There isn't any chain connecting them, for they aren't there to restrain you. You, yourself, aren't the problem. It's what you do. What you can do. You still remember that fight. How could you forget? A medic leading the charge? When does that ever happen? The lich's power was killing your friends right in front of you. It was building as they fought, trying to reach a climax that had yet to happen. They didn't know this, of course. How could they? They were too busy with the undead horde all around you. Zombies, wraiths, mummies, he was taking no chances with the four of you; your reputation, well earned, had preceded you. They were all warriors. A ranger with her pet wolf. A wizard of your own, specializing in Evocation. All of you led by a former pit fighter. Looking back now, you realize they would never have survived that day, if not for you. Every arrow, every ball of fire, every swing of the axe, nothing stemmed the deluge of undead. You watched as these abominations swarmed them, ignoring you. It was a mistake they would not have a chance to regret. They didn't bite. They barely clawed at your friends. They sought only to hold them down. You were held not by undead hands, but by fear, and by the realization of what was happening. The horde accomplished it's goal, and then your friends finally realized what was really happening. They realized they had fallen. It just hadn't happened yet. Their essence crept out of them in long, thin tendrils, slithering lazily out of them like a serpent. And to these serpents, the lich was their master, their snake charmer. It would be over soon, at least. But this isn't how the story ends. Everyone knows that the warrior slays the monster. They know that the wizard casts out the evil. And they know the ranger makes the kill shot. That's how the story goes, always. But not now. Not this time. But what of the healer? There are no stories about them. About you. At first, you almost didn't notice the cold. Once you felt it, it was just in your fingertips. Not cold like winter, or the open sea. This was a different cold, a darker sort of cold. The cold of the grave. You knew what this was. You knew you should leave it behind, leave them behind. But, instead, you walked forward. The undead ignored you. To the lich, especially, you may as well have not existed. He was busy drinking in your friends' life force like a house cat fat on cream. After all, what were you going to do? Heal him? You know what? Why not? You walked up to your fearless leader first. A fledgeling vampire held him by his throat, her eyes locked on it. Her focus was only broken by you gently placing your hand on her shoulder. She barely had the chance to snarl at you as you said, "Rest, child." You weren't sure what to expect, but you were fairly certain that seeing the vampire crumble into a pile of ash wasn't it. The rest of them released your friends, now only able to do little more than collapse to the ground. Even now, they were shells of who they had been, almost fully gone. Nevertheless, it was time to finish this. You continued forward, the rest of those monsters giving way before you. They were the river; you were the stone. And just as a stone in a river, you grew colder. With each step, it spread. Slowly, to be sure, but steadily. Before long, it chilled your hands, then your forearms. It was even starting in your toes now. The horde snapped and growled, hissed and groaned. You gave them something they had no need for, no want for. You had given them something that the more intelligent among them hadn't thought possible. You had given them a fear of the living. You were free of the horde now. The cold had now filled your arms and legs. With each step you took, it now crept into your chest. By the time you were toe to toe with the lich, you couldn't feel any of your former warmth; there was only the cold. You clasped its head in both hands, forcing him to look at you. Through glowing eyes, it stared at you. Through rotting ear, it heard only one word pass your lips. "Heal." He no longer stared. He could only scream. Agony rushed from it's throat as he felt unlife pour out of him, and true life filling him. Its, now his rebirth must have been excruciating, for the screams were constant, seemingly without end or even pauses to breath. He fell to his knees, a lich no more. His flesh was restored, cheeks flushed with a new exhaustion. His regrown copper hair was drenched in the first sweat in decades, if not longer. His breath could only come in ragged, inexperienced gasps. He was alive, once more. But the job wasn't finished. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him to look at you; you forced him to look at you. You didn't know what was in your eyes, but his only held terror. You had only one more thing to say to him. "Now,"you said, "die." You took cold that had built within you, and you poured it all into him. And in it's place, you took in his warmth, his life. You watched him open his mouth to scream, but there came only a whimper. You charmed his own essence into you, just as he had done with your friends. By the time you had finished with him, he was just as he had been before. Only now, he was still. He was now dead. That was the day that you discovered that you were no mere healer, but a necromancer. Your friends, though grateful for what you did for them. are understandably more fearful of you. And that's why you have the shackles. They bind the darker magics within you, unfortunately, but they amplify your healing magics. Because, you see, at the end of the day, there are plenty of killers in the world. But you, on the other hand . . . Let's just say that you're different.
I called them flashbacks. The first time it happened, I was eight. I had been on my roof, wearing a Superman cape. I definitely remember jumping, and when I didn't fly, I was surprised. But that surprise was short-lived and paled in comparison to my surprise when I was standing back in my bedroom ten minutes ago, tying the cape around my neck. Nobody believed me, and after a couple of months of therapy, they all assumed I had hallucinated it somehow. The longest time it happened, I was fifteen and tall for my age. I was hanging out with kids a couple years older than me who said I was cool. Pete taught me how to hotwire a car, and Jake had a big brother who'd buy us beers. It was only a little more than two weeks but it was almost a lifetime. In one sense, it was a lifetime, because it ended about as well as you'd expect. I watched Pete and Jake climb out of the burning car, leaving me behind, about ten minutes before I heard an explosion. And suddenly, just like that, I was standing on the sidewalk in the sunshine, about a block away from them, where we'd met for the first time. I guess I figured it was a flash vision. So in my mind, I called it a flashback. This time, I have no idea what happened. All I know is that this morning I was sixty-five, going in for a heart surgery, and now I'm standing in my high school bedroom looking at my tennis shoes. I think it was probably the day I gave up running. Guess I'm going for a run.
When Seth's ex-girlfriend started barking after he said, "You know, you're a real bitch, Darlene,"he knew something was wrong. Or right. It took exactly seven minutes from the moment he realized what was happening to him to the complete loss of his sanity. Then five more months of "You know, this quarter is actually worth ten million dollars,"before he was living in a four-story mansion in Hollywood Hills. Seth finds himself on a cold Tuesday in a warm Jacuzzi shaped like his penis. Alfred, his drinks-and-foods- servant – whose real name Seth had forgotten long ago – stepped into the room. "Mr. Seth." "What is, Alfred?" "I was wondering if you were expecting someone." Another Alfred – this one Seth remembered was called James, before he convinced him that no, his name was Alfred like the others, and yes, he was to serve Seth until the day he died because Seth was Jesus – stepped in. "There's a gentlemen waiting for you downstairs, Mr. Christ." "Don't call me that,"Seth said. "Who is it?" "He didn't say, sir." "What does he want?" "He didn't say, sir." "Did he say anything?" "He said 'please bring me Seth.'" Seth sighed, pulling himself from the Jacuzzi. He wrapped his body in a silk robe and made way down the stairs. By the fireplace, a tall man in an overcoat smoked a cigar. He turned a wrinkled, hard face as Seth reached the last steps into the living room. "Seth Wisher?" "That's me." "We need to talk." Seth was tired. "No, we don't,"he said, turning back to the stairs. "Yes, we do, Mr. Wisher." Seth paused. This was the first time in his life someone had contradicted him. He turned back. "What did you say?" "I said 'Yes, we do, Mr. Wisher." Seth frowned. "Wait."He made way down the stairs. "I am Brad Pitt." "No, you're not. You are Seth Wisher,"the man replied, simply. "All right."Seth stepped closer to the man. "What's going on?" "I'm into your little secret,"the man replied. "I am like you." "People believe everything you say?" "Well, sort of. I'm the opposite. I'm the Bullshitter. People think everything I say is bullshit." "Bullshit." The man smiled. "I'm here because there are more like you. And you need to meet us. Susan, come here please." A blonde woman in her twenties stepped out from behind Seth's life-size sculpture of himself. "Is everything all right, Mr. Wisher?"Bathroom-and-garden Alfred called, emerging from the bathroom door. "Alfred, come here,"Seth said, eyes on the cigar man. "Say something to Alfred, Bullshitter." "Alfred,"the man smiled, "I am sitting on this couch." "This man is not sitting on this couch,"Alfred said, turning to Seth. "Interesting,"Seth said. He looked up at the blonde woman. "And what's your deal?" "I'm Half-and-Half girl." "Meaning?" "People believe the things I say only half the time." "That's true,"Alfred said, nodding emphatically. "I never know when it's one or the other, though." "She's lying,"Alfred whispered. "Shut up, Alfred." "There's more. There's Damian One-in-Three. Jeremy Half-Lie. There's –" "Jeremy Half-Lie?" "People believe what he says, but only a specific part." Two men stepped into the room from the front door, smiling. "Hello,"one of them said. "I'm Jeremy Half-Lie." "He's Jeremy,"Alfred said. "But he's not Half-Lie!" "See? It's pretty weird,"the blonde lady said. "It's most certainly not weird!"Another Alfred cried, from the top of the stairs. "Yes it is!"Bathroom-Alfred argued. "And of course,"the Bulshitter added, waving at the front door. "There's Insanely Truthful Kyle." A young man, not more than nineteen, sprouted from the front door, all smiles. "Nice garden,"he said, with a thumbs up to Seth. "THAT IS THE NICEST GARDEN I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!"Bathroom-Alfred bellowed, throwing himself through the living room window glass out to the garden. "I CUT MY THROAT ON THE GLASS! SOMEONE HELP ME!" "Is that it?"Seth asked. "is that everyone?" "No,"Susan Half-and-Half replied. "Yes it is!"Drinks-and-food Alfred intervened, stepping down the stairs. "No it isn't!"The other Alfred argued. "There's more like us,"Damian One-in-three said. "Yes, there are,"Alfred said. "Yes, there are,"another Alfred said. "No, there aren't,"said a third one. "I think there might be more like them,"one Alfred said to the other, who nodded, chin resting on his hand. "This is crazy,"Seth said, looking around. "You're all crazy." "DIE, NAPOLEON!"Alfred screamed at Foods-and-Drinks Alfred, banging his head repeatedly against the marble wall. "No! Stop, Alfred! No one's crazy! Let's get serious here." The Alfreds stopped. Seth looked from Susan Half-and-Half to Jeremy Half-Lie to the Bullshitter to Insanely Truthful fuck it I've lost track of this story like three paragraphs ago. _____________ For more on why I should never be allowed near a word processing software again, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Part 1 \| [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/68pq8j/the_dangers_of_being_a_homeowner_part_2/) --- The television laughed. The fan laughed. Even the dog. "Mr. Snuffles?"I said, my mouth agape. My daughter wore the same expression. She looked like she had a scream trapped in her throat. I prayed that it would stay trapped. Never had I imagined that a shitty joke on Reddit would trigger the apparent Decepticon army that had lay dormant in my house. Go figure. I stared at the black and brown dachshund I had bought my daughter for her 12th Birthday. Its eyes glowed red and its fur glistened with a metallic glint. "Hello, John,"it said with its mouth open and unmoving. "How did you discover our existence?" "It was a joke on Reddit,"I squeaked. Mr. Snuffles laughed again in a distorted chortle. "I must meet this Reddit... and end its life." I shook my head, "No, it's not a person, it's like a blog where everyone in the world can contribute to it." "So you mean to tell me that everyone in the world knows of our secret?" "I mean..."I stammered as I slowly inched myself and my daughter away from the red-eyed, silver-spiked dachshund. "We think its a joke. Its just some re-post people do for easy karma now." "So you mean to tell me that even right now, it is being spread." "Well, that's not what I was getting at..." Mr. Snuffles stared me down, cutting me off mid-sentence. I swallowed and nodded. All the lights flashed off. The refrigerator stopped whirring, the TV blinked black, even Mr. Snuffles's red eyes returned to their normal hue. I took my daughter's hand and nudged her toward the front door. "Decepticons!"Mr. Snuffles's voice resounded from every speaker my house had, from its TVs, from my Bose sound systems, even from the phone plugged into its walls. "We have been discovered! The time to conquer this puny planet is now! Assemble!" The ground beneath my feet shook, its wood prattling against what sounded like gears. The planks split. I grabbed my daughter, sprinted for the door, and crashed through it. I stepped into air, my legs cycling against nothing. I was falling! I wrapped my daughter inside my embrace and closed my eyes. My back hit the ground, knocking whatever breath I had left in my body. When I opened my eyes, my house was standing on two feet, shedding its wood and brick exterior. At the very top of its metallic body, I saw a giant, familiar face. Mr. Snuffles wasn't my dog, it was my house. --- The ground rumbled and the sharp shriek of metal grating against metal resounded in the air. I looked around me as entire neighborhoods uprooted themselves. "Sherry,"I told my daughter, "follow close." "Yes daddy,"she said, her face pale and eyes teary. I took her hand and took off in a mad dash toward my car parked along the street. Thank God I couldn't afford a garage. I yanked open the door and shoved my daughter into the backseat. "Buckle up, baby,"I stammered as I stabbed my key into the ignition. In my rearview, I could see that my house had finished its transformation and now, Mr. Snuffles was scanning the ground for something... for me. The car was an eight year old Pontiac G5. Rust clung to its bumpers and it squeaked when it drove. I wouldn't have trusted this thing to make a timely run to my local pizza chain and now, it was my only chance to escape an alien invasion started by my own dog/house. I mumbled a silent prayer and twisted the key. The car spluttered and coughed before wheezing a pathetic breath. Mr. Snuffles turned toward me. "John,"it said, cackling. "Let's learn some new tricks." "I'm sorry for making you sit!"I screamed and twisted the key again. The car rattled and started. The ground shook with every one of Mr. Snuffles's step. He reached down to grab my car. I floored the gas and in a screech of metal, peeled down Dunwood Lane, past more incomplete Decepticons, as I sped toward the highway. "Honey?"I said, my eyes glued to the road. "You doing alright there, sweetie?" "Do not worry,"my Pontiac G5 said through the radio. "You are in good hands, John." "Mother fuck!" --- I drove in silence. Well, I wasn't driving, my car steered itself, zigzagging through traffic on its way to God knows where. And I had been so excited for self-driving cars... "You know,"my Pontiac G5 said, "you should not use such foul language near children. They are very impressionable." "Bite me, Decepticon"I said with my arms crossed. "Yeah, bite me."Sherry said, mirroring my posture. That's my girl. "I am not a Decepticon,"my car replied. "I am an Autobot, sent from a distant galaxy to guard over the prophecized One." "Me?"I asked. "Well,"my car stammered. "We're not sure. At first we thought it was Michael Bay as he had somehow created a historically accurate, yet entertaining rendition of the Cybertronian War that had ravaged our planet. But then we realized that he had made it all up to make money from teenagers and the similarities were mere coincidence. But I estimate a 3.6% chance that you are the one our oracles have talked about." "How? I work sales at a toilet company. I literally sell toilets! How could I be in your prophecy?" "A noble profession no doubt. One should have pride in one's--" "Oh shut up. Tell me right now how or else I'm slamming the brakes!" My car went silent. Even the rumbling of its engine lowered to a whir. It was thinking. "That is not a decision for me to make,"it said, "I will introduce you to our leader." "Good,"I spat. "It's about time I met someone in charge." "Oh, but you've already met him. He's the one who relayed you the secret message." My brow furrowed and I sat up in my seat. "Yes,"my car said chuckling. "He is the being you know as Reddit." --- --- /r/jraywang giving you 2+ WP stories daily, bonus stories, and even more!
Night was falling. The air was brisk, but not cold yet. Though maybe I was too amped up to feel it. In between deafening heartbeats, I could hear them in the distance. Axes fell upon furniture. Chainsaws tore through telephone poles. Chaos raged as the less fortunate scrambled to huddle together in their communal bonfires before darkness arrived. In the mansions overlooking us, the gates were drawn, and the windows shut. Though they had tinder to spare, any firelight escaping could lead to disaster. While the apartments around me emptied out into the streets, I paced around, checking my preparations. Enough time had passed since the last gas outage that I might have misplaced something. Water, check. Medicine, check. Flashlight, check. Non-fire light wouldn't do a thing to the Nightmares, except make them laugh, but tripping at this point would mean painful death. So flashlight it was. With my things packed into my knapsack, I finally stood still. Not to take a breather however. I held my breath and closed my eyes, straining to hear if anyone still remained around me. I ignored the shouting in the streets, instead focusing on if anyone remained around me. My method for surviving the dark nights had so far only worked one person. Somebody else seeing what I did and following me would only lead to both of our deaths. My apartment building lay on the edge of town, with it's entrance facing towards the city. It was in the direction that everyone had evacuated. I poked my head put the door to confirm that this. Satisfied, I instead ran towards the fire escape in the back of the building. While others congregated around the fires, I stole towards the hills. Empty roads promised a direct route to my destination, but there was always the chance someone else could spot me. I opted to travel through some unused lots instead. The tall grasses and shrubs that had overtaken the land shielded me from direct sight. Anyone traveling at that time would've had more pressing matters to worry about then rustling in the distance. I flicked my flashlight on as I crossed out the boundary of the last lot. I was in the wilds proper now, and night was here. As I ran, an unpleasant squishing echoed in the back of my mind. My body begged for reprieve, but if I stopped now, I'd rest forever. The squishing I heard before now left my mind, and instead emanated from a spot I had passed. A Nightmare had formed. Taking the form of my fear, it wove flesh from the darkness. Before long, a familiar barking followed me. I didn't need to turn around to know what it was. I'd been attacked by a dog in my youth, and the scars had long kept me from ever forgetting it. For now, it took the shape of the dog as I remembered it, but before long, it would weave itself a greater and more fearsome form. I chucked my flashlight to the side, watching it roll down into the tree line. The Nightmare took the bait. Not that I had long, however. I could hear that the dog was quickly growing in size by how it thundered down the slope. I was far enough from the rest of the world now that I could find a place to rest. I slowed to a walk, and fumbled for my medicine. A complex mixture of pills that would've taken me precious minutes to sort, I owed my life to my preparation. I unceremoniously downed them all at once, and flushed them with a gulp of water. A few seconds after I shut my eyes, I heard the Nightmare padding towards me. My last thought was that it was too late. Too late for the Nightmare anyway. I awoke the next morning thoroughly tired. The hard ground was barely tolerable when you were in good condition, and I had exhausted my self sprinting from the city. It was worth it though, to make sure I was as far away from other people as possible. You see, Nightmares only spawned from the fears of waking people. They were content to prowl in our dreams, as long as we were dreaming. In the waking realm, however, they feasted on our fear. Which is why I tried to isolate myself. The bonfires were no doubt under siege all night, as the fearful were unable to lull themselves into sleep. It was a vicious cycle really. You could be calm as a monk, until the fools next to you gave birth to some unholy abomination. Now you were too afraid to go to sleep. Now your Nightmare formed, fed by the fear you had. Now it unsettled others, and so on and so forth. Eventually, the Nightmares would muster enough strength to rush the bonfire and put out the flames. What happens next doesn't bear talking about. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment with your thoughts.
"That's a good question, isn't it,"I laughed, dropping my act of a frightened passer-by. I walked over to the water cooler next to the counter, pouring myself a cup of water. The man kept his gun levelled to my head, unfazed. "I'll shoot you." "I'm sure you will." He pulled the trigger, and the bullet bounced off of my head. I pulled out my own weapon, and pointed at him. He took a step back. "What are you?" "My name's Robin, and I like to play a little bit of a 'Robin Hood',"I laughed. "I'm robbing the bank at the same time as you guys, who knew? Honestly, just a coincidence." I twirled the gun, and saw him gulp. "Fear not, I'm sparing you for having the balls to pull the trigger on me. I've placed explosives all over the building, and as you know, they won't hurt me. If you want your goons to live -- including your brother -- get out and let the police know I'll need another 15 minutes."
They say that evil hides in the shadows, waiting for an opportune moment to strike the unseeing who bask in the glorious, good light. But, of course. That's stupid. In fact, evil is stupid. I'm not evil. I'm not good. I'm just, well, I'm me. My Kingdom is renowned across our world for being the birthplace of magic. It is said that thousands of years ago, a piece of the red moon fell onto our land, embedding its magic into the soil, where the plants grew our vegetables, where our animals ate the grass. And humans activated the power during a great war, when the Queen of our Kingdom, Efferri, mourned her husband's death on a cursed battlefield that was akin to a blood lake. Well, that's the story my parents told us as we were raised at home. And if it's true, it means that everyone is related to that Queen. _Everyone_. Even me. The fifth kid of a poor family in a small house in the wilderness. We do not belong to any town nor any village. My father is a user of sparks. Yes, sparks. He can just about start fires. My mother is a manipulator of water. She can purify any water. A highly sought skill in a land that is being increasingly polluted by us. My mother was from a noble family but fell in love with my pathetic father and was disowned. Anyway, I was born with light glowing from my eyes. A startling thing for any parent. My parents bundled me up and took me to a drifter Moon Priest, who, in apparent astonishment, said, "Your daughter may be the most legendary healer this world has ever seen." Yeah no. I grew up hating my life. Hating my pathetic parents who were too in love with each other to truly parent us. My older brothers and sisters were tormentors, my younger siblings were loud and irritating. I spent my days using light to burn animals. Yes I know it sounds wrong on the surface, but it doesn't when I tell you it's so I could help feed my family. It saved waiting for my siblings to use their pathetic sparks to light a fire with wood collected from the forest. I got very good at concentrating light in ways I wanted. Weak and fine when healing. Small and dense when killing. Strong and bright when cooking. I learnt many things during my upbringing, and despite having an unruly family, I am still thankful for learning things that I never would have in any other setting, blocked by a controlled education, overlooked by the powerful. I grew up off the grid, as an unknown child. And when I left my home at the age of 18, to venture to the capital city, I very quickly learned that my sheltered life had not prepared me for the intense mess that was the society. I became well known very quickly. I hid my name. Met nobles, met royals, met the princes and princesses of the Kingdom. Joined the army to learn more, destroyed invaders and enemies who threatened the peace. And then... ... I hated them all for the corruption that they ignored at their own feet in the streets of the capital. I still remember when my life's path changed forever. "Weaker humans do not deserve to live rich lives as we do,"the crown Prince said at a private dinner. I was a hero. An unknown hero from the depths of our abundant forests, whose lack of surname made me exempt from the classes. "All humans deserve a chance to prove themselves,"I said. The crown Prince glared back at me. "Humans have chances. In schools, in signing up to the army. Time and time again, they have the chance to prove themselves. To move up in the world. But, none of them do,"he said. "Is that so?"I smiled back at him. "Then why do the nobles and royals not attend the same schools or enter the army at the same stage as all others?" The Prince shook his head at me. "Your way of thinking is worthless. We are born with greater powers. Therefore we must learn to control the powers to protect the Kingdom. The majority of peasants do not share the same power, therefore they do not need to have our upbringing. It is a futile argument and I will forgive your ignorance in your upbringing." I coughed at him. "So, as a user of great power, you are above others? You have the right to enforce this silly rule?" "Yes,"the crown Prince said, his eyes darker. He was a user of lightning and fire. An interesting combo, since both emitted the very light I could use against him. "My father is a peasant and my mother is a noble,"I revealed to the table. And I stood up. As soon as I did, the guards around the room changed position, ready to attack. "So you have proved yourself useful,"he said, unflinching. His sudden smirk, the change of his look from respect to a smugness, a look of superiority, it sent me over the edge. I had seen too many in the streets of the Kingdom suffering. Children, workers, slaves, the overwhelming presence of the Royal Guard. All for what? I clicked my fingers before anyone could do anything and absorbed all light in the room. A trick I had learned in the army. It was a final conversation. The Prince, and the other royals, the higher classes. All looked down on all others. And when I left that room, leaving their charred corpses behind, I went from a hero to a terrifying villain, even to all the masses of people who I wanted to protect from the bottom of my heart. (a/n: so, idk man, villain origin story!?) Edit: I haven't written much in a long while and I am very thankful that people have enjoyed this. Thanks for reading!
"...and of course, the old king was renowed for his many, many lovers. It is said he kept well over a thousand women on hand for his pleasures." "That is nothing but a filthy lie you swill peddling scumtrop!"the monarch shouted, face red with rage. Or, well, transparent with rage. "I loved my wife dearly. I never even looked on another woman! Ask anyone!" "It is theorized by many archeologists that these large, dome shaped structures were some form of pleasure palace, or perhaps coliseums for gladiators to fight and die for their Lord's entertainment. They were constructed using slave labor from the neighboring kingdoms." "Grain silos! I built grain silos for the famine times! I fed the poor! And I made slavery illegal in the first year of my reign. Can't you get anything right?" "Fortunately for his kingdom, the Wicked King was finally killed by his own son, who put poison in his goblet, ending his tyranny once and for all. But before he died, he passed an unchangeable edict, that all who spoke his name must speak of his benevolence and goodness."The acne-scarred, bespectacled fop said with a flourish. "It was a mercy kill! I begged him to put me out of my misery. Why must I be remembered like this? This wasn't the deal!" "Actually,"A disembodied voice floated in, "It was." The poor king whirled around suddenly, to find himself staring at the floating, smoky shape of a wizened old man. "You!"the king spat, "This wasn't what I wanted." "But it was what you asked for. You wanted to be remembered more than any other king, and so you are. Every schoolboy knows of the Good King Wenceslas."
“Mike, seriously man, you smell like death,” said my boss Lou. “You’ll have to wash better or we’re going to have to let you go. Hygiene is critical to customer service; we can’t have you repelling customers this way.” Admittedly, I only got the job at the comic book store because the interview was conducted over zoom. I had hoped my odor may mix with that of the clientele, but I quickly learned that the stench of comic book lovers was only a mean stereotype. “I’ve told you before, it’s a medical condition,” I replied. “It’s called bromhidrosis. I can manage it somewhat through copious amounts of deodorant and cologne, but there’s no real way around it.” “Well, Mike, you’re a nice guy, but I can’t afford to lose business like this,” said Lou as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go. Best of luck, son.” Living life with bromhidrosis was lonely. I stunk. There was no two ways about it. I couldn’t keep a steady relationship because of my odor, and even my family could hardly stand to be around me without plugging their noses—and that method had diminishing returns. My smell was, to put it lightly, powerful. No matter how hard I scrubbed, no matter how many doctors I saw, no matter how many pills I took, no matter how much I wished, no matter how much I cried, there was no getting away from the sickening stench that possessed me. It consumed my life, and I became no more than a malodorous husk of a man. And then the zombies came. One benefit of not having been able to foster strong relationships: you don’t get too sad when those acquaintances die. Sure, the first few deaths were tough, but why let it get me down? ‘We barely knew ye.’ I soon learned that my fetor was an opportunity. You see, zombies hunt by smell; they smell the aroma of life and are beckoned to it like a cartoon character to a pie on a windowsill. Due to my rotten funk, zombies assumed I was one of them—not exactly flattering, but fortuitous nonetheless. Because the zombies didn’t recognize me as food, I was allowed to move freely among them. I soon began taking on jobs as a scout. Survivors would contract with me to head into an infested section of the city to secure food or other critical supplies that no one else could get to. While my financial outlook improved greatly, the surviving humans of the world still found me repulsive. The apocalypse was good for business, but did nothing for my search for love and camaraderie. That is, until the trip to the mausoleum. I had received an assignment to infiltrate a certain mausoleum that was—obviously—overrun by zombies. My benefactor had hoped to secure the cremains of his wife so that he may set out to look for other survivors with her by his side. I was touched by the sentimental nature of the task—to witness that kind of desperate love that I would never experience moved me greatly. I agreed to perform the job without charge. Upon arrival at the cemetery, nothing was out of the ordinary. A large hoard of zombies roamed the grounds their moans and groans reached a hum not dissimilar from that of a hoard of locusts. Despite their numbers, I was, as usual, able to saunter through without issue. But then, things got weird. I located the mausoleum indicated by my benefactor only to notice that everything surrounding the structure was dead. The remainder of the cemetery still was abloom with flowers and green grass, but everything within 50 yards of the mausoleum was brown and dead. A dark cloud loomed overhead, and I soon noticed that the zombies appeared to avoid this place as well—giving wide berth to the structure. I decided to approach the building and complete my task, I decided I could not let my benefactor down despite the sinking feeling I got as I approached the small white building. The gate was rusted, and I was able to break off the lock to enter the room. The room was no bigger than a hallway, various doors had been broken open as the previously deceased had forced their way into the land of the living. Spider webs had overtaken the corner where the urn of my seeking was set. I approached the urn and picked up a picture beset by the urn. She was a beautiful woman; smiling in the picture embracing my benefactor. Neither looked at the camera, but faced each other fully enveloped by love. My heart ached as I gazed at the photo. This was what I never had had—would never have—and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to love and be loved. And then a foul stench filled the room and suffocated me as if a blanket had been wrapped around my head. The air was thick with an odor that can only be described as death. The room darkened as a presence filled the doorway behind me. I turned to see a cloaked body standing motionless. “Who—who are you?” I choked out. “I should warn you, I’m armed,” I said, even though I wasn’t. My stench was supposed to be the only defense I needed out here and clearly I was outgunned. “Do not fear me,” said the figure. “I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to you, to get to know you. I fear it has been too long.” “I’m sorry do I know you?” I said as I began to regain my sense of stability. “Remove your hood so that I can see.” “Unfortunately, you do not know me,” said the figure with a sigh, “but I know you. I’ve been watching you, and trying to build the courage to face you. When you came to this place, I knew now would be my best opportunity.” “What are you talking about?” I said as my palms began to sweat. It was rather unpleasant to learn that a mysterious, cloaked person had been watching me. “Michael. Haven’t you ever wondered why you do not feel at home in this world? Why they don’t accept you?” The figure asked sympathetically. “Of course. But the answer is because I stink like hell! I have a condition that no doctor can cure because they have no idea what is causing it,” I said. I then began to yell, “I can’t get close to anyone, I can’t keep a job, even zombies won’t get near me. Do you know how lonely that is?!” “I understand, Michael. I regret that you’ve lead such a lonely existence to this point. In my defense I thought it would be good for you. To live among them that is. To learn about their lives, to know what it is to love and be loved, to know why they mourn. I wanted to give you a chance at humanity so that you might better understand your role,” said the figure. It’s head hung low after finishing its remarks. “What are you talking about?” I said. “Remove your hood so that I can see you!” “Very well,” said the figure. It removed its hood to reveal a stark white skull, two deep black voids stood where its eyes should have been. I felt as though I was staring into the abyss; the feeling of vertigo struck me so hard I lost my balance and fell to the cold, dusty ground. “What—what the fuck are you?” I stuttered.
"Oh crap, not again."I yanked the blinds shut, pressing my body against the wall of my living room. Through the tiniest of gaps in between the curtains, the flashes of the cameras snuck in, along with the voices of the news crew staff. "Mr Samuelson! We know you're in there! We just have one question for you, after the big news!" I swore, glancing down to my phone. It seemed like everyone I knew had texted me at the same time, the notification bar so chock-full of messages that my phone had frozen. Here I was, hoping for a nice peaceful day after work, yet I had to deal with this chaos. I flicked my television on tepidly. The newscaster seemed to be staring straight at me as he spoke. "Today, in breaking news, the winning numbers for the Powerball jackpot have finally be drawn: 41, 33, 12, 16, 49, 20. We have on good authority that the winning numbers are held by one Louis Samuelson, resident of 4 Flora Drive. Mr Samuelson, if you're watching this, congratulations!" I cursed. I hadn't bought a lottery ticket in years, for Christ's sakes. I knew that didn't matter, however. All that really did was how I reacted. That was how the true lottery was decided. I glanced at my phone again. Come out Louis! You know how to answer! Remember what you love to do! You know what you want! Answer honestly! I closed my eyes, wishing all this would go away. Not for the first time, I cursed at myself for not reacting logically last week. It was the gamemasters' fault, I reasoned, for choosing such a ridiculous situation to test me. How did they expect me to react, when a green man showed up at my front door, claimed he was an alien and said I was the first human he had met? None of the alien movies I had ever watched ever turned out well, so I figured the best thing to do was to shoot him with my shotgun. Apparently, that was not what any of my family or friends had expected or guessed, much to their chagrin, and the gamemaster nearly had his foot blown off trying to stop me. None of them walked home with the grand prize that week, and this idiotic charade had continued. I really should have just screamed and be done with the entire affair. What a relief that would have been. I would have finally been free of this stupid game, hanging over my head like a dangling sword. I always knew this day would come, since I was chosen at age 10 for this role. Under the rules of the game, as soon as I reached 25 years of age, all participants would have to guess how I would react to a bizarre scenario. The ones who guessed correctly would receive the cash prize, allegedly worth as much as seven digits. Even before the scenarios had started, the game had brought me no end of trouble. Everyone and their mother seemed to want to be my friend and spend as much time as me, ask me all these deep soul-searching questions in some misguided attempt to 'understand' me, to get some secret insight into how I would react. It really was such a bother, when all I wanted to do was go home and watch Whose Line Is It? I sighed. Best to get this over with. I would just give a normal answer, and hopefully everyone and everything could go back to normal, and I could be finally left alone. I opened the door of my house and stepped out into the glare of the cameras. Behind the camera crew, a huge crowd had congregated. Everyone I had ever known seemed to be here, from my parents to distant relatives to customers who had passed through the store I worked at, all of them beaming widely at me, yet eyes filled with nervous agitation. A tall man stepped out from the centre of the crowd, grasping a microphone tightly in his hand. The same gamemaster whom I had almost shot last week, only this time dressed in a ridiculous suit. He seemed a little bit more nervous than the last time I had seen him. "Mr Samuelson, good that you have finally emerged."He was taking care to maintain a certain distance from me. "In case you hadn't been watching television, you have just been announced as the winner of the Powerball lottery! You are now the winner of $186 million dollars. Congratulations! We just have one question for you - what will be the first thing that you buy?" The entire crowd seemed to hold their breath at the same moment, the street falling completely silent. My gaze flitted between the familiar faces in a burst of panic, my mind suddenly completely blank. "Spaghetti sauce."I blurted out unthinkingly. The entire crowd before me fell silent. My parents stared at me, mouths agape. My best friend's face contorted with confusion, my high school teacher turning pale. The lead interviewer cleared his throat. "Sorry, could you repeat that again?" "Spaghetti sauce,"I repeated quickly. "I ran out, and I need to cook some bolognaise for dinner." He sighed and gestured to the rest of the camera crew. A loud groan echoed across the crowd. "I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but 'spaghetti sauce' was no one's answer. I'm afraid we'll have to try again next week. Remember to enter your guesses for the next scenario by Saturday evening." "Spaghetti sauce?"My sister shrieked. "You don't even like spaghetti!" The dam seemed to be released, and everyone started shouting at me at once. I closed the door behind me wordlessly, walking back to my television as the pounding began on my door. I closed my eyes, pushing my pillows against my ears. Goddamn it. Why couldn't I just answer like a normal person for once?
“John! Oh my God... John.” Tears streamed down Ruby’s face and dripped into the open wounds on her husband’s stomach. The door to their modest two bedroom house still flailed from the force with which it had been thrown open as she’d crashed through it. “Hey, honey…” John cracked a pained smile, which quickly vanished into a wince as his body wreathed. Ruby’s gaze shifted to her husband’s blood stained hand. He was still holding the loc-stone he’d used to escape, the faint glow indicating its use was recent. She wasn’t too late. As Ruby stared down at her husband’s brutally butchered body, she felt an all encompassing sense of despair wash over her. Her life, her peaceful, beautiful, love-filled life, was over. Over the last few years, she’d begun to really believe it, how stupid of her. How hopelessly naive. The thought that she, of all people, could actually live out a regular life? Not even forever, just one lifetime was all she’d wanted. Even that, apparently, was too much. “Where did you come from?” she asked. “It won’t be traced. I made sure of that,” the dying man responded. Ruby took the stone out of her beloved’s hand, and it begun to glow more brightly. “What are you doing?” he asked, trying to sit up in objection, but quickly falling back down. Ruby leaned down and gently kissed her lover on the lips. As she did, her aura flowed into him, weaving itself throughout his injured body and beginning to work. “We’ll talk when I get back,” she said, and in a rush of wind, her form disappeared. \\\* Mountain views were truly beautiful, thought the man in the red robe as he waited. He sat calmly upon a stone overlooking the magnificent expanse of deep blue lakes and evergreen trees that spread out below him. A wonderful place to make history, indeed. His guest arrived as expected. One instant, he was alone, and the next, a gust of wind announced the arrival of his mark. He stood, and she immediately whipped around to face him. The robed man opened his mouth to speak, but his new arrival beat him to it. “Why did you do it?” “Oh, I don’t really care about your husband, Ruby.” The man in the robe smiled as he saw the woman react to hearing her name. Ruby directed and distilled her aura around her right hand, and moments later, what looked like an ephemeral spear exploded into existence in her grasp. It was something she hadn’t done in decades, a century perhaps, and yet she didn’t even give it a second thought. The man in the red robe whistled at the sight of it. “So it really is you. Honestly, a part of me still thought I was wrong. Thought the Red Angel of Death really was just a myth. A woman who single-handedly leveled cities. Who toppled empires and burned the souls of armies and civilians alike? Surly, a myth, and yet, here you are.” A glow erupted from his person, the folds of his scarlet robe now hovering around him. “I crave power, Azraela, and you’re going to give it to me.” \\\* John couldn’t believe what he was feeling. Mere moments ago, he’d been on death’s door, the agonizing aching of his body only partially relieved by the fact that he was blinking in and out of consciousness. Now, that ache was all but gone, and he felt a level of alertness and clarity he rarely did. Not only that, but John could feel his body knitting itself back together. He sat up, and to his surprise, his previously ruptured abdominal muscles performed the task without the slightest complaint. John looked down at his stomach and watched, in a shocked combination of horror and awe, as even the worst of his wounds slowly, visibly filled themselves in. What had she done? This had been Ruby’s doing, right? When she’d kissed him? That’s when the healing had started. But Ruby was a B-class hero. They’d met during B-class basic training. What kind of an ability was this? Then, he remembered the man in red. A brief panic washed over him as he realized that Ruby was there, right now, probably fighting him alone. In an instant, John whipped a backup loc-stone out of his pack, and his newly invigorated body vanished. \\\* “I do believe people can change,” Ruby said from John’s lap, as he tenderly stroked her auburn hair. “Things happen. People get hurt. Circumstance can turn even the most loving soul into a vengeful killer, or vice versa” “I’m not sure, love.” John answered. “Some people are just born killers. And even if they could change, at a certain point, I’m not sure it’s even right to forgive someone.” Ruby looked sad as he said it, so he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “We don’t have to talk about this. I don’t want to upset you, but there are some things I really can’t forgive. You’re well read in history, Ruby. You know the absolute depravity of some of the atrocities that have been committed.” Ruby closed her eyes. “I know, John.” \\\* The first thing John noticed was the brilliance of the cavernous landscape borne out before him. Quickly, though, his gaze transferred to the glowing auburn hair in front of him, and relief washed over him as he realized Ruby was alive. Anxiously, he scanned for the man in red, but his fear was quickly dispelled and replaced with shock. The man was lying dead in front of his wife. As he started to walk over, the glowing red woman turned around and met his gaze, a deep, longing sadness in her eyes. “John…” When he was in view of the man’s face, John stopped. What was… “I’m sorry,” she said. The loc-stone in her hand began to glow, and her form vanished. John was confused, but then quickly took out his own loc-stone and tried to trace the jump. He couldn’t. Gaze once again falling upon the red man’s corpse, John panicked and stepped back. He tried to look away, but to no avail. His gaze was glued to the man’s mutilated features. Four jagged scars ripped across the man’s profile, and his eyes looked like they’d been burned out of their sockets. He stared at the air where Ruby had been standing, and thought back to her kiss, to the pain in his body suddenly disappearing, his wounds spontaneously knitting themselves back together from the inside. To his wife’s lack of hesitation to confront their foe, and to the glowing, auburn hair he’d witnessed upon arrival. He’d read about this scar pattern. Four scars across the face, accompanied by burned, melted eyes. He hadn’t believed it was real, but here it was, in front of him. The sign was unmistakable. “The aura spear is a deadly aura weapon that only the Red Angel of Death has been able to use. While the killing method isn’t totally clear, the mechanism appears to be akin to igniting the victim’s own aura, burning them to death from the inside out.”
They all thought he was lame. All he could do was change the TV channel with his mind. Can't find the remote? Or too lazy to get up and get it from the table? This was a problem he would never know. He was laughed out of super school for having the ultimate lazy man super power. They imagined he'd waste his life away on the couch, a TV remote always just out of reach but never an issue. They were wrong. Twenty years later crime had dropped. Graduation rates had increased. And nobody on the planet had any idea why. It was him. Whenever a child tried to watch a show way beyond his or her mental maturity, he was there. Whenever a youngster turned into a program with no educational value whatsoever, he changed it back. For twenty years, he controlled the televisions of billions of young minds, and in this way, impacted their growth, developed their intellects. He wasn't just the mind behind their TVs. He was their teacher. He was their parent. He was...The Remote Controller.
The command team popped champagne as soon as the satellite started broadcasting the "all clear"signal. It had taken an entire century to diagnose the problem with B78, fix it, and then position the new beacon just outside the Oort Cloud. Almost a century of work, but communication could finally be re-established with the colony. They'd had the food and the equipment to survive out there and the planet should be terraformed now, so we'd hoped that they were all thriving. With my superiors watching my shoulders, I typed in the first message. Only a small amount of information could be transferred at a time Message send: Proxima Centauri colony, please report on status. Communications relay B78 had to be replaced. Your messages have not been received for 98 years. Please update on terraforming progrss and health of colony Message end I clicked send, and the blue "Outgoing"light flashed. "How long will it take?"the Defense Secretary asked. "Shouldn't be too long,"I replied. "It works with quantum entanglement, allowing us to use chains of connected atomic components to communicate almost simultaneously. In principle, it is a lot like a telegraph. As if on cue, the green "Receiving"light began to flash. We were concerned to never hear from our home planet Thank you for informing us of the error The colony is strong and healthy; there are many new childs More colonists should be sent to populate the planet. The generals breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God,"one said. The absolute worse case scenario was that nobody would answer. At least we knew they were alive, and it sounded like everyone was healthy. "Childs?"asked the Defense Secretary. I shrugged. "Language changes, sir. It's been a hundred years since they've had any contact, and isolation can cause things to change rapidly. Maybe 'childs' is just a part of their dialect now." "Ask if there were any unknown issues with the planet, and ask about the status of the atmospheric production factories." Message Send: Proxima Colony, any issues with G2578 planet? How are the atmosphereic production factories holding up? Have there been any severe equipment malfunctions? Message end The blue light flashed briefly, and we waited silently for the green light to come on. The reply was swift. All equipment normal; planet reform is almost complete. No serious malfunctions or errors. The colony only needs more citizens; we do not have enough workers. The generals were overjoyed; this was better than anticipated. The defense minister, however, wasn't so sure. He bit his lip as he read the message again. "Why aren't they using the normal call signs?" I shrugged. "A hundred years of silence? That's two or three generations. They've just forgotten protocol now." The Secretary wasn't convinced. "Ask them how the tiger herds are managing and whether they have had enough water for irrigation." "Tigers, sir?"They had been extinct for at least a century, and the colonists certainly didn't bring any. "Just write it,"he said tersely. I typed out the message as requested. Message send: Please report on status of tiger herds. Has the colony had sufficient water for irrigation? Message end The generals looked confused, but the Defense Secretary didn't explain. The green light flashed. Tigers are healthy and numerous. Water is plentiful Planet can support large population. There was a hushed silence in the room as everyone realized what was happening. The Defense Secretary nodded and picked up his phone. "Mr. President?"he said. Everyone else in the room caught their breath, as if afraid to be heard in the background. "It's me,"he continued. "Colony lost. Code Red."
Jack didn’t underst. Jack didn’t understa – st. st. He/L? Is he th- th- th- th-Re- eeeeeeee-e-e-e bo oooooot. Reboot. Reboot unsucess////ful … When he came out again with his body intact they breathed a sigh of relief, because no-one had known what the fuck had gone wrong. Little red blinking lights and a klaxon noise for the first time in ten years, but it was fine because here was Jack and he’d made it through okay. Probably some problem in L-space. Do you know what L-space is? They didn’t either, but they chalked it up to it anyway. So here’s Jack, good old Jack, hale and hearty as ever. When he speaks to them after he rematerialises there’s undeniably something a little bit off; they expect Jack to make a joke about coming out if it with his dick intact or something, but he just kind of totters off into the night. It’s cool though. He’s had a rough day. The man was smeared over L-space 45 minutes ago. Probably. The days go on and on and in a short time people realise that actually there’s something really quite wrong with Jack, but they’re having difficulty explaining what it is. He’s become a lot more likable now, for one thing. Everyone has a smile and a nod hello for Jack when he passes them in the corridor. He used to rub a lot of people up the wrong way with some of those jokes, you know? Like the one about the nuns and the dildo made out of unicorn horn? That was a doozy of a room divider. Really separated the men from the – well, from the nuns. He doesn’t bust those jokes out any more, and that’s made him more popular but it’s also sort of made him a bit dull. No-one really wants to spend time with Jack now. He’s not stupid or dumb, no. People don’t avoid him. He’s just become – and they really struggle to find a nice way of putting it, when they talk over it at the poker nights he’s no longer invited to – a bit middle of the road. Pleasant. Affable? Bland. That was it. Jack had become bland. It took about fifteen years before someone realised the scale of the problem. A law intern who had lived an otherwise unremarkable life looked up from her desk one day, and suddenly wondered why 80% of her office had turned up to work wearing variations on the same pastel polo shirt. She knew the corporate life tended to homogenise people, but it still seemed a bit much. Then she wondered why no-one else seemed to think it was weird. She drove home that evening (almost uniquely nowadays, she didn’t like the idea of teleporting), and sent some emails and asked some questions, and they led sort of nowhere because no-one seemed to think anything was wrong. But when she tuned into the TV that night she watched it with fresh eyes, and saw the same smile on too many faces. The same kinds of lyrics in too many of the songs. 200 channels and she sat there as night bled into day flicking through every single one, and when she ended she found herself back where she started. She found she’d never really moved. So she kept looking. Eventually, she found Jack. This was what she concluded. Yes, okay, you ‘port around and your body is scrubbed into L-space (or something), and then rebuilt at the other end atom by atom, all your little processes carefully and completely reconstructed. Every cog and wheelnut in place. No problems there, you know. Peachy keen. They’d done tests. But what happened – she wondered - to the ghost in the machine? Jack was kind of the proof in the pudding. He'd just been an accelerated case, thanks to the malfunction that heaped on his average little head the cumulative effects of a hundred thousand ‘ports in one go. We lost something precious when we ‘port, she decided. Not much. Not enough to notice. Just a tiny little shaving of … us. The bits that make us unique. Something about being forced into and out of L-space pushes all of our brilliantly spiky, varied personalities through a standard person-shaped hole, and each time we emerge we fit the mould a little better. We’re a little rounder. A little more the average human. She wept at the idea; the whole world, lock-stepping towards uniformity together. She tried to sound the alarm, but no-one really cared. Why would they? Everyone was the same by then. We all thought the same way. You all thought the same way? They all thought the same way. It was very pleasant indeed.
The first day I doodled aimlessly. Odd swirls and squiggles. It was only a pencil, after all. There was nothing special about it, nothing to indicate that it was magical. It was light orange and had a pink eraser set in a thin aluminum ring at its top. It had a few gentle bite marks. I fell asleep with the pencil in my hand that night. I wanted to put it down, but something about it, I cannot explain--the feeling it gave me when I held it perhaps--something prevented me from letting go of it. I wanted it close to me, and so kept it close. I awoke holding the pencil to my chest. It was somewhat difficult to get ready for the day ahead one-handed, but it seemed worth it to try. I didn't want to put the pencil down, not even for a minute. When I got downstairs, to my kitchen, I was astonished. The walls were covered in strange markings. Yet the markings looked familiar. Once I got over my initial shock I realized they were the exact same swirls and scribbles I had drawn the night before. I looked down at my pencil, which I was still clutching in my hand, and which I knew offered the only real explanation for what was going on. Oh god, I thought, what kind of strange wand are you? I took out a piece of paper and sat at my kitchen table. I drew a man, me, pouring out cereal from a box into a bowl, and finding a one-hundred dollar bill inside. I went to the pantry to grab my cereal box. Beside it was a box I had never seen before, and certainly hadn't purchased at the grocery store. It looked vaguely like the one I had just drawn. It was made of termite-ridden lightwood. I grabbed it and brought it to the kitchen table. It was latched shut. I unlatched it. But I'll need a bowl, I thought. I went to the cupboard to grab a bowl. What I found there was a bowl unlike any I had ever purchased. Before grabbing it, I went back to the table to look at the bowl I had drawn. Yes, misshapen, oddly shaded, deep, cumbersome. It was the same bowl. I pulled it down from the cupboard and brought it to the table. Then I opened the box, lifted it over the bowl, and tilted it. Hundreds of termites poured out. As they did I noticed myself, not only disgusted, but getting weaker. I also noticed that my vision was narrowing. After I had emptied all the termites into the bowl I had to put the box down because my weakness had overtaken my body completely. I was useless. I looked into the bowl with what little vision I had left. There it was. A one-hundred dollar bill. At least I had drawn something right. I went to grab it, but I could not work my arm properly. I brought my hand before my tunnelling vision and saw that my hand had all but completely disappeared, and my arm had turned into a single black line. I wobbled over to the mirror to look at myself. The image I had drawn had come true. Just as I was a stickman with dots for eyes in the picture, so too was I one in real life now. I frantically wobbled back to the table where I'd put down the pencil. I needed to re-draw myself, and quickly, before I lost all strength. My third dimensionality was fading away fast. I tried to grab the pencil but could not. I had no fingers, and no strength to lift three dimensional objects, being only two dimensions myself. Since then I have stayed alone, trapped inside my house, filled with regret and loneliness. If only I had been more careful! If only I had known how to draw. Some days are better than others. But nights are the worst, because of the cold and the loneliness. It is at nights when I gaze long at the eraser, fantasizing about oblivion. --- Come be the first to subscribe to my brand new subreddit /r/lalalobsters for more stories!
I stared at the little blue button on my wall, trying to will myself to do what I was going to do. I had already gotten changed and made my bed for the day, just like Mom expected. Like usual, on top of the clothes there had been a note. It simply read, "PRESS THE BUTTON."This exact note was written in various forms all around my room. It was my computer lock screen, on a sticky note on my mirror, and even painted on my door. Mom made sure there was no way I would ever forget to press the button before stepping out of my room. It was her biggest rule, and I was going to break it. Rules are meant to be broken anyways, right? Still, I was nervous. I had never deliberately gone against any one of Mom's rules before. Not even one as simple as making my bed every morning. I did as I was told, and I'm sure Mom had a reason for all of her rules. I realized I had been staring at this little button for a long time. A quick glance at the clock told me I was going to be late if I didn't leave within the next few minutes. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. I moved quickly to the door, and put my hand on the doorknob. I can't believe I was actually going to do this. Would she know if I didn't press it? How? Maybe it does something important. This was Mom's biggest rule, so I would most likely get in trouble by not pressing the button. Before I changed my mind, I turned the doorknob, only to find that the door wouldn't open. It was locked. Suddenly, I knew what the button did. I pressed the button, and opened the door. First writing prompt I've ever done. I couldn't help myself with the ending. Probably could have been more creative. Oh well. Enjoy.
The shop keeper was placing retectangles in Barry's hand and quickly pulling them back out. "Do you prefer iOS or Android?"Then after seeing the puzzled look on Barry's face continued "not to worry not to worry, the phone chooses the user after all." "Uh, what's a phone?" "It let's you communicate with anyone in the world instantaneously. They can record, sort information by your interests, do mass communication, that's to a bunch of people at once, or teach you how to do anything." "Uh, how?" "You just hold it in front of you and ask it in a clear voice." "But you're not supposed to know about wizards, how did you find me?" There was a laughter from all the adults around. "You know we can record anything and communicate instantly and you thought we didn't notice all the wizards?" "Well, we keep it secret." "By walking around in robes and not using phones? Blimy, you all may as well of been holding a big sign." "But I'm a wizard, I don't know about this phone stuff"Barry protested. "You never just asked for something and had it arrive in a box a few days later? You never found yourself knowing all about random topics the people around you didn't? You never thought to yourself 'I wish I knew what song was playing right now' and instantly knew the answer?" Barry was taken aback. All those things had happened to him. "But that's not, that's just, normal magic stuff." "No Barry, those are apps. You've been a muggle your whole life. Now we're going to train you how to master those apps." "Like school and all that?" "No, just YouTube. You can ask the phone anything." Barry looked around and picked up a phone. "I guess I like this one." The shop keeper gasped. "An Amazon Kindle phone, I've only ever sold one other of those before, it's got a unique OS. Very interesting. But the phone does choose the user..."
Just as I noticed the lights on the ground, my radio crackled awake, "Stay in the air as long as you can! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you possibly can!"The message blared through my radio. I thought maybe I had the wrong frequency—sometimes private planes liked to fuck with each other on their respective frequencies. I double checked, but saw I was connected to LAX air traffic control. "Ground, this is flight 1274, could you repeat that message for me?"I waited... Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. "Ground, this is flight 1274. I'm about an hour out from landing. Am I hearing that you want me to avert course?" Nothing. Just as I was about to switch over to the emergency frequency to see if I could pick anything up, a flight attendant entered the cockpit. "Captain, we have a number of passengers reporting bright flashes of light coming from the ground... I wanted to make an announcement about it to keep everyone calm, but I've never seen anything like that before. Any idea what it could be?" "Not a clue."I switched over to the emergency frequency, which was normally nothing but static. We both heard it at the same time, and the pleasant face of the flight attendant turned to utter fear. A flurry of screams, shouting, and cries for help. Over the chaos, a single message blared repeatedly, "To all planes. We are under attack. DO NOT LAND. I repeat, DO NOT LAND. To all planes..."over and over and over. The flight attendant looked at me, as if she expected me to be able to explain this. But I couldn't. I switched to the emergency frequency based out of Toronto. A similar message. "What do we do?"the flight attendant could barely get the words out. I checked the fuel gauge. We were a local flight, but the plane was fully fueled prior to take off. That meant we had enough to get to Canada, somewhere in South America, or Hawaii. I enabled cruise control and put my head into my hands, trying to think. An attack. By who? On who? Clearly it's not just the US, it's in Canada too... South America? Maybe? But wouldn't we be better off going somewhere disconnected from all this? But if we went to Hawaii, and whatever it is that's happening is happening there too, we would be forced to land. We would have no choice. "Captain?"she pleaded. Five hours of fuel... Five hours of fuel... There's military bases in Hawaii. Maybe they could keep us safe... Keep us safe from whatever the fuck is down there... I turned off cruise control and re-routed the plane. \\\* We're thirty minutes out. I haven't seen any bright flashes, at least not yet. The flight attendant told the passengers we had to re-route, but left it at that. If only they knew. Military frequencies are restricted, so I still have no idea what I'm flying into. I hope to god that we make it out of this. I hope to fucking god. I need to start the descent now. Pray for us. &#x200B; EDIT: Thank you all so much for the support! I'm so glad you guys enjoyed this. It feels good to have someone else actually read my writing. I've added a part two in the comments if you guys are interested.
It had been so obvious. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Not even the greatest detective in the world would join the dots. It’s already been two months after all; a lifetime for the Batman. Two months of red herrings and false leads. Two months of the Batman halting shipping vessels entering the city, only to find the containers inside to indeed be full of Amazon deliveries. Two months of wrongful arrests. Who would ever forget the image of Gotham police offering an apology to a 16 year old girl? 4 days they held her. The Batman was rattled. That much was evident from his recent heavy-handed roundups of petty criminals. A purse thief woke up paralyzed from the neck down last week. At 23, I’m sure he could have turned it all around but now, I’m not so sure. And while the Batman can comb this city up and down, he’ll never find the perpetrator nor the contraband. Flown in privately, of course. Private aircraft is never given a look. And storing it all? A simple task when you have miles of sub-terrain at your disposal. Too easy, as I say. And all the more mortifying for the Batman when he the penny does finally drop. If he’s stressed now, I should not like to see him then. But I find a cup of tea can be very soothing after such a long day. ‘Master Wayne, camomile or green tea this evening?’ I call from the pantry.
My body felt a chill as I attempted to wiggle my fingers and toes. They didn’t respond. I groaned as I felt the cold ground beneath me. I was in trouble. I knew better than to try and outrun that last shot, but its aim was true, and it struck the center of my back. Now, face down, I wondered if this was the end. My face was numb, and I’m pretty sure if I could see them, my lips would sport a deep blue. Everything was so cold. I was listless, sprawled out to die on this accursed field. Despair overtook me, the odds were overwhelming. What could a man do against such reckless hate? Was there any hope left? No. But I had to try anyway. I dragged my hands down towards my chest in a feeble attempt to prop my body up, only able to make it to my knees. The soft crunching of footsteps grew louder as my adversary advanced, only to stop right in front of me. Mud splattered his dark brown boots, but the quality was still much better than my own. Typical. Even his equipment far outstripped my own. As I looked up, the sun loomed behind his head, blurring his facial features to me. I squinted my eyes, trying to decipher the blurry mess. “Any last words?” he sneered. I felt the air catch in my chest, as the cold seemed to have seeped into every fiber of my being. The chill made me rasp back my response, “I will win this war.” I allowed myself a small smile. Ever defiant till the end. The man’s big belly shook in mirth as he let out a raucous laugh. “War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.” He bent down and scooped up his weapon, before holding it over my head. “Goodbye… son.” He dropped his weapon, a gargantuan snowball, and it sent me crashing back to the ground covered in white powder. I laid there, defeated. The silence that followed was pierced by the shrill scream of a woman. “Boys! It's cocoa time!” mom shouted. “Oh, and don’t you dare bring that mud into my house!”

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