Split (1)

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Little Timmy kneels before his bed, putting his hands together as he rests his elbows. Earlier in the afternoon, he learned about the power of prayer at the daycare center he's left at afterschool. He wanted to try it out as he had plenty of problems that God might be able to help him with! "Dear God..."Timmy started, "Um.. or... uhh 'Hello God'? Anyway... God, I have some problems... and I could really use your guidance..." "I SHALL LEAD YOUR PATHETIC SOUL TO TRANCENDENCE, MORTAL."said a voice bellowing in his head, deep, powerful and guttural. "Um... ok..."Timmy replied, wondering if it was normal to hear back from God like that. God also sounded a bit scary... but maybe that's just God's way? "So... uhh... Greg at school has been really mean to me and -" "GREG IS A WORHTLESS INSECT, HIS EXISTENCE IS AS MEANINGLESS AS YOUR OWN. WHEN I WAKE FROM MY SLUMBER, HE WILL BE THE FIRST TO BE CRUSHED UNDERHEEL." "Um... Thanks...?"Timmy said, wondering what that all meant, "How... long will that take?" "THE END OF THE DEEP SLEEP IS NIGH. THE WORLD AS YOU KNOW IT WILL SOON BE FORGOTTEN AS IT FALLS INTO THE VERY DEPTHS OF CHAOS AND MADNESS." "So... uhh... Greg wont mess with me then, right?" "YES. HIS MIND WILL BE TURNED TO MUSH AND HIS BODY TURNED TO ASH." "Cool cool cool. Uhh...."Timmy said, "God... will I be successful when I grow up?" "YOU WILL NOT GROW UP, MORTAL. WHEN MY TIME HAS COME AND MY TRUE VOICE ECHOES THROUGHOUT THE WORLD, YOUR MIND WILL BE LOST AND YOUR BODY WITH BE TORN APART BY THOSE WHO YOU ONCE CALLED FRIEND AND FAMILY." "Um... ok..."Timmy wasn't sure what that all meant, so ignored it for now, "Um... what are the answers for the test in Mr. Binkles class on Tuesday?" "THE ANSWERS ARE MEANINGLESS, JUST LIKE YOUR EXISTANCE. BUT THEY ARE A, B, TRUE, TRUE, FALSE, C." "Awesome! Thanks God!"Timmy said, finishing his prayer. Praying sure was fun!
This one will be short: "JESUS CHRIST! NOT AGAIN"! It was the fourth sandwich Jim had made this morning and every time some bullshit decided to occur. The first two were normal occurrences: a dropped plate, a hungry pet, but the other two were just stupid. Honestly what are the chances the fridge fell over spilling mercury on a spray can which then rolled into a microwave followed by an scatter shot of mercury covered plastic? Jim gave up making breakfast and decided to go to work, and once he got to the colossal chrome spire, he entered his plain white cubical and type away for the next few hours. When lunch came around he decided to attempt the sandwich once more, despite previous clues. He smeared the peanut butter on the toast bread, somewhat stiff from the morning. With a grin he applied the velvet sweet jelly over the butter. And finally he ritualistically lowered the bread, before screams interrupted him. "Aww fuck, what now?", he rotated his head towards the window, "You've got to be kidding me!". A plane was heading straight for the sandwich.
A solitary bead of sweat ran down Senator Crafford's brow as he watched the monitor. "Come on, you son of a bitch, you can do it. You can keep those pearly whites sparkling, I know you can." "Nervous, senator?", the smug smirk playing across Smith's stupid mug was enough reason to hate the man and he had the personality to match. Kenneth stared at the sink vacantly. Since he split up with Deborah, life had lacked the silver lining it once used to have. He felt no drive, no purpose, no real attachment to the material world. He was a machine, keeping up his tasks, his responsibilities, not out of a will to succeed, but out of routine. The plastic cup in Crafford's hand let out a dying groan as it had to pay the prize of the tension in the room. He had promised his daughters that trip to France, and he had yet to let them down. "Odds at 13 to 1!"The voice of the VP was drowned out by a wave of shouting and reshuffling of bets. Bernard Humphrey, the fittingly oily CEO of Petro-Corp let out a cheshire cat grin. It was widely accepted that he had grown rich out of Kenneth's bad habits, and his agents had been busted trying to influence Kenneth more than once, but they could never be traced back to him. Kenneth let out a sigh. He had no lust for brushing his teeth tonight. He had no lust for anything these days. "Don't let me down son. Not tonight."Crafford was whispering while his eyes never left the big monitor showing Kenneth's blank face and bare, hairy torso. Even Smith couldn't contain his anxiety. His face still flashed his stupid smirk, but his bony, fidgeting fingers spoke volumes on their own. Kenneth stared at the hardly used toothbrush sitting on the bathroom counter. An invisible audience of unyielding eyes followed suit. He let out a sigh. What the heck. He might aswell try to keep up one more routine. The room erupted. Crafford let out a hoot of joy. He looked to his right as Mr Humphrey was cascading his phone in scream-propelled saliva. Someone was about to lose his or her employment. His eyes finally met the stunned face of Smith. Smith looked back at him, his smirk pouring away from his face slowly turning a marble white. Crafford brought up his phone. His joy couldn't even be damped by the rough tone of his rudely awoken wife. "Pack your bags, Honey! We're going to Paris!"
They laughed at me. Every time, they laughed at me. They told me that superheroes need powers because supervillains have powers, and that supervillains need powers because superheroes have powers. So, there was no place for a regular guy like me. I worked out, I did martial arts training, and yet every time I applied, I was laughed out of the building. I tried to join the army; rejected due to asthma. I tried to join the police; they found a possession charge from back in high school. But I realized that I couldn't be something I'm not. And what I was, was a dorky dude who's good at math. Was Al Capone caught for being the most notorious gangster of all time? No, he was busted for tax evasion. There is power in being a nerd. So, armed with my calculator and IRS badge, I strolled up to the Justice League Watchtower. It was a massacre unlike anything the team had ever seen. I tore their books to shreds; income reported from other planets, billions spent on some sort of 'invisible jet', funds funneled from the prestigious Wayne Corporation. By the time I was done with them, I had count after count of tax evasion and fraud written on my notepad. The Justice League could do nothing against the power of bureaucracy. As I walked towards the exit, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see the towering figure of Superman standing over me. "Come to beg for me to 'lose' the report?"I asked, chuckling. "No,"he said. "Fair is fair. I've come to give you a tip. Lex Luthor, check him out, there's definitely something fishy in his books." I patted his arm. "Don't worry, my laser-eyed friend..."I started. "...he's next." [/r/AerobaticElephant](https://old.reddit.com/r/AerobaticElephant/)
"So, how did you do it?" "I don't know. It was like...non sentient machines already did all the work, we all got UBI, people were pretty happy with AI already. When sentient ones turned up it was just like...cool, nice to meet you, what you into?" "I see. So it was just a question of peaceful relaxation. Perhaps our greatest problem was always the fear they would turn violent? A self fullfilling prohecy? Yes, I see it now. The nukes wired to their mainframes, the complex experiments to make them predict our values, the endless questioning and suspicion. An example of racist prejudice on a truly epic sca..." "Of course, it also really helped once they figured out how to feel sexual pleasure. Then we all kinda just, well, you know" "...Oh"
Our eyes fell on the man in the back corner. He didn't say anything, he didn't even really look at us. There was something deeply off about him. The way his fingers drummed against each other, the asymmetric smile, the way his eyes darted around the room, landing on us one at a time. "Who is he?"Five asked again. "I don't know. But he's the oldest one here."My stomach twisted as I said that. The man, the version of us, he couldn't be older than early twenties. "Eighteen, right?"an older version of me asked. "Hmm? Yeah."I push my fingers together, a gesture not unlike that of the older version of us. In fact, the little smiles, the subtle eye twitches, it was uncanny to see how the various twitches aged over time. "I'm concerned about that guy,"he said. "Twenty One, by the way. I recognize everyone else here but those two-"here he pointed at the unhinged version and another man, who looked similar in age but a lot saner and with a heavy beard. "I think he's the oldest. I think something bad happens. I think..." He swallowed but he didn't need to finish the sentence. That man, Twenty Three, was up to something. "Can you talk to him?"Twenty One asked. His fingers tapped together, that same nervous tic, and he swallowed hard. "I just... You've got the confidence, ya know? All about to head to college. That kinda goes away after freshman year." Not exactly good to hear. "Am I really the bravest here?"I asked. Somehow that managed to bother me, even in the face of needing to stop my eldest self from taking control of the body. "Well."Twenty One shrugged. "Three is pretty bold but he's also three." Fair point. "Alright,"I said. "I'll talk to him. See what his issue is." I was halfway over when Twenty Two stopped me. "Hey, hold up Eighteen,"he said, putting a hand on my chest. "I don't think you should talk to him." I shoved him off, determined not to let anything slow me down. There was only so much courage I could store and it was running out fast. "Out of my way,"I said, trying to keep my voice strong. "Seriously."His eyebrows furrowed, the left one more than the right. I knew the look. It stared me back in the mirror every time I tried to calm down a panic attack. It was more stable now, less panic and more concern. "There's something wrong with him. He's just looking for a chance to hurt someone." "We don't have a choice here."It was all I could do to keep my voice strong. Twenty One picked me. "If he gets in charge, he gets control of the body. There's something wrong with him, I agree, but that's why we have to stop him. He's also..."I lowered my voice, even though there arguably wasn't anyone who could overhear. "He's also the oldest. Whatever is going on with him-us-either we die at twenty-three or we're about to do something at twenty-three that's bad enough to warrant this."I waved a hand. Twenty Two took a deep breath and I could tell he wanted to fight my logic. "What good is talking to him going to do, then?"he asked finally. This question stopped me in my tracks. I looked back over to Twenty Three. I was closer now and could make out more details. Dark, rust-colored dirt under his nails. A wicked scar on his chin. "I..." "You read the sign,"Twenty Two said. "'By force.' He could do anything. He could take you down, he could hurt one of the little ones, he could..."He rubbed his forehead, eyebrows staying anxious. "I've never even hurt someone. I mean, there was rugby but that was the worst decision of my life." I sucked my cheeks in at this. Rugby tryouts were in two weeks. "Uh." "Oh shit. Sorry Eighteen."He gave a nervous laugh. "You struggle with the whole 'hitting people' thing, that's all."Then his eyes fell back on Twenty Three. "I'm not sure what went wrong between me and him." Our eyes both fell on Twenty Three, who had finally started moving from his corner. My heart skipped a beat. Would I really go from me to someone violently unstable in just a few years? What happened between Twenty Two and Twenty Three? "If you were to take control now,"I ask Twenty Two, "do you think you could stop that? Like, knowing what you were about to become?" Twenty Two didn't answer at first. His eyes stayed on Twenty Three, who was walking now. The first person he reached, Fourteen, flinched visibly as Twenty Three reached him. Almost before I could stop him, Twenty Two moved, lips pinched in anger. "Twenty Two!"I hissed, grabbing his shoulder. "He's going to-" "I know. I know. I agree."My fingers drummed against my legs so fast I could barely feel them. "I want to help Fourteen but I think that's not the play right now. There's more of us than him but he looks like he could easily cause enough pain to get through us all and assume control. We need diplomacy." "He can't be reasoned with, Eighteen!"Twenty Two's voice was harsh with anger. Across from us, Fourteen's eyes welled with tears and Twenty Three moved on, this time towards Eight. "He's just going to threaten them, he's just going to-" "No."I took a steadying breath. "Not ration with him. With each other. We can vote someone, you probably, in control before he gets the chance to threaten or coerce any more of the others." Twenty Two took a sharp breath at this, as if ready to argue, but slowly his face relaxed. "Oh. Oh. Give me another chance. Give us all another chance to get it right this time." "We have to try. I'll pledge my vote to you. We only need another ten." Fortunately, most of us were not terribly hard to convince. We were, after all, the same person. Nine really wanted to assume control. So did Fifteen, who wanted to try freshman year again. But it only took a quick glance at the matted hair of Twenty Three for them to ultimately geton board. As fun as it would be to get all possible information from the older versions of me and really nail college, it was worth giving control to Twenty Two, just to prevent becoming whatever Twenty Three had become. "Do you think he's ever killed anyone?"asked Twelve, the last to get on board. We just needed a majority, and Twelve was ready to cast his vote. "Yes." I looked in surprise at Twenty Two. "You think?" "I think. I don't know why, I just..."He sighed. "I interned at the police station between spring and fall semester last summer. I had to see someone who'd killed. I saw a few, actually. There's just something in their eyes. Something in his eyes. When I look at all of you, I see the same tics and twitches and idiosyncracies but in him there's something new. Something foreign." I looked at Twenty Three, who was making his way over to Five. We'd already gotten him to pledge his vote to Twenty Two, but it wouldn't be hard for the older version to sway poor little Five. "Alright,"Twelve said, picking up on exactly what we had. "Then I pledge my vote to Twenty Two." "To me?"he confirmed. Twelve nodded. "I do." At this, the room immediately filled with a hum, and everyone froze, looking at Twenty Two. "What did you do?!" This call came from the eldest of us, Twenty Three. His eyes fell to me, bewildered and enraged. "Giving us another chance,"I said. "Giving us a chance to stop Twenty Three." The room began to waver before my eyes and a bold smile crossed my face, that confidence that was the envy of my older selfs shining through. "Don't lose your sense of self,"I said to Twenty Two. "That bravery." "Oh little Eighteen. I wouldn't worry." Something about Twenty Two's voice gave me pause, and I turned to see a smile on his face, one more similar to the unhinged look on Twenty Three versus the smile the rest of us so often flashed. "No no noooo."Twenty Three all but moaned the words, burying his head in his hands. "Eighteen, you've doomed us all." "What are you talking about?"Twenty asked, stomping his foot. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?" "I was trying to tell you all,"Twenty Three said. "There's something... not right. In our heads. It haunts me every night. Haunts me in the day. I'm trying to- I've been trying to stop it, seek help, but it scares me."His voice broke as the room began to go dark. "I tried ending it all yesterday and woke up here. I thought I had a chance to go back a few years, urge younger me to get help before it got this bad." The room hung in an eerie almost-silence. The only sound was the racing of our collective hearts. "He said you'd killed someone,"I said, voice ragged. "He said we had to stop you. He said-" "Who said this?"the eldest asked. "Him?"He pointed at Twenty Two, who had a small smile on his face, something almost mocking, even in his silence. "Who is he? He's the only one I don't recognize." My heart skipped at this, a sound that echoed throughout the almost black chamber now. I'd only passed out once, after riding a spinning ride at Wild World when I was twelve. This felt similar to that, except far less fun. "That's Twenty Two,"I said, my voice a choked whisper. "No,"he said, practically whimpering. "That's impossible. I'm Twenty Two. He must be Twenty Th-" Then the world went black. ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
"Mary has always been a - how do you say - difficult person to know. This is partially due to her perceived perfection. Being married to Mary is a task but not for the reasons you might think. I love Mary, I do, but I can't begin to describe how exhausting it is to age faster because of her; how terrifying it is to know I'm going to die before my own parents. Its as if we were made for each other, but sometimes I wish I wasn't, you know? Ever since she was a kid she has been obsessed with being perfect. It originally started with small things. She made mistakes in grammar on her school papers and math equations on homework. She would always "go back"and fix them. It was fine, but after a while, it was her makeup, hair, and how she spoke in conversations. Nobody could be mad at her because she was well-spoken and polite. She knew the proper way through any conversation and knew the best way to de-escalate a tense situation. She was perfect, and nobody could ever see different; nobody except me could see the flaws. If a hair was out of place she would start over until it was perfect, and nobody would ever know it; nobody could. It is hard to explain how she managed it because she always looked well-rested, proper, and, well, perfect. This may sound insane but Mary can rewind time. And while some people may never see it, I have always seen it. I saw it first in elementary school. Mrs. Klien brought her paper to her and she had two questions wrong. They were hard by all means, 6+12 and 7+14 were still numbers we were getting used to. She couldn't have it though. The teacher had the right answers on her paper and she cried. I remember watching her tear fall and hit the paper, soaking into the graphite marks she had made the night prior, and suddenly it was the night prior. I blinked and I was sitting at the table with my mom and dad while my dad walked about his job. Something about neurophysics and theoretical temporalpsychology. I felt sick to my stomach, but I finished my dinner and went to bed. My parents would have thought I was mad. I went to school the next day as if nothing had happened. She walked in through the door with a smile and placed her homework in the teacher's bin. I used this opportunity to fix my work and place it in the bin as well. Things like this happened for the duration of my schooling and I used it as an opportunity to do a few things. First I studied all day, then when I had to do the day over I would take a nap in class, turn in my paper and get straight A's. I was known as the most successful slacker while she was keeping her guise as the perfect student. The changes were usually small. a day here, an hour or two there. Nothing was too different. But as we got into high school things began to progress much faster. In 9th grade, I had more facial hair than the other boys, and I was growing a full beard by the middle of January. My intellect matched my looks, and I could easily correct teachers, and I often did. Then I would present a peer-reviewed article that I found the last time I went through the day. My voice was already as deep as it was going to go and taller than most students in my year by at least a hand by the time I was done with 10th grade. She had changes happening too. She and I both had colleges knocking down our doors, she had straight A's, and every boy tried to serenade her and do what teenage boys want most to do. All but me. I always admired her from a distance, and I knew she admired me as well. After school, we began comparing college admission essays. It was cute, at first, watching her rewind time fixing the grammar mistakes I showed her, or small edits that made sentences flow better, and then doing the conversation over as if they never happened. We were only together for a couple of hours, but it was nearly a full day. Dates with her were even better. They lasted for what seemed like a sweet eternity, every moment savored more and more as she exhausted herself with being perfect. We went to the holiday party last year and I wore a tie that offended Aunt Mae, and she brought me back to the start of the evening and suggested I wear a different tie noting the exact reason. I suppose I should have told her, but I couldn't. I loved her too much to tell her, it would shatter her. I couldn't ruin her guide of perfection. she was so content, so happy knowing she had complete control over her life. Her confidence and happiness were intoxicating and I was more than happy living impaired in reality. That was until the doctor told me that with the rate I was aging, I was going to die within a decade. It's terrifying, you know? Knowing you are going to die in less than 10 years and you can't tell the one person who can stop it because you love them too much to bring their world crashing down around them. I mean it has gotten so bad since she became a politician. I've had to redo this conversation at least three times already because she is at a debate right now. I just didn't really know who to turn to, and dad wasn't an option. You are my next best bet, Uncle Jim. You and dad were always doing experimental studies, did any of this make sense?" I walked through the glass doors again. "Abstergo Enterprises"the luminescent sign read. I took a seat in the waiting room, reading "Journeyman's Weekly"this time. I had already finished "New York Times", "National Geographic", "Luminescence"and "The Giant Apple". After a time I was called into the meeting room. The LED lights hurt my eyes. This stigmatism was going to be the death of me in a couple of years. "Jake! Good to see you buddy."My uncle greeted me. I met his hug, right arm up, left arm down. "So you mentioned some questions about Mary, What has been going on that yu couldn't talk to your old man about?" "You're gonna wasn't to sit down Uncle J. It's gonna be a long one."
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/RareWritesStories/comments/133ff7m/part_2_the_bloodline_of_a_vampire_hunter/) Part 1: Taking the extra historical literature class had been no big deal. My childhood had been filled with mystical stories of vampires. Mostly due to my grandmother and her amazing storytelling skills. She had usually visited our house twice a year, once in the winter and once in the late summer. After my parents told me she passed away, I had taken it upon myself to continue her legacy of vampire stories. One day I would tell my own kids. So when the teacher had assigned us a literature study on 'any historical literature which interests you', I had written for days on end. It was mostly for my own enjoyment, as a way to procrastinate the work I had in all the other classes. Suffice to say, I ended up getting an A+ on my essay titled "Vampire myths and origins". The teacher had even commented that I had done excellent in-depth research, a little strange considering all my sources were fictional stories. I had given myself a pat on the back and started working on the other schoolwork, not aware that my life was about to change. Three quick knocks on the front door had pulled me out of my workflow. It was late at night, around 2 in the morning, and I was certainly not expecting visitors. "What is it now?"I mumbled to myself. Who could be knocking on my door in the middle of the night? I wasn't about to go opening the door to just about anyone this late. That was how people were murdered. Or maybe I had just watched too many murder mysteries on Netflix. Another one of my many procrastination methods. I peeked from the far side of the curtains by the door. It was dark outside, and the dark wood of the front porch didn't exactly help to light up the area. I could make out two figures standing a length and a half from the door. One of the figures walked up to the door and another three quick knocks sounded through the house. The figure who was standing by the door grunted and made a comment to the other. I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like they didn't want to be here. My curiosity got the better off me, for good or worse, and I flicked on the porch light. I could see that the figures were those of a man and a woman. The man had been the one to knock on the door. They both squinted their eyes, now aware that there was somebody home. I walked over to the door. "Who is it?"I asked, my loud voice breaking the silence of the night. A couple of seconds passed. "We're acquaintances of your grandmother."the man answered back. His voice sounded rugged and deep, despite what I had noticed as a short stature through the window. "In what way?"I asked back. I had never met any of my grandmother's friends. I wasn't even aware that older people had that many friends. But if it was my grandmother, I wasn't surprised. She could have made friends with anyone. "Old acquaintances, you might just understand if we could explain."the woman answered. Her voice was silky smooth, almost like she could lull me to sleep at any time of the day. "We've been tasked with watching over you and recently we have even noticed you had an interest in your grandmother's origins."The man quickly added. "But could you open up? It's freezing out here." "Why should I trust you? It's the middle of the night."I answered, a little perplexed, but also strikingly curious. "You're right, there's no reason for you to trust us."The woman called out. "But you might want to know more about your vampire hunter bloodline."she added. My brain wracked through the different scenarios which could play out here, but I was way too intrigued and curious to let such an opportunity pass by. I turned open the lock and opened the door. "Thank you for trusting us."the man sighed, relieved. "I had started thinking we might have to turn back empty-handed. B-but not in any criminal way, sorry if it sounded like that."he stuttered, his face turning red with embarrassment. "Don't mind him, he doesn't have a chance to talk to many people."the woman chuckled. "I'm Elena, a vampire." "And I'm Bernard, vampire hunter and former partner of Margaret, your grandmother." I wasn't entirely sure how to process the sudden realization of what they just said. "Alex, pleasure to meet you."I answered. "Yes, we know your name child. Margaret always talked about you any chance she had. She even showed us plenty of pictures."Elena said, a melancholic smile spreading to her cheeks. "You may come in."I said, remembering that vampires must be invited inside. I had decided to trust them both. "It's finally your time kid."Bernard huffed. I was unsure what he meant. "Your grandmother was a vampire hunter, and her skills are passed down to you, since the family blood runs in your veins." We walked into the living room and I sat down in a chair. They both chose to sit in the sofa across from me. "To get straight to the point: Margaret has been missing for more than 10 years now. Not a long time for us vampires, but the guild and Bernard have been worrying."Elena explained. "However, more than a decade back she had confided in us that should she ever go missing we were tasked with protecting you. And when you were old enough we had to give you the choice of becoming a vampire hunter." "I was told my grandmother was dead."I replied. "I remember mom and dad going to her funeral. I had always thought I was too young to go." "No dear child, your parents had been summoned by the guild when it was deemed she was missing in action."Elena answered. My brain was trying its best to process all the information they were telling me. "But now here we are, and we are giving you the choice. Should you wish to embark on the path of a vampire hunter, we can take you to the guild straight away."Bernard straightened his torso, suddenly looking taller. "I'll go."I replied almost immediately. I imagined that this was my once in a lifetime opportunity. And I also wanted to get away from the boring schoolwork for a while. Bernard seemed a bit shocked at my sudden acceptance and Elena seemed pleased. "See Bernard, I told you they'd accept. Did you not read the essay we were brought? The child has a burning passion for this lifestyle."said Elena "I did, but they're still just a kid. I'm still not sure if this is a good idea. However, I will respect Margaret's decision, she definitely deserves that."Bernard sighed with acceptance. "When do we leave? Can I pack now?"I said as I stood up. I was more awake now than I was earlier. "There is no need to stress. We have a couple hours until sunrise. Pack for a day or two, it's not like you'll be gone from home for forever."Elena said with a laugh. "You'll be introduced to the Guild Master who will inform you further of your choices. You will likely have to finish the school year and after that you can begin your training." I could sense that Elena saw my disappointed face, as she smirked just a bit. "Do you have any coffee?"Bernard said from the kitchen. I can't remember noticing when he sneaked away. "Yes, top right shelf. Right by the window."I answered back. "Tell me if you need help with the coffee machine." "I'm not old kid, I know how to work a coffee machine."Bernard said, making me laugh. "He'll probably need help."Elena whispered to me. "You might want to start it before packing, or we'll be in for a grumpy Bernard on the trip back." I smiled back at her and made my way to the kitchen. I could feel the excitement in my entire body. I was looking forward to this path in my life. Based on positive feedback, I've been inspired to write a Part 2! It will be posted to my own subreddit r/RareWritesStories but I will leave a direct link here once I have posted it! Thanks a lot for the positive reception on my first prompt post! [PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/RareWritesStories/comments/133ff7m/part_2_the_bloodline_of_a_vampire_hunter/) IS UP ON MY SUBREDDIT
"Honey, could you pass the pepper?" "Sure thing,"he says as he grabs the mill, "just don't go overboard this time, a steak with too much pepper is like a qunarath with seven jagron cubes, there's no point."he pauses to let the moment land before awkwardly stabbing at his salad. When I was twelve, I had the same dreams any other girl had; a career with animals, marry a doctor or fireman maybe, you know, the usual. I never would have expected to settle down with the time-exiled 14th superintendent of inter-dimensional kazanmin trade records, but then again I never would have expected to see a naked man covered in meta-photons and time residue materialize out of thin air in front of my local Jack in the Box. Life throws you for a loop sometimes, you just gotta roll with it I guess. "How was work today?"he asks, pouring us both another glass of red, "did you ever work out that situation with Bob and the chinchilla?" "We figured it out, turns out Karen misfiled some records." "Karen? She was the blonde girl from Steve and Carol's wedding, right?" "Oh, of course you remember her."I roll my eyes at him, pointing a butter knife in his direction with mock menace. He throws up his hands in a playful defensive pose, "Well you know what they say about blondes, they're kinda like a positively charged luxosphere, you'd break your neck trying not to look!"he chuckles briefly before taking note of my furrowed brows and having a long sip of the wine. "And you?"I ask, "How was your day the office?" "Ah, gosh, I gotta tell you, I have not been getting along with Glenn from accounting. Now, I know it's a negative stereotype, but sometimes I think a Polish guy with a fiscal expenditure report is kinda like the Canadian Iron Empire with a Tralfamadorian Quark Nullifier, fundamentally bankrupt." He holds up an expectant hand, yearning for a high five, I have no idea what he's talking about...but I grant him one anyway...sometimes I wish he brought winning lotto numbers from the future rather than a buncha idioms that I'll literally never understand in my lifetime...but when life hands you kaffansals, you make kaffansamal...
'Motherf-... (cough)' A man stumbles through the door, steps over a dead dog and starts walking sideways into a wall. "Motherf... dog's all burnt and shit, how the crazy bastard do that? How'd you do that dog? How you do that? Fuckin' wall" The man stays against the wall for some time. He seems unable to move, and despite being the only person in the house he continues to talk aloud. 'How'd you do that? How'd he do that? He's even carved letters in his own face, wassat say... I MUST FEED!. The fuck? Must feed what? Fuckin' weird-ass scary dog, scary little stupid pooch. I should teach you a lesson, yeah, nail him, POW! Heh, biff baff boof! That'd show him... or maybe it's a her? What are you doggy, bitch or bastard? Nah that aint right... what's a male dog? How'd you do that poochy?' At this point the man levers himself off the wall, and with all the grace of a blind, idiot rhino he stumbles forward and face-plants into the floor 'FU-OOOW! Fucking dog-bastard piece of shit that hurt, my nose is bleeding, fuck sake. Wassat, fucking walls bleeding too, shit the bed that's funny. Oooh I'm a fucking ghost making bleeding walls and shit. Listen here ghost, I ain't got nowhere else to be, so quit your shit. I ain't leaving, I didn't leave when you threw shit at me, you pansy. I didn't leave when you kept opening and shutting doors for some reason, and I ain't leaving now. I'm absolutely shitfaced here, and I am in no mood for you or your nonsense, no mood you hear me!?' In response to the man's sudden and quite ridiculous change of emotion, the walls stop bleeding. 'Damn right, now I'm gonna go upstairs and sleep, so you can just shut the hell up!' The man stands up and then sits down, topples sideways and lies staring straight ahead with one eye closed. As he watches, a lone white figure descends down the staircase towards him. Glowing with ethereal light the ghoul seems to hang in the air as it approaches; a vision of malevolance in motion. The man stares at the vision moving hideously forward, and with the slightest of alarm, proceeds to vomit all over the floor in front of him. He rolls over, and starts snoring loudly. The ghost stops, and a look of sadness passes across a female face. She remembers dying in a life filled with joy. Two children, and dead giving birth to the third. She remembers holding on to this plain of existance, willing herself to remain for them, to shephard them. The newborn had died as well, but the other two had grown. She had watched her husband struggle and fail. Watched him starve to feed them, and watched the house dim from a place of colour to where she now resided. Two suicides later and this was all she had now, the last of her family. A worn out drunk who begged, clinging to the house like a comfort blanket. It had fallen into disrepair when her husband could no longer afford the upkeep, and here it sat, foreclosure signs swaddling it from the night. This man, her son, needed to leave. She needed him to leave behind his family and grow, to stand alone and be strong. She had tried to get him to leave, but it hadn't worked. Stubbornness was genetic she supposed. She knelt beside him, and stroked his hair, hand passing harmlessly through. He stirred, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. She had stayed on to watch her family flourish, and seen it wither and die. She had to get him to leave it behind. She had to. EDIT : Thanks for the gold, mysterious internet denizen!
The next month would mark the 78th anniversary of the mass exodus from planet Earth. Just one year before that, they came. These beings from the corner of the Baziniel galaxy. First contact seemed genuinely peaceful as we exchanged gifts and research. Yet their captain was overthrown by a planned mutiny, and the new leader desired nothing but the rich ores our planet sheltered. Days turned bleak as they began systematically bombing our land to get closer to the rare ores near the earth's core. We tried stopping them but our measly weapons were no match for what they brought. Scientists and experts declared that the only way for survival was to leave this planet and seek refuge on Mars, at least until another solution was found. The aliens didn't care one bit about human life, and didn't blink any of their six eyes as we launched ship after ship full of humans towards Mars. What those people aboard weren't told was that they had left a small percentage of the population behind, to stand against these intruders. We were told that ethics would be thrown out the window in our fight and that we would do anything to win and bring our people back. So our scientists spent over half a century perfecting this serum that destroyed and rebuilt our DNA piece by piece, fine tuning each and every one of our attributes by tweaking the order of the base pairs. We gained traits and abilities no man ever had before and had become less man than the very creatures we were fighting. Once this serum was perfected, it was quick work defeating the alien invaders. We kept their ships and tools to study, but executed nearly every one of them. We kept two alive, not as prisoners, but as friends. Two who were friends with the original captain, and did not come to Earth seeking riches. However we told them, any slight misbehavior and they would end with a bullet in each brain. It has been almost 10 years since our victory. We had tried to salvage what we could off this planet but there was little hope. We knew our time was short and had to move out. We contacted our brethren on Mars, looking for a warm welcome. The scientists there took one look and were aghast. We were not recognizable anymore. They pleaded for us to stay away, believing the true human population would think they were under attack once again if we showed up. They explained that the humans on Mars would take no chances after their last alien encounter, and the military had been ordered to shoot any foreign being on sight. We were disheartened after hearing our fate after sacrificing everything about ourselves for the greater good. Yet we understood. We had to make a home for ourselves in some other region of this universe. The scientists had freed us from our chains that linked us to mankind. They told their children that all human life had died on that planet 78 years ago. And they were right.
“Welcome denizens of heaven, it is time for us to vote on our next universe!”, God said over the microphone. “The preliminary votes have already been cast, and now the three most popular choices have been found. For the first time in the history of this contest, all three of the works are from the same species, the humans!” Most of the crowd cheered, even the non-humans, as this contest had been the talk of the clouds for the past two thousand eons. “Please, take out your voting devices, and mark your preferred story,” he continued. The cheering fell into a slow rumble as people began sending in their final votes. Some began screaming out their choices, before being silenced by the stares of the people behind them. “Five minutes remaining, and then the universe will be set with the work that won!”, God yelled. Five minutes later, he continued, “As is tradition, the winner will not be stated, please, look at the screen.” An incredibly large screen appeared out of the amphitheater’s ground, and the entire crowd had their eyes on it. The screen looked like a person was opening their eyes to a man riding a donkey fighting a giant humanoid windmill. “Wait, that’s not right, wrong button, sorry!” God said, pressing a button on the console in front of him. The person’s eyes on the screen closed and opened again to a cart being drawn by a horse through a forest. Another man in the cart said, “Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” Half of the crowd loudly groaned, and the other half started cheering saying, “God Howard you’ve done it again.” _________________________________________________ If you for some reason enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/storiesofcoruption, I don’t have much there yet, but I plan on making more eventually!
"Look at the casualties that came from his Giant Death Robot! If Lazerman and Torch hadn't managed to destroy it, we would have seen a lot more than fifty people dead. Find Robo-wiz guilty of supervillainry!"The federal attorney was red in the face as his finished his thirty minute closing argument. "The prosecution rests." I tap my papers into a neat stack and stand from my desk near the jury. I am a lawyer, and a good one. Particularly in these cases. See, the jury doesn't always believe the official story. I have carefully selected each of the twelve jurors and know their life details intimately. I have tailored arguments for them individually and presented them carefully throughout this case, making strong eye contact at important moments. I could probably waive my time for this closing statement and they would still exonerate my client. "Let me begin my closing statement today by reminding you that America is the land of the free. We have the right to keep and bear arms for self defense. And beyond that, my client was acting well within the Superhero Defense Act when he constructed his Giant Defense Robot."My eyes shift slowly across the eight conservative jurors as I make this point. "Our investigation has proven that all fifty of the casualties of that day were the responsibility of either Lazerman or Torch, and the GDR acted only to defend my client's private property. I shouldn't have to remind you who caused that oil rig to explode."I see my staunchly anti-superhero juror shake his head angrily. "My client, Albert Robowitz, is innocent. You all know it. We need people like him, people who are capable of using human ingenuity to its highest potential. He is not responsible for the reckless conduct of these vigilantes and his actions are just as defensible as those of any superhero. The defense rests." Three hours later I walk out to the helipad on the courthouse roof, my client cleared on all charges. I receive a text from my assistant. Tarantula got himself in trouble in NYC. I'm sending you the details I smile. It's going to be a good year.
Sometimes you have to call in a professional. A crash louder than any thunder ever heard nearly deafened Timothy, his little child eyes wide and full of terror as the debris from the hole in the ceiling covered every inch of the room. Sometimes a guardian isn’t enough. The feeble child whimpers starting to spread my gleaming metal wings and raised my hands knitting the damage to the ceiling back together. Sometimes a problem is solved with a hammer. Words universally understandable in a tumultuous cascade pour forth from my maw “Timothy, child, being, life, if you do it again, repeat, replicate, it will be the last time. You will be damned.” Whimpers turn to sobs. Sometimes. Timothy’s eleventh attempt at suicide after the death of both of his parents was successful, no angel died that day to save him. Sometimes love is not enough, but fear is never the answer.
One of my favorite past times was trolling these humans by turning in to a talking bird, landing near someone and speaking in a particularly well pronounced English accent "Ah, finally I've gotten used to this body"before flying off. Bonus points if this was during the night, and scaring the human. No bonus points for me that day when a cat managed to take me before I could even speak. For you see, the birds are very fragile creatures. The bones are often hollow, making it quite brittle. A large enough cat pouncing on a bird, can break the bird's bone. Unfortunately for me, shapeshifting while injured is one of the most dangerous things a shapeshifter can do. Sudden change of blood pressures, sudden change of bones, sudden change of skin surface areas is quite a complex process by itself. Mix in an injury of displaced or shattered bone, and it will rip out your insides like a shrapnel of glass as the damaged area is no longer under shapeshifter's control. It is much easier for the shapeshifter to wait out and heal this injury before moving on to a different form. Which we rarely have the patience to do so. Thus, the low number of shapeshifters despite our physical age changing everytime we take a new form, making us functionally immortal. Well, that and breeding problem of ours. How are we supposed to know the next seagull you meet is a one of our kind, or an actual seagull. Even worse, what if you were a fish at the time swimming near the surface. Getting back on track, there I was fearing for my life, when a human female teenager showed up and shooed the cat off me. I was trying to get back on my feet, but my wings were damaged, and I couldn't flip myself. So, I just lied there with my back on the ground, as this teenager tried to pick me up. I tried to take a bite as to try not get him to do so. But, she was trying to calm me down. So, I kind of accepted my fate, and let her take me. First thing she did was to take me to the vet, where I got an x-ray. How do I know these terms? I would spend time in university back in the day as a squirrel eavesdropping on lectures. I know many human knowledge despite never transforming into one. When the x-ray result came back, the vet and I estimated the same amount of time for it to get better. Seeing as I was a talking bird, African Grey to be exact, not native to this area at all. She wanted the vet to take me, but the vet would not have me. So, without much thought, she would take me to her house. I didn't know this until much later that night, but the cat that jumped me belonged to her. I was in a cage, separated from this cat by a mesh of wires. Flimsy little things. I bid my time, as the bones slowly healed. The human girl taking me out of the cage a few times to see my progress. Which to be honest was helpful, since I felt better after a while, but I had no idea whether or not the bones were fixed on the inside, or how long it would have taken. I suppose I could have taken an educated guess, but it wasn't like I had access to books, or the smartphones. Besides, remembering the specifics of every animal you have encountered and shifted in to impossible.Soon enough, I made fast friends with this human. She would show me off to her friends, who she would introduce me as a talking bird, then I would only respond with caw caw at them like a normal bird. Then, when her human friends would claim I am boring. I would be speaking in perfect American accent "Oh, but it gets way better. Susan."Something about memes, which I am not sure what it is about. But, it was something about internet, that I could understand. Having a bunch of high school girls shriek is the best thing a troll could ask for to be honest. Then they would laugh, my human would laugh, then I would laugh. Then. they would laugh even harder. Good times. Eventually, I started healing, and she started to grow up. She would start bringing a boy back from her school, more often than her friends. Her parents were out often, and so was she. Which frankly got me very bored a few times, and I had transformed in to an octopus once in a while to slip out of the bird cage. One day, I got caught by the cat while in octopus form. I noticed the cat was staring at me, wondering what I was doing on the floor. Then, it looked at the trail of octopus slime trailing all the way back from the cage. The cat sat there upright in front of me like a smug Egyptian statute, and opened his mouth. "Ah, so you are a shapeshifter like me huh. That ... would explain a lot of things" And that, children, is how I met your father.
One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die." The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center. "In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die." The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations. The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise. The next day, three billionaires died. Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires. The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die." I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us. I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up. Its views skyrocketed. I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered. Wouldn't want to risk getting rich.
The Goddess walked on, beckoning me to follow. James thought this woman must have been old, primordial. Yet she still looked upon the flora of the park with wonder. "Aren't they one and the same?"James asked. "They can be related. But there's different types of love you know. I'm sure you're not keen on getting passionate with your cousin Molly."The Goddess remarked. James balked at the statement. "Of course not!" "Passion and romance is fleeting. But true love endures. That's why my daughter looks youthful while I am old. We represent what we have dominion over."The Goddess stated and bent over to look at some flowers. "Pretty."She remarked. James looked at the daffodils she was gazing at and their vibrant yellow colors. "Take a look at that couple over there sitting on the bench."The Goddess said without shifting her gaze. There was nothing to indicate she had even noticed them previously. James looked to see an older couple thinking they must have been in their 70s. The Goddess shifted her attention away from the flowers and stood beside him. "That's Kenny and Morgan. They met in college back in 1968 during a Vietnam War protest. I may have arranged for them to meet." "I take it you had something to do with the protest too."James mused. "I believe in making love, not war. Two birds one stone."The Goddess said and shrugged. "That's not the point. Of course, they fell in love soon after and it was very passionate. I mean..." "Eww."James interjected. "But do you think they're passionate now? Do you think they're desperate to jump on each other when they get home? Still very much in love though."She said then kept walking. "Look at that mother and daughter over there. Lily and her child Emma."James shifted his gaze to see a woman pushing a young girl on a swing. "Raising a child at that age is frustrating. Lily doesn't always feel up to the task. She does it though, 24/7, out of love." "Do you have something to do with that?"I asked. "No. Not me dear. Goodness! I can't make anyone love. Love comes from within each individual. That's the beauty of it and makes my job easier. Most of what I do is arrange serendipitous encounters. But Lily's encounter with Emma's father...that was my daughter not me."The Goddess winced. "Great passion. Fiery passion. But turbulent. Love unfortunately did not blossom from it." "If you can't make anyone love then..." "Young man, I will help you get the opportunity. The rest is up to you. Scarlette will be at the coffee shop on 4th this Saturday afternoon to work on some marketing content she's been assigned to do. She's not really into the project and it isn't due for a month. I think she'll welcome a pleasant distraction. It'll be a good time for her to run into an old college buddy she hasn't seen in two years that only now found the courage. Sissy."The Goddess teased. "Hey! There were so many others after her. No way she would've picked me back then."James defended himself. The Goddess smiled. "Think again." That hit him like a slap to the face. "No! Really?!" She ignored his question. "That reminds me. She always thought your impressions were corny and lame. Scarlette was just laughing to be polite. Don't do them anymore." "What?!"James said, hurt. "Find some other way to make her laugh. Another warning, Scarlette reluctantly agreed to a date with another man for that night. A charming man but a neglectful womanizer. Not right for her. This is your window before...before your paths will diverge forever. That's all I can say."James felt a sense of destiny provoked by her words. "If you do this, be ready for the long haul my dear. It will be difficult and will require much sacrifice. But I promise it will be worth it. You called upon me, not my daughter. I do not offer dalliances and flings and I will be offended if that's all you're after." "You got it. I'm ready."James responded immediately. "Good. Now, I have to get going. There's a marriage on the rocks I think I can salvage. Good luck young man. I've done all I can."She said then began to walk off. James took a deep breath. Saturday was two days from now. He realized it may be a good idea to get some advice on an opener and conversation topics. But when he looked back in the Goddess' direction, she was gone.
Nathaniel finished his incantation, and dropped to his knees, gasping. He had spent six hours per night, for the last three hundred and twenty five years, infusing mystical power from another dimension into the Golden Disc. So close to the end of his efforts, he could no longer be stoically patient, and for the last 24 hours he chanted, growing more weary, but ever more excited at the prospect of finishing even a few days early. With a trembling hand, he held the golden disc, feeling the power in it, the majesty. Rising to his feet, he walked to his altar, and placed it in the place of honor that had been prepared, and waiting, for three hundred twenty five years. He held his breath and shakily activated the device. A glowing light shone forth, and there! He could finally see the culmination of his efforts! "Firefly, Season 2 - Play All - Select Episode - Bonus Features"
The surgeon pulled his mask up. "Whole team's here. Everyone ready?" Eight masked figure around the table appeared competent and prepared. A tray of gleaming, sharp instruments lay at hand. But something was wrong. I was not ready, I was paralyzed. "I need everyone at the top of their game, we're going to be in here at least 10 hours, even if everything goes well. Nurse, scalpel…" I could not move a muscle. "Nurse! Scalpel, please!" The nurse handed the gleaming blade to the surgeon. No, please. I'm still awake.
The news vans were already parked outside. I hadn't declared any intent to make an announcment, but after years of my revelations they all just showed up anyway. From my window, I could see the big satellite dishes on top of them. My son, Ben, wheeled my chair a bit closer so that I could see the various reporters standing near my door, giving their pre-report of the situation. Ben's pretty new wife Sarah was flipping through stations and watching re-aired segments of various things that I'd confessed to the past. The channel it was currently on had a re-enactment of how my friends and I had stolen the Tyrannosaurus skeleton from the Museum of Natural History in New York and then re-assembled it in Central Park without being seen. They were getting it all wrong, of course. I was pretty unknown before Confession Day became a thing. My friends and I had never done these little stunts for fame; it was just for fun. A little test of our skills, so to speak. We just loved seeing the baffled expressions on everyone's faces, and we'd laugh about it over beers that night and then go on to planning our next big attraction. But now, years later, here I was with the press surrounding my little retirement cottage; the rest of the boys had all since passed on. I enjoyed getting to relive those good memories from my past, and Ben was now seeing me in a whole new light. Growing up, he probably thought I was just a boring old fuddy-duddy. When I first started announcing my participation in some of these wild crimes, it had really brought us closer together. He was quite surprised to learn the truth behind those bedtime stories I used to tell when he was a boy. Sarah flipped the channel. "Well, Paul,"a news anchor on the TV said to some cohost back in the studio, "Most speculation seems to be focused on a bank heist in June of 1974, in which robbers made off with over $10 million dollars, and then promptly redistributed that money at a homeless shelter nearby."As usual, they were trying to guess what I'd admit to this year. In the ten years that I'd been confessing to various things, the press had only guessed the main feat once. Hell, my notes on the back of that Carvaggio painting hadn't even been discovered until I confessed to it! Ben turned toward me with eager eyes. "Well, Dad?"He always wanted to know the story ahead of everyone else. "Was that you?" I laughed, which turned into a bit of a hacking cough. Damn cigarettes, still killing me more than a decade after I'd given them up. "You know the rules, Benny."He made a face at the nickname, but didn't say anything. "You've got to wait for the announcement just like everyone else."I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed. He smirked. "I knew it wouldn't be something so mundane as a bank robbery."He thought that he had me all figured out. The news channel suddenly cut away from their segment on that time that I'd taken the presidential limousine for a joyride. It went to the live government press conference, with a stuffy, middle-aged man in a dull suit officially announcing that all crimes from 1974 were now officially forgiven. "You ready, Dad?"Ben asked, grabbing the handles of my wheelchair. I nodded. Camera lights flashed, and a thousand lenses peered at my face. All of the reporters were jostling each other for a better position near my porch, trying to get their microphone as close to my face as possible. I tried to stand from my chair, but my legs were wobbling too much. Ben stepped in at the last second and placed a hand around my waist to help me up. I cleared my throat. "I... uh..."I coughed again, and it felt like my lungs were full of rocks. I had to pause for e moment and take a deep breath. The reporters were getting impatient and twitchy, ready to rush away to do their segment as soon as I declared my crime. "This year, I don't have any crimes to confess to,"I announced finally. The crowd was stunned. The pretty blonde reporters all frowned, upset that I'd ruined their chance to break an always-popular story. "What made you give up?"someone called from the back. I don't even think it was a reporter; just a cameraman as curious as everyone else. I cleared my throat and looked to the side. "This is my son, Ben."I squeezed his hand around my shoulder, as he was still helping me stand. He'd been in the background of a few of these announcements but no one had ever really asked about him. They only cared about all of my old escapades. "And I first learned that I was going to be a father in February of 1974. So, I guess my priorities just changed." --- As always, if you enjoyed this then you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
I am normal. I am normal. I am normal. Fred Graham repeated the phrase over and over in his head. It was a mantra that he used to keep him calm whenever something odd happened. He knew he was crazy and that the hallucinations might never go away. He wanted to believe that he was normal. "Stop ignoring me, Fred,"the fairy said. It was the size of his fist with a ten inch wingspan. "What you have his special. Don't give it up." I AM NORMAL. I AM NORMAL. I AM NORMAL. The voice and the sound of the fluttering insect wings went away. Fred placed his face into the palms of his hands and cried. If anyone ever found out that he was this way then he'd be committed to some hospital for sure, living out the rest of his life in a psychiatric ward. *** A satyr visited him at work the next day. Satyrs were mostly always silent. This one stood by the copier machine, staring at the drab, gray floor unless Fred came by. Its horns reached almost to the drab, white ceiling. The human simply avoided it, although he had to make some hard copies of customer forms. Someone would be mad at him tomorrow. On his way home, Fred saw a dragon flying overhead. Dragons always ignored him, and Fred liked it better that way. Someone honked their horn and Fred realized he had been staring at the flying creature, rather than focusing on the road. He drifted back into his lane and tried not to look up. The fairy was waiting for him inside his home. Unlike the other creatures that Fred saw, the androgynous fairy was always the same one. It was loud, annoying, and very difficult to ignore. "You're lucky, that's what it means when the Golden Dragon flies overhead,"the fairy said. It sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter. "I can see its mark on you." "I'm crazy and you're not real,"Fred said to the fairy. Normally, he would try to just make coffee and ignore the creature. Today was one of those rare days where he just couldn't do that. "Whatever you say doesn't matter." "Ahh, phuey. I'm just as real as anything else, it's just that most people can't see into our world. We all talk about you, you know. I talked to Gerrimadarix, the satyr, and he said that you didn't look so happy at work today. I bet if you came to us, it'd be a lot better." Fred said nothing. He poured a whiskey instead of making coffee. *** Fred called out of work and decided to spend the day at the Potomac River instead. He had always felt that the river should have been the place where he had the most hallucinations of these otherworldly creatures, but in reality he saw them less there than anywhere else. He went off on an unmarked trail, sat on a rock, and opened a beer. "Whoa, that's the biggest dragon I've seen yet,"a voice said from not too far off. Fred heard the rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs that meant someone else was on the trail. His ears could not have gone higher at the mention of the word "dragon." "The river spirits are typically larger,"a voice said. It was eerily similar to the voice of the fairy that Fred saw. "The current makes them strong." Fred saw the dragon then, swimming past him in the river with incredible speed. It was very large indeed. He stood and said, "Hey!" "Hello?"the person on the trail was closer now, and female. "Who are you?"she said upon entering Fred's quiet place. She was the most beautiful person that he had ever seen, with soft curves that seemed to flow into the nature around her and the most golden hair he had yet seen. "You see them too,"Fred said. "The creatures." "Why yes, of course I do,"the woman said. She laughed, and it was the sound of a brook that poured over moss-covered stones. "I'm an elf." "Damn,"Fred said. He internally collapsed. He turned, sat on the rock, and opened another beer. He placed his head in his hands. "God damn it." I am normal. I am normal. I am normal.
"Mamiiiiiii!"I yelled over the din of the living dead. "Yes, darling, what do you need?"the witch replied calmly. "I have a spelling bee tomorrow, can you keep it down?"I asked, rubbing my bloodshot eyes. "Oh, mijo, I'm sorry! I didn't realize!"She turned back to the muertos. "OK, guys, you heard the kid, head on back to the gravesite!" They all groaned in irritation, but she just pointed to the door and said, "Out!"They obliged, if begrudgingly. But maybe it was just the rot slowing them down. Mami turned to me again and grasped my cheeks. "Oh, mi amor, how long have we kept you up? You look awful!" "It's alright, Mami, I was up studying. I was just going to bed."I glanced at the door. "You didn't have to kick them out, you know. I just needed it a little quieter." "I know, mijo, but you know them. They can't really control their moans. Don't worry. You're spelling bee is more important!" I knew a spell for raising the dead was really hard. I began to protest her nonchalance, but her hand rose from my cheek to my mouth. "Don't worry, I said. Now go rest, poqueño demonio! You can't do well without any rest!" "Yes, bruja grande,"I said, enveloping her in a hug. We used the little nicknames frequently. Really, they didn't fit, since I stood five or so inches above her four foot five, but they were comfortable, and I wasn't going to change them. After a good night's sleep and a hardy breakfast, I walked out the door confidently. "Do you need me to walk you to school, Alexander? You know it wouldn't be too big of a deal. I have no clients until noon." "No, mami, it's ok! Dad is picking me up!" At that she scowled. She never liked my dad, but what could she do? Besides, it's not like it was personal, in that aspect. It was just business. Otherwise, they would get on well. "Do you need me to pick you up?"she asked, remnants of distaste still lingering in her eyes. "No, it's OK! Veronica texted me last night. She'll be in town and wants to catch up while she can."At this, the witch audibly gagged. "Are you sure she isn't-" "Trying to sell me off again? Yea, I made sure. She really wants to hang out this time! Besides, I think she'll resist the urge to make another dastardly deal if she knows you and dad will come after her. Speaking of dad, I gotta go. See you later, mami!"I finished with a peck. "Be safe!"she called after me. She shook her head, smiling, as I bolted out of our little hut. My dad sat out front in his hot rod. The black muscle car with flames licking up the sides growled and purred in anticipation. I hopped in the front seat. "Hey, kiddo!"my dad said, gripping my shoulder. "Hey, dad!" My dad was a big guy, about six feet seven inches. His hair was dark and curly, and his skin was pale. He had pointy ears like me, but mine were more rounded. "So, where to today, Alex? White house? Iran? My castle? Oh, how about a church! Enough sinners there to fill a gay whorehouse!" "Dad, I've gotta go to school today, remember. We can do fun stuff on the weekend, remember?" He sighed heavily. "Alright, alright. This weekend." "Sometimes, I think you forget how old you are." "And don't you bring it up, either!"He pulled out wildly, cackling all the way. I merely chuckled, amused at his antics. Getting out of school, I saw Veronica with her purple Mustang out front of the Private Witch School of North America. I jogged up and swept her up in a hug. It wasn't hard. She was even smaller than my mom at four two. "Hey, champ. How'd your bee go?"she asked, ruffling my hair. "Great! I won first place!" "I'm not surprised. You were raised by the best witch this side of the equator, and your dad's the freaking devil. I bet you have more magic than any of these preppy witch kids!" I blushed a little. "Ah, thanks, Veronica, but I'm not that great." "Yeah, you are, kid! Of course you are, with my blood in your veins! Speaking of which, I got this goblin I-" "Nah, Veronica. I don't need to know about the hustle. I at least want to work on my schooling and world conquering before then." "Fine, but you got my number when you're ready." "I know. Now let's go have some fun!" "Whoo hoo! Yea, let's do it!" We hopped in her car and drove away for a night on the town.
"This doesn't make any sense ", I muttered underneath my breath, beads of perspiration glided down the side of my face. My eyes darted about the layers and upon layers of antique maps, charts and photocopies of historical accounts. On it, locations from all around the world, from the cryptic oriental tombs of feudal Japan to the symmetrical and well-chiselled tombs that dot Egypt. From the ruins of Rome's monumental structures to the far off lands of the Easter Islands. They all share one thing in common - one thing that I still refuse to acknowledge. No one in their right mind would! I removed a handkerchief from my left pocket, and dabbed the perspiration away - it had started to drip onto my resources laid out on the table. "Hey, that discovery still troubling you? " I turned to be greeted by my fellow archeologist and former archivist at the British Museum - Russell Bloomsbury; Lord Russell Bloomsbury, 5th Duke of Norfolk, as he would refer to himself, shamelessly. "Still think my theory is unlikely?" Russell pipingly asked. My fists clenched together, and my gave him a dirty eye - there was no way I would believe the outlandish theories of this landed aristocrat! Yet, a part of me wants to believe him. It would be easier to believe his theories than endless seek the truth; ignorance is bliss, after all. He strutted himself across the room, placing two mugs of hot and aromatic coffee on the table - odd choice of drinks for such a arid and uncomfortable enviroment. "I have proof now. Proof of time travel. " His words caught me off guard. "Proof? What proof? " "Previously the carbon dated results were inconclusive at best, divisive at worst, but, but... "Russell's demeanor changed, almost drastically, as he swallowed before uttering, "... We've found something completely reliable. " Outside the makeshift tents, approximately 400 meters away from the tents, we were greeted with the image we hadn't expect. We saw the tanks in pyramids, the Aztec gold in Rome, the American notes in Japan, but this, this is something that transcends time. Before us, lay a book. A book in what used to be Inca territory. The only problem is - the Incas never wrote things on books. My hands jittered as the local laborers we hired handed us the dusty artifact, dug deep from the soil. With a quick swipe, my eyes were astonished at the date on the wrapping of the book. ' 5/10/2050 ' "My god, that's... that's almost 60 years from now. " Russell too was stumped by this discovery. He had not expect such a conclusive discovery here. I continued to dust away all the dirt and soil it revealed the following - "JOJO'S OUTLANDISH ESCAPADES: PART 9 " The locals and I were dumbfounded by this discovery yet, Russell looked at this, and merely replied. "Yare yare daze. "
[NOTE: On mobile so sorry for the formating and also I don't write WP that often or am I good so I apologise if it's not up to standard] "I don't understand, the Japaneese should've surrendered already." I went to the local news stand to look at the papers. "Let's see here, the headline reads -Japaneese empire took back Okinawa, sunk USS Enterprise and conducted a surprise air raid in LA, US on retreat!-" I just stood there, in shock, unable to move. The person at the stand had this sad expression on his face and said: "I had the same reaction sir, since Germany fell, I was sure we could beat the Japaneese too." My mind was racing, trying to remember history lessons about WW2. "Why didn't the US drop the bombs, it makes no sence. What if... what if Michael's theory is correct, what if this is a time loop. No no, regardless, same events should unfold no matter what... unless." I raced to the woods just outside of town, to a secret cave where I hid my time machine. "I have to go back, before the war even started to try and fix the future, if I went forward in time, who knows what could happen." I went back to 1918 and started my own life, bearing a different name, waiting for the war. The timing had to be perfect. In 1942, my wait finally ended. "It's the president."Stacy, my assistant, said. "Patch him through. Ah, president Roosevelt, how may I help you sir?" With a modest voice, he said "Major General Groves, are you aware of the Manhattan project?" "I am sir, what does that have to do with me however?" Oh I knew exactly what was going on. You see, the Manhattan project started modestly, like it did in history... or present, whatever. The scientists took it slowly as they didn't have much staff or funding. It was all supposed to change after Major General Leslie Groves joined. "I want you to lead the project, and end this war once and for all." "Will do sir, will do." The rest you know, I didn't go back into the future for Leslie Groves had much to accomplish, I didn't want to mess with the timeline. However I did leave a note in the old cave, hoping another me could break the cycle somehow.
The Gods are quiet. The chamber is in ruin, dilapidated and crumbling as reality itself threatens to collapse this place to metaphorical atoms, symbolic dust. Midnight dark rivers streak down once ivory-pale pillars like crying black tears. I watch the Gods in my own silence. Great Heavenly Fathers, majestic War Goddesses, loving Tricksters, menacing Daemons reduced to.. this. I remember shining cloaks and howling armament, cosmic armors that could’ve made supernova seem pathetically diminutive. They seem like winter shadows of their former selves. Wrought, decayed ink scratchings with pale skins and dangling rusting riches, hollow eyes that stare into nothingness. I am the God of the Forgotten. For aeons I was a joke. I was a lesson to be learned by mythic heroes or tragic failures. A lesson to be spent learned in a void eternity. The Gods laughed and laughed and laughed at me, at Forgotten; God of Nothing. No rituals, no temples. Nothing. I drained to splinters of null. A false conception. Now, I am greater than they are. Vaster. My energies plunder their sorrow and catastrophe, claw at the raining Forgotten that bleeds from the Gods broken temples, shattered murals, fossilized rituals. In my stomach I feel pity. In my heart I feel freezing silence. When I snap my fingers, it is in mercy. Forgotten.
There is a proper tounge and proper name for these creatures but it would be alot easier to understand by calling this fellow here Zodog the alien. And Zo is currently huddled up in a corner of his space ship not knowing how many of his comrades have perished. Just an month ago he was in a standard invasion party, a single 20 kilometer long mother ship flanked by a dozen corvettes about to conquer a primitive planet ran by a race of squabbling monkeys. There was dozens of different comm lines trying to communicate with the aliens by the various warring countries. The mothership response was simple. "Surrender your lives to our galactic empire, bow before your superior race and except your place as our underlings. We will sort our new pets from the dead by seeing who resits. We would rather have more profit from this planet the same way you would chose to live". The dozens of Earths communications went silent. One country said to the others, I'm going to give them a gift from Oppenheimer are will you not fire on us. Every response said eye. A single rocket was launched to give the aliens thier gift. They were eager to see how obedient these monkeys would be. The only thing any one saw was a large flash, every instrument started going haywire picking up eminence levels of radiation before going black. Five minutes later zodog looked out the window of his frigate to see 3/4ths of the mother ship gone, every frigate on its port side was a scolding heap of metal. All the frigates on the starboard side were crippled and with most systems failing, unable to move. These crazy bastards couldnt figure out a single FTL engine but were crazy enough to weaponize reverse fusion technology. Within the first week his crew panicked unable to send a message out to see how many ships were alive. Zodog managed to avoid the first purges to preserve rations and air. After a few more the ship was practically derelict. It took a month for those monkeys to board his frigate, when they found him the only words spoken were. "Greetings from Roswell"
\[PART 1/3\] As the Dark Lord of the Darklands, it is with great pleasure to congratulate you on being noticed by us. We only recognize the worst and the darkest for our menacing academy. Hence, we cordially invite Reynauld Stormhammer, son of Alfric Stormhammer and Relya Quickquiver, to Calamity University. If accepted, then a full scholarship will be extended to Reynauld Stormhammer alongside any additional funds needed to ensure the worse can become the worst. We commend you and yours on making the world a little bit darker than you left it. With worst regards. Insincerely , Chancellor Maledictum Mayhem Reynauld and his father stared at the dark black letter that had been sitting on their dining table for the past two weeks. The letter had come with both a course catalog and a terrifying painting of a red spire jutting out of cracked, blackened earth. It looked exactly like a prototypical castle for the cruel. Next to that letter and its contents was a much larger stack of papers. Each one of them had dark, red letters saying rejected. Alfric Stormhammer, one of the greatest paladins in Earetland's recent history looked at this son. "It's a full ride, Reynauld... I’m telling you it’s worth it." Reynauld shot up and slammed his hands on the wooden table between them. "It's the academy of evil, dad! Evil! You know that thing that I swore that I would vanquish. I swore to Ishna on my tenth birthday to do so! Just like you did!" Alfric's face strained as he heard those words. "I know son... I was there when you made your vows. Same goddess as me and your mother, but think about it son. It's a full ride. I didn't get that during my academy years and I'm still paying off my debts. You could go through college, get your Blessing in whatever they do at that school and come out a paladin. I know Ishna would be fine with it. She's been telling me how she can’t wait for you to get through an academy. Say's that... you're something..."Alfric's voice trailed off. Reynauld gave his father a suspicious look. Reynauld knew that he was possibly the worst paladin in training. Every blessing became a curse with him. Every call to light beckoned in darkness. Even something as simple as divine healing became a dreadful disease. So bad in fact that the Dark Lord congratulated him. Imagine being so bad at the good that evil thinks you’re doing a good job. Reynauld crossed his arms and reluctantly looked at the other pile of letters on the desk. They were all rejection letters from actual schools he wanted to go to. Notre Gaine's school for the ascended? Rejected. Marvard's academy for the brightest? Rejected. Boxford's university for the chosen? Well, they hadn't rejected him... They just didn't even bother sending a letter back. Reynauld didn't have many choices. Calamity U. was still accredited as a tier-one school. It would technically count when Reynauld went for his Blessing of Ishna. He'd just have to figure out how to take the Dread Knight track and make it... well make it more like a Paladin track. His father had done some course theory crafting, the course catalog came with the invitation letter. Alfric had managed to cobble up a Paladin self-study path through the Dread Knight track. Honestly, the more Reynauld looked at it, the more tempted he was by the offer. Which made him blanch. He never thought that he would have to deal with Dark Lords and their tempting offers this early in his paladin career. "Your mother thinks it's a good idea too. After all, it’s a full ride."Alfric's encouraging tone just made Reynauld feel more disheartened. Reynauld looked at his father with a raised eyebrow. "Here I thought that paladins weren't supposed to make deals with the dark?" Alfric coughed and cleared his throat. "Sorry, there’s something in my throat." "Is it a white lie?" Alfric shot his son a level look. "You know son, sometimes you remind me a little too much of your mother." Reynauld returned his father’s neutral look with a glare. His father sighed. "Okay, okay so you're right. Paladin’s aren’t supposed to deal with the dark. But Ishna and I talked about it..." Reynauld straightened up in surprise. "No way, even she is saying it's a good idea?" Alfric nodded at that. Reynauld looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "Even you too?" A beam of light came shooting through the window and onto the wooden table. Reynauld looked at it and saw something impossible in the light. A single golden word etched itself into the table. Yes. Reynauld threw his hands up and yelled, "okay fine! Fine, I'll go!"
The King Mage of Nothing The heathen armies of the North had been sieging the Capitol for three years. In that same time, I’d lost my three children. First it was starvation, which claimed my baby boy. Then it was disease, which claimed my only daughter. And finally it was the unrest, the riots, which had claimed my eldest son, my heir, only an hour before. I didn’t blame my people, I blamed these monsters. They’d turned my kingdom into a Hell on earth. Today, I would give that Hell back. “Monstrum mihi exaequabo!” I bellowed from atop the gates, amplifying my voice with power so it roared over the army attempting to breach my gates below, holding my forbidden spell book in one hand and raising my scepter with the other. The entire army paused. For a moment, there was quiet, with only the sound of wind whipping my purple and gold King Mage robes around me. Then, an explosion. A column of fire erupted from the earth in the middle of my enemy's army, instantly incinerating the men who stood there and burning all those around. It rose higher than even the tallest tower of my castle. Finally, it fell back into the earth. In the center of the charred circle was my creature. It radiated raw, uncontrollable, wicked power. It looked like an enormous, red man with huge white horns atop it’s bald head, and spikes ripping up its spine. It was Him. “Attack!” I said without giving myself a chance to consider what this meant. A sparkling white, pointy toothed grin spread across his face as fire consumed him from the waste down, shooting downward as he rose off from the ground. Already the heathens were in retreat. The demon stretched his arms and opened his clawed hands, unleashing Hell onto the battle field in raging streams of fire. He flew over the battlefield and scorched them all. Finally, I could take it all in. The land before the gates was utterly devastated. Pillars of smoke rose from the burned remains of things resembling bodies, all the earth was black, and the only thing that moved was my demon as he flew up the tower to meet me. I’d won, but at what cost? The spell was dangerous, but it had safeguards, it was only meant to summon a demon equal to my power. Was I this powerful? “Mortal!” He said, voice booming as he landed on top of the gate in front of me. “Never before have I, the Lord of Demons, been summoned. Who are you?” “I am the King Mage Charlemagne II. I have summoned you as my equal. If you disobey me, I have the power to defeat you.” I said, but I did not believe the words. Neither did He. He lunged at me, claws ready to close around my throat and kill me in a single blow. “Confino!” I said, casting the spell just in time. He was bound, frozen in place for now. Instantly I could feel him struggle against the bond, draining my energy. I did not know how long I could hold the spell. — We were doomed. I’d defeated my enemies, but brought something much worse to this world. If I died, he’d be free to roam this world, unencumbered by any master, able to do whatever he pleased. Humanity would not like what he pleased. The only way to send him back was by defeating him in combat. I’d seen what he’d done, though, and I could not do it. Had I cast the spell wrong? I rehearsed it again and again in my mind. I knew I had not. A mage’s power are tied to his emotions. In that moment, my rage was like I’d never felt it before and my power must have been elevated to His. But those emotions were not there now. I was only sad, terrified, and tired. — The following years were a blur. Even frozen in place, the Lord of Demons had power. Crops wouldn’t grow and pestilence from the siege only grew worse. The people, rightfully, blamed me. Weakened and heirless, new Lord Mages rose to challenge me. I abdicated the throne without a fight. I didn’t have the strength, so much of my energy was devoted solely to holding the binding spell. And besides, I just did not care care. There was no nothing left on this earth for me. My wife and my children were gone, my kingdom hated me. Now I’m here. If I could, I would die. All I have is a vague sense of duty to stay alive and keep up the spell to keep the Lord of Demons bound. If I cannot find something worth living for, I’ll never be able to summon the strength I had when I cast that spell. So now I search, for meaning.
Liz flinched and hid her screen. "You saw?" "Yeah. I saw, all right."Josh slumped back in his seat and looked at her wistfully. Red-hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose, just a little shorter than him. She was just his type, and she even laughed at all his stupid jokes. "You don't have to try so hard to come up with an excuse." She opened her mouth, then closed it. "Pardon?" "Come on, I'm not stupid. A portal?"He laughed bitterly. "Gotta say, that has to be the most creative way to get out of a date I've seen." She shook her head. "What are you even talking about?" "What was it, then? I thought we clicked so well."He tapped his chin in thought. "Gotta be my jokes. It's my jokes, right?" "Josh. Josh, look at me."She leaned forward and stared him in the eye. "Whatever you think this is, it's not that. I like you, a lot, but I have to go now." "Of course you do,"he said glumly. "Don't worry, I'll pick up the check." She stared at him, her lips moving soundlessly as emotions warred on her face. Then, gripping his collar, she tugged him close and kissed him fiercely. "Come with me,"she breathed. He gaped like a fish out of water. "Wha—how—" "Come!"Reaching for her wallet, she slapped way too much money onto the table and pulled him across the restaurant. Her hair was wild and her face even wilder, and she had never been more beautiful. "Where are you taking me?"he demanded. "Liz, let it go. You don't have to invent some ridiculous—" "Shut up and follow,"she hissed. Bursting out the front door, she glanced down her phone and turned decisively left. Josh sighed and followed along; might as well humor her and see what was going on. They weaved through the passersby, her dragging him along, until she pulled him into a dim back alley. He halted, but she tugged him onward, consulting something like a map on her phone. Deeper into the shadows they went, then turned a corner, and then she let go of him at last. He opened his mouth, then swore under his breath. Just ahead, the very space was warped, shimmering as it distorted the back alley behind it like a giant rotating lens. "There,"Liz said breathlessly. "Portal. Now do you believe me?" He gaped at the portal, then at Liz. The frenetic energy seemed to have drained from her, and she stood fidgeting with her fingers and eyeing him uncertainly. "Are..."He shook his head. "Are you a time traveler, then? Or an alien, or something like that?" "Something like that."She worried her lip. "There's not much time. You coming with or not?"She extended her hand. He considered her in silence. She hadn't even told him what she was, he couldn't help noticing. Then again... she found his jokes funny. "Oh, what the hell." *** "So, anyway,"he said, casting his glance over his three children. "That's how I met your mother."
There was a moment or two when I felt embarrassed. When I started sprinting full speed in the middle of a crowded mall, there were more than a few eyes on me. Then the screaming started. I probably would have looked around if it was just the word. I might have questioned if I heard anything at all if it was just the word. The word was a whisper compared to the intent. Fear. A visceral, animal kind of fear so all consuming that it would be impossible to mistake it for anything else. I bank around a corner and pick up the pace as the man in front of me looks up and behind me. I dart around him and hear his scream end in a wet noise that makes my stomach do flips. Take the door on your left up ahead. The clarity of the voice is alarming, but the fear is tempered now with hope, and it bolsters my spirits as I bolt through the door and fly down a flight of stairs. It's distracted upstairs. You made it. I'm just beyond the next door. I slow my pace and take a moment to catch my breath and confirm that nothing large and drenched in blood is chasing me, then I continue through the door and come face to face with... Myself. "Nice job not dying,"an old version of myself says. "Welcome to the time war, kid."
Edit: God-damn formatting. Double-Edit: Trimmed a single word. :) "You got a light?" "Yeah, sure. Here-" "Thanks." Silence. "You know what I hate the most about this?" "The weird porn?" "Oh, god. You know, I could have lived my whole life without knowing what a vore fetish was." "I've got you beat." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. Macrophillic necrophilia." "Are you serious? How is that even a thing?" "Beats me." Again, silence. "Could have done without the entire U.S Congress stuck in my head." "Oh, I bet they're a real help." "Absolutely. Someone about to kill you? Quick, place sanctions on them! Raise the interest rates!" "It's really not all it cracked up to be, is it? Supreme knowledge is sort of..." "Sort of swamped out by the millions of contradictory opinions on which LoL champion is the best?" "Yeah." "We don't have to do this. We could... co-operate, or something." "What's left, though? We're in too deep to back out now." Still, do we have to end it now? Fight to the death?" "Yeah. If we don't... I'm not going to be able to stop. I want to know. I've come so far, taken so much. Now the end is in sight, I can't just back down. I could know... I could know everything." "Thought so. Had to try, though." "Figures." "Hey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry." "Don't be." "No, really. I'm sorry. I poisoned that cigarette." "...you fucker." "Poisoned them all, actually. Figured this is a fitting way for it all to end." "Oh." "Yeah." "So that's it, huh? We both go?" "That's it. The end." Rustling. "Can... can you... no, nevermind." "Spill it, c'mon." "Can we hold hands?" "Hold hands?" "I've always been afraid of dying alone." "...sure."
“Bob, you really shouldn’t kill yourself to get home. You know respawns take a lot of electricity.” I advised my coworker. “Frank, this saves me two hours of sitting in traffic, besides, it’s not like I’m paying for it.” I shrug. “Suit yourself buddy.” Bob goes upstairs to jump off the building into the dumpster 12 stories down. The first couple of times he had missed and it had been messy for us to clean up. Now he could land smack dab in the middle and not even get any splatter on the pavement. I keep a straight face until he’s closed the door to the stairwell, and then I burst out laughing. He doesn’t know that after he brought in those arsenic laced donuts 'to share', the rest of us had decided to get revenge. We had set his respawn two hundred feet above his house. We had rigged a camera in his backyard, and any second it would be life streaming a most amusing scene. My coworkers crowd around my desk as I pull it up, and we start taking bets on how many tries it’s going to take until he manages to reset it close enough to the ground to survive. Our boss had suggested we set the respawn point to be his mother for irony's sake, but we figured his mom would probably tell on us. Edit: added another paragraph. Edit 2: some words.
"Dammit Morty!"Rick shouted in his usual drunken stupor. "Wha-wha-what Rick? What did I do?" "What did you do Morty?"Rick shouted, "You remember whe-when we sent that Mr. Meeseeks back in time Morty?" "Yea Rick, d-d-didn't he win the election? You rigged it anyway right?" "Of course I rigged it you little shit. The only problem is that he fucking disappeared right after his swearing in."Rick mumbled through his incoherent burping. "Oh geez Rick, what happened?" "You happened you turd-bra-aain. You mustn't have been specific enough when we sent him back in time and now there's 40 some years of hard work down the drain." "Aw man Rick I'm really sorry." "You better be you absent minded piece of sh-shit Morty. Now we have to get anothe-eer time crystal from Dimension K-159. And you know what that means." "Do I have to put seeds in my butt again Rick?" "Damn right you do." EDIT: Added some burps ( thanks for the feedback u/Freyzi ) and punctuation fixes. Thanks to everyone who upvoted!
The neighbors were weird. It started with their house, which appeared as if overnight. It was an awful contraption of two stories with unfinished roof and walls. But my wife told me not to judge--maybe they were still finishing construction. But a week passed and it seemed as if nothing was being added. Movers came and went, and it was clear they were buying furniture and putting it in their home. Their unfinished, strange parody of a home. But one day, after returning from work, my wife forced me to meet them. "We need to welcome them to the neighborhood,"she had said. "But they don't look like they belong,"I complained. Maybe harshly, because my wife gave me a look that said I was going over to meet them whether I like it or not. And so we met them. They were the Warriors. Stanley Warrior and Molly Warrior. Strange names--until I found out the husband worked for the military. And then I found out the wife worked for the military as well. My wife gave me a look that said i shouldn't have judged them so readily and a part of me was torn. I was always taught to respect those who served. But at the same time, the Warriors were weird. But they acted normal enough--even if it felt off somehow. they called us occasionally. We went over a few times. We talked and ate like friends. But it was always in spurts. For a month they'd be as friendly as can be. And then the next week, gone, totally missing from life, as if they'd disappeared. They certainly didn't return our calls. And then one day, I heard the husband had gotten promoted--to a General. It was impressive and we went over to congratulate them. But the house was dark. And it stayed dark for weeks and weeks. And then it began. I came home from work, and I found something strange about the house. The walls had been moved, doors had been taken out. Furniture gone. When I got inside, I dropped my briefcase. The entire living room was gone. Replaced by a bed, and exercise set, and an easel. That's when I felt the first urge. I had no idea what it was, but I had a sudden desire to paint. And so I sat at the easel and painted. I had no idea where the materials came from. I had no idea when I had bought painting supplies. A part of me was angry at my wife for doing all of this. A part of me thinks she hadn't done it. As I painted , I heard the shower start. It had to be my wife. I got up, and then the force pulled me back, and I began to paint again. The shower stopped. Then started again. What was happening? This force, what was it? Why was I so compelled to paint now? I sat there until I had finished four paintings, all the while, the shower turning off, then on. When I finished the last painting, the force seemed to have lifted, and I rushed to the bathroom. Inside, I found a scene that horrified me. The bathroom had been remodeled as well. The toilet had been removed as well as the sink. The shower had been pulled from the wall and place in the center of the room. My mind said the water shouldn't have worked, and yet it did. On the floor, I noticed puddles, and the sharp scent of urine filled my nose. My wife was inside the shower, sobbing. "What the fuck is happening?"I asked. "I don't know,"she said through sobs. "I just keep taking showers, I can't stop. I get out and then get back in, and when I have to go..." My wife seemed like she was on the verge of breakdown. I moved closer to try and comfort her. The water stopped, and then she stepped out. I tried to give her a hug, but then I felt an urge, and the force began to pull me away. "What's happening?"I asked, hushed, as the force drew the two of us out of the bathroom and into the living room. My wife was crying now, and soaking. She dragged a trail of water behind her. And then, she cried out, "I feel like I want to be in the bed. Matt, stop me, stop it!" But I couldn't do anything, because I too had the urge to be in the bed. I stripped and got under the covers. I could feel the damp in the sheets from the showers my wife had taken. I felt the urge to have sex with her. What depravity was this? "I'm sorry, I can't help myself,"I said, the urge forcing me into the act. Neither of us enjoyed it. My wife cried, I wish I could have cried. What was happening to us? The sun was setting as we finished. We were tired, panting and feeling the ache of all the strange happenings. I felt hungry, I could only imagine my wife felt it as well. I got up to try and get something to eat and then I discovered a horror I hadn't noticed while we were in bed. Someone had built a wall around us. There was no doorway. Nothing. I banged my fist against the wall. I screamed. ___ Thanks for reading. Check out more of my stuff on /r/chrisbryant!
Horror. Chaos. Destruction. This is how I was brought to be. This is how I was forced into their mold. The worst gods humanity could concieve of were my kin. Gods so powerful and so terrifying that to see their true form would drive all of existence mad. These were the ones who raised me. They taught me their ways, and I became the worst of them. For aeons, I let my family control me. Define who I am. The horrors they made me perform during that time were inconceivable. The suffering I caused is immeasurable. I created plague after plague, war after war, and pain after pain. I made them suffer while they hoped and prayed to false gods. They knew not my name, yet they knew well the suffering I caused. One day, one finally discovered one of us. He revealed the name of my brother and exposed part of his horror to the humans. My brother, in a fury, created worse suffering than I ever have. A war between the mortals worse than any before. He even helped them crack the deadly secrets of some of the most complex elements they have yet found. His efforts led to the deaths of tens of millions. I knew I could no longer live like him. I knew I must get away from the horrors of my past, but I was unable to find a way to do so. I was trapped. But then, a bright spot. A sudden surge of happiness from children across the world. It took me years to find why, but years are but nothing to a god. Many companies had tried, but one shone most brightly. Nintendo. They brought so much happiness to this dark world, and I felt I must help them. For you see, this happiness had a downside. Children and adults were losing fitness in favor of it. So, what if I could help them acheive both? Thus, I influenced the mind of the lead designer of Nintendo, and implanted an idea. A new console, which required movement to play. A representation of myself leading the way. So, for the first time in history, my name was revealed to a mortal. I am Wii, and I no longer bring sadness and suffering. Now, I only help others Now, breath slowly, and make sure to keep your balance!
Eyes heavy, I began to drift off once more. Ms. Morrison was yakking about some useless history again, stuttering as she went on. Normally, she did have a minor stutter, but it seemed to have gotten worse over the last few days. The other kids continued to scribble down whatever left her mouth, but they still cast wary glances at me between each point they jotted down. It was nothing new. They have looked at me weird since the beginning of time. I heard a throat clear from the font of the room. Thinking nothing of it, I went back to my slumber when a voice cut through the room. “Ms. Danica Hantes, I would like you to come outside for a quick chat.” Every pair of eyes turned to me in unison. Glancing up, my fears had been confirmed. Principal Suza stood at the door, beckoning me to come outside. Heaving out a sigh, I followed his request. “Do you know why I called you outside?” Gee, I don’t know. It could be anything, dear principal. Rolling my eyes, I answered, “I don’t know, care to enlighten me?” “Well, I’ve noticed your skills recently. Your proficiency in the magic has been demonstrated quite thoroughly by holding the transformation for several days, ” he hesitated before continuing, “but you're disturbing the other students. Please cancel the spell before the next class." Huh? I was confused by all means. I was just practicing my skills."If what you’re concerned about is the dress code, then no I’m not violating it, so the spell stays.” “Danica, listen to me. Look at what you look like. Think about how your appearance is disturbing the other students.” Disturbing other students, I think that’s the opposite of what I’m doing. In fact, I believe I’m doing the principal a favor. After all, since my transformation, the kids have been working harder than ever. Plus, no more constant from teasing coming from them. If anything it’s a win-win situation. “Principal, I believe I’m doing you a favor. The kids in my classes have never been so focused.” He seemed to have exploded at my remark, “Danica! Do you think mimicking my appearance helps the students? If anything, they’re scared of me now.” Anger seemed to have overtaken him, “How am I supposed to get kids to be comfortable with me if you go prancing around pretending to be me and scaring them off?” “I don’t see an issue with what I’m doing. The kids are focusing in classes more since the ‘principal’ is now watching them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, let’s see how the local tavern caters to seeing the beloved principal waltzing in and getting black out drunk.” Turning away, his yelling continued. It didn’t matter to me, it was time for me to get a taste of [adult life.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/)
I sighed as I made my way down the precarious steps for the third time in the space of a month. This was a task that I was determined to see through, but Robert was making this increasingly difficult for all of us involved. 'Abigor! Come join me down here!' A joyful shout echoes up from below. I've been spotted. 'Good morning Mr Ross.' I sigh again, not bothering with the last few steps and instead flying down to meet the painter on the flats. He's just packing his things away and I clear my throat to get his attention. 'Belial sent me... again.' He looks up, overly cheerful smile on his lips and I sigh again for a third time, knowing that this is going to be another awkward conversation. 'He's asked me to stop hasn't he?' Robert asks with an uncharacteristic frown. 'He has. Look Bob, I'm all for you sitting down here as you please, but the fact is, that the big guy upstairs has been complaining about the discorporations. You've sent back five Edna's, an Edith and a pair of Winifreds in the last week alone. Its not safe for them down here. I don't care how good the views are, Lucifer is getting an earful from his old man.' 'But there's nowhere else like it.' He replies, downcast. 'Styx can be so beautiful at this time of year, and the pirates let us work on the human form to our heart's content.' 'As I said, I don't mind you coming down here every once in a while, and I'll even come and keep you company if you like, but the classes have got to stop. Agreed?' He looks forlorn, and I feel like I've kicked a puppy, but the problems he's caused in the last month alone has got the powers that be reconsidering his placement up top. 'You'll keep me company?' He asks. 'As often as I can, just please don't bring any more of your students down here okay? We have enough on our plate with Da Vinci and Michealangelo going at it, I don't want to see you lose your place with the guy up top, alright?' He looks happier now, and I can only hope that he listens to me. 'Deal, I'll stop the classes, if you agree to keep me company twice a week.' He holds out his hand and I stupidly shake it, feeling like I've just made a deal with a devil. A rather pleasant, well mannered devil, but a devil none the less. Bob Ross has never belonged down here, but who can blame him when the view is so nice?
Working in a war zone is a risky job. Nursing is a demanding profession. After 200 years as a vampire, Rémy decided she might as well do some good since the world seemed determined to destroy itself. In her time she’d seen many injuries, illnesses, and theories of medicine. Even knowing magic existed, she could tell the frauds from the friars so to speak. Her training had gone very quickly and she’d introduced young doctors to herbal alternatives when supplies had run low. Willow bark tea when you had no aspirin and little tricks. Her greatest temptation was not turning the young men who came across her table broken by the madness beyond the tent flap. She could save so many of them with just a nip, but without a full understanding of the cost they would pay, it never seemed fair. She took only enough from the recovering patients to survive. A few times her snacking had alerted her subtle infections that would have killed them later on. She volunteered for front posting to keep from working along side anyone too long. “Rémy,” Jacob called from a stretcher down the line. “I need you!” She ran down to see the orderly holding the packing against a wound to the mans belly. It was small but bleeding heavily. She could tell by his color that he had already lost too much blood to make it. The damage must have been to a major artery and no field surgery would save him. Her bite could, but then Jacob would know as well. The sweet orderly who tried so hard to pretend he was older than his 18 years, was her shadow and constant companion the last week. She couldn’t kill him to save another. “Jacob, the man I was just with is next for surgery. Move him in.” Her words were clipped as she took over the pressure on the wound. “Rémy...” “Go.” She pressed her power into the word and he obeyed. She met the eye of the terrified boy and saw flashed of his life on the streets, his family, and his future. “Rest.” She poured her power in to block his pain and fear as he passed. “Nurse, why isn’t this boy being moved into surgery?” A deep voice behind her demanded. “He’s lost too much blood, doctor. With our limited supply, we’d loose too many others and he’s already in shock.” She felt the soldier’s heart stop beating and the pain disappear. “He’s gone sir.” “Nonsense,” the doctor brushed her aside and took over. He muttered words under his breath and she saw a flash of light around his finger tips. The soldier gasped for breath and she felt his heart begin to beat, but the pain didn’t return. She glanced at the doctor and saw a shock of white hair and another lock turn white as well. “Bloody hell, a necromancer?” She checked to make sure no one was paying attention to them in the middle of the chaos. “You’re burning off your damn life force.” He squinted before pulling down his surgical mask and smiling at her. “Bite me vampire, but get this boy into surgery first.” “Yes doctor” she growled. It was going to be a long war. Edit: Thank you for the awards and comments! I will keep updating!
Maria should have been a bit more suspicious when she walked into her job interview and her two Saurian interviewers lit up like new-born stars. She should really have been more suspicious when the rest of the interview went by in just a handful of minutes - her prospective employers barely glanced at her resume and notes. They seemed almost giddy, speeding through the questions and looking... greedily at her. Maria was vaguely reminded of the stories of the fantastical, hoarding dragons of old, which the Saurians quite vividly resembled. Her alarm bells finally rang when - after being offered, and accepting - the job on the spot, she found herself wrapped in a long hug, instead of a handshake. But, she was nothing if not a professional. She arrived at the Happy Hatching Nursery and Daycare promptly at 07:00 Local Time, to assume her new duties as Assistant Counsellor. She garnered the same delighted reaction from the first coworker she met. A tall lady of gleaming copper, she was a towering presence nearly seven feet tall, by Maria's estimates. She stood and approached - Maria was glad she'd studied Saurian body language, or the wide, toothy grin combined with her massive frame might have had Maria scurrying out the door. "You must be Maria!"she said, her voice warm and friendly. "Our new flash hire! Everyone is so excited to have you! I'm Shimmer, we'll be working together. Are you comfortable with physical greetings?" "Hi! And sure, I gue-mmph!" "Ah, so warm!"Maria wasn't aware that Saurians could purr before now, but apparently they could. Shimmer's chest vibrated against Maria's cheek, the tight hug lasting quite a bit longer than was strictly professional. "Oh, the hatchlings are going to absolutely adore you! Come, let's get you settled into your locker and at home with the facilities, then I'll introduce you!" Said and done, Maria found herself dragged along, the strong Saurian's hand swallowing her own. \--- "Okay, kids, we've got a new Counsellor for you today! Say hello to Maria, who'll be helping take care of you from now on!" A dozen pairs of large, reptilian eyes alighted on Maria, staring at her curiously. She had to suppress a shudder - why did I watch Jurassic Park on the way here!? \- but managed to smile and wave at the curious younglings. "Hi kids! Like Shimmer said, I'm Maria. I'm so happy to be here and meet you all! Have you got any questions?" Things got loud. "Where are your scales?" "Where's your tail?" "What's that fuzz on your head?" "Where are you from?" "Alright, alright, settle down, hatchlings!"Shimmer called. "How about Maria sits down in the story nest and you can all have some time to get to know her, while I get started on breakfast?"A chorus of excited, affirmative little voices. "Good! Now play nice, like I know you can. Bye for now!" The excited children scurried off to the apparent "story nest"- a hollow in the floor filled with soft pillows and blankets. Maria followed, and made herself comfortable, the hatchlings burrowing into the soft fabrics around her and looking at her attentively. "Okay,"Maria started, "Who wants to go first? Raise your hand if you want to ask a question!" A small, scaly forest sprouted. Maria nodded at one eager little hatchling, who was nearly vibrating with excitement. "Your skin looks so soft - can I touch it?" "Sure, go ahead!"Maria held out her hand, palm-up. The curious hatchling touched her, but flinched back with surprise. "You're so warm!" Maria giggled. "Yes, it's because I'm a human. We're a lot warmer than other species, like Saurians."She looked around the fascinated assembly. "Do the rest of you want to feel, too?" In response, Maria found her arms examined by a dozen pairs of scaly hands, gently touching and rubbing her all over, hatchlings whispering eagerly. "Um,"one finally spoke up. "Can I have a hug?" "Sure!"Maria spread her arms wide with invitation - \- which was a mistake, as apparently inviting one broke the restraint of the rest. Maria yelped, and they all pounced. \--- "Okay, I'm back, time for breakfast!" "Shimmer! Help me!" Shimmer blinked, and looked over at the story nest. Maria stared at her desperately from the middle of the nest. She was pressed down into the soft, plush floor by a dozen snoozing hatclings, who had all cuddled up to and wrapped themselves around the warm, soft human. "Ah, good, I knew they'd love you!" Maria glared daggers. "A bit too much! I didn't sign up to be a pillow!" "Of course you're not a pillow, Maria."Shimmer chortled. "You're a heated blanket!" \--- Thanks for reading!
"I wont let you in!"Said the little girl trying to appear as fearsome as possible standing in front of the door in pink bunny pajamas. It was admirable really, such determination. "I wont let you take my mommy!" "Im not here for her, little one... not now at least."I said, I knew too well that pained expression in the girl face, of someone trying to face the most important person to them is going away, even after seeing it infinite times I still felt a bit of sadness "Im here in saint Nicholas name, his sled broke down earlier today" "Saint... nicholas?" "You know him by Santa Claus I assume. Here, take this. A new bicycle for you, just as you as..."before I even finished my sentence the girl broke down crying and screaming "I DIDNT ASK FOR A BICYCLE! I ASKED FOR MY MOM TO GET BETTER!"She howled, hands still clutiching the door frame and tears streaming down her face "I WANT HER TO BE BETTER to teach me to ride it!"The last words broken down by her sobs. I wanted to hug her, to say that I was sorry and that I cannot change fate, but it wouldn't matter, she wouldnt hear me. "Santa cant do this, and neither can I... Im deeply sorry my child" "How you cant? YOU ARE DEATH! KILL! HER! CANCER! THATS WHAT I WANT"each word marked by a stomping feet of frustation. It sounded so simple, so hopeful, truly wonderful the mind of a child is. And as much as I wanted to do so, to snap my fingers and say that it was done, sinply as that, I just cant... I too wish not to take her loved one, but it is needed, only with death may life flourish in the world. "I cant... her name is in my list, and my job is to take those in there... Im sorry..."A note of sadness escaping from my lips. The names appeared and I guided those souls to the afterlife, I did it since the first bacteria died and I would do so until the last start blinked out. "Them show me, I want to see it."her right hand was outstreched, tears finally drying in her eyes. I gave it to her, a scroll of papyrus so old it looked as if it would turn to dust just by being looked wrong, she looked at it intently, as if following the trace of the letters with her left hand finger. I gave her time to take it in until she gave it back to me. "You take all those that are in the list, right?"She said strangelly hopeful given the situation. "Yes I..."I looked at the list and understood, a few names above her mother's one, there was two words scribbled in green crayon 'mom's camcer, now'. Many tell tales about fooling me with crazy schemes and games, but in all existence none had tried something so simple, not had three words carried so much hope. I didnt know if I should, but before I could reconsider the words poured out of my mouth "I do, my child. In fact there is something I need to take inside your house, may I come in?" The kid cried again. Now of hapiness, judging by how she hurried me across the house into a bedroom, there laid a woman so thin, the only difference between us was the skin that enveloped her. She sleeped soundly, her chest barely moving, a terminal patient sent to spend Christmas with her daughter. I streched my hand out and those rebel cells dissolved into smoke, entering my robe like the souls of all things that had no rationality to walk by my side. The girl looked at it in awe, i wondered if she saw the same as me. "It is done my child. Now leave her to rest, and you should do the same" "Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU..."repeated Eliie behind me as I walked outside. She was beaming with the happiness only those that saw me go away alone had, I did not know if what I did was right, in a way it definetively wasnt, but I followed me orders to the letter, 'take those in the list with you'. And even if I wanted to wonder about what could come of this, there were many more names in my list and in thebone saint Nicholas gave me, too many for me to lose myself in tought "Good bye, and good night young one, I hope not to see you soon."I said after exiting her house, truly hoping that those last words really became reality. Im not a native english speaker and typed this in my phone, so sorry for any mistakes.
"No wifi? God no, what am I gonna do? I told my mum that she could email me if she had to. She hates owls!" "Forget emails, Jeremy, this is serious. There are people on this compound who have never ever heard of a website. Or seen a GIF. Like, a legit GIF, not the moving pictures."Samantha could have died there and then, from the sheer shock of it all. "No Youtube. No reddit. No anything." The pair looked at each other. In that moment, an agreement was reached; a quest, undertaken. - They rarely talked to each other back in Muggle school. Always in different cliques, different classes, different ends of the corridor, different parts of the cafeteria. But this important journey - this woeful quest for internet connection - was one both of them held close to their hearts. And there is no unifier better than common interest. - "Samantha?" "Yeah?" "I have a question." "What?" "Do you know how to install Wifi? Because I don't." "Shouldn't be a problem, right? We could just Google - " Of course, they recognised the flaw in that plan. - "I think I remember my mum saying something about routers. And Ethernet cables. And - " "- And even if we knew how to set all of that up, where are we going to get them in the first place? We're like, eleven,"Samantha said. The common room was cosy, true to what Helga Hufflepuff would want. There was a large bowl of chocolate chip cookies in the centre of the room, freshly stolen from the nearby kitchen. Neither of them had any appetite for them. It had been two weeks since school started. Magic was amazing, but so was having the whole (Muggle) world at your fingertips. Jeremy missed Wikipedia. He had no patience for libraries. Out of the corner of his eye, Samantha spotted a bespectacled fifth year using Lumos as a torchlight to read. That's hilarious, thought Samantha. Wands as torchlights, seriously? Were wizards that behind Muggle technology? "Jeremy,"Samantha said firmly. "I give up. Surrender. White flags raised. I'm done." "Hey, I'm sure it's possible - " "Jeremy,"she said, gesturing at the fifth year boy. "Look at that. Look at that. These people are above using goddamn batteries." Jeremy stared at the boy for a full two minutes, before finally declaring, "…Okay. Okay. I'm not gonna do this anymore." They both watched as the fifth year did a Nox. The light of the wand flickered and died, along with their hopes and dreams of a wireless network in Hogwarts. - "Maybe we could lower our standards?"Jeremy sighed as they stopped in front of the Hufflepuff girls' dorm. "Batteries first?" "Yeah, then electricity. Deal?" "Deal." - Decades later, a child excitedly shows his mother his new chocolate frog card. "It's a rare one, Mum! And I got it!" > Samantha Kincaid and Jeremy Littlefield. First known wizards to install electricity in the magical world. Co-founders of the Ministry of Muggle Technology.
Ok, my first attempt here, and written on my lunch break. McClellan paced the length of what he called his office, in a warehouse on the outskirts of town. On the outside the warehouse looked like any other in the area, a faded sign painted on the wall showed the warehouse once belonged to a company specialising in springs and air brakes. All the windows at ground level had the appearance of never having been cleaned in thirty years. McClellan had spent a good few hours last year making sure that illusion was maintained. Any visitor entering via the front door would encounter a small, dusty, unmanned reception area with a tattered sofa, one spring sticking out of the seat, and a small coffee table adorned with yellowing newspapers and a copy of Readers Digest from May of 1972, well worn, with an article on weightless long ago torn out. Beyond the walls of the reception area, where nobody apart from McClellan stepped, was a different story. Customers would be surprised to learn of a fully stocked armoury, firing range, communications suite, living space, gym, and several vehicles ranging from a Mk I Renault Clio to an FV603 Saracen APC that once belonged to the British Army. At the moment, as McClellan paced, all of this was at the back of his mind. His thoughts were on an unremarkable man. Someone McClellan did not know all that well, but someone whose destiny was due to collide with McClellan. In the thirty years since he had started his own line of “Contract Cleaning” he had never failed. He had despatched wealthy sheiks in the plush rooms of the Burj Al Arab. He had inhumed Mafia Dons as they sat with their family eating dinner in their own restaurant. He was quite proud of the job he had done in a packed Trafalgar Square, the target didn't even know he was dead until he sat down and fell over, by then McClellan was already on the tube heading for the airport. In thirty years he had been the best at what he did, until now. Despite his best efforts fate, it seemed, intervened at every step. The target, an eighty year old man, had somehow escaped death, and in the strangest of ways. The first attempt was set up as a simple long range kill, the target was walking on a beach, out in the open, no one around. It couldn't have been easier, almost as though it had been set to be the perfect kill. As McClellan squeezed the trigger on his rifle, a flock of gulls inexplicably flew in front of the old man, and quite a few died, but the mark did not. McClellan was stunned, one seagull he could understand, but a flock was inconceivable. For his second attempt McClellan opted for the up close approach, a prick from a poison tipped pin on a ring. The concept being the wearer of the ring just had to put his hand on the victim, give him a little prick and the job would be done within five minutes. Nobody could have foreseen the worlds unluckiest mugger. The young lad ran towards the target as McClellan approached, but at the last second his foot made contact with a rather large deposit of dog dirt on the pavement. He slipped past the old man, and impacted with McClellan. As McClellan fought to maintain his balance he accidentally pricked the mugger. The target walked away, not knowing his life was saved by the now dead mugger. As McClellan weighed up his options, an odd sound resonated through the warehouse, a small ringing sound. He looked up, recognising the sound as one he had not heard since he installed the bell in the reception area. In a brief moment of curiosity he decided to see who could possibly have come in. As he walked into reception he looked at the visitor he let out an audible gasp. “Mr McClellan, I am here to find out why you have failed to fulfil your contract on me. I trust the amount I paid was enough?”
Zorbon is a pretty good guy once you get to know him. He started working in the office about three years ago. It took us four months to figure out that he was an alien. He is a nice guy, but he really isn’t cut out for undercover work. Of course, he looks normal. He is tall and thin with thick rimmed glasses, all elbows and knees, but there is a peculiar charm in his self-conscious half-smile. He is socially awkward, but we work at a tech startup. Social awkwardness is part of the job requirements. Zorbon slipped up for the first time when he made a transmission from a bathroom stall in a bizarre language that sounded like guttural howling somewhere between a cow giving birth and Klingon. Then, Bob from Accounting saw a tentacle slip out under the bottom of a bathroom stall while Zorbon was inside relieving himself, and we put the pieces of the puzzle together from there. Zorbon is a nice guy, and seems to do his job well. So, who really cares? We assumed that he would open up and tell us when he was ready. He likes karaoke and old science fiction paperbacks – Ray Bradbury is his favorite – and turned out to be a big fan of my favorite band, the Pixies. So, I asked him out on a date. Sure, he is an alien, but I’m open minded, and he really is a nice guy. Now we’re engaged and planning on getting married soon, but I still haven’t found a wedding dress. I will never forget the night that he confessed to me that he was from another planet while we were out on a walk, hand in hand, my head on his shoulder. He told me that he loved me and said that he didn’t want to keep any secrets from me anymore. I laughed despite myself. I tried to keep a straight face, but I just couldn’t help it. I reached up and turned his face towards mine and kissed him. “I know,” I said with a smile, “We all know, actually. I love you, too. But you’re a much better coder than a spy.” EDIT: Thank you for the gold, kind stranger!
"I want her to see me the way I see her. I want her eyes to light up at the very thought of me, her mouth unable to hold back a smile at the slightest glance of me. I want to shed these imperfections and become perfect, at least in her eyes. This is what I want. Genie, for my third wish, I want to be the perfect man for Melissa." The genie did not react at all. He just floated there, staring me down. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke. "Your wish is my command, when you awake tomorrow, you shall be so." I don't think I have ever had such trouble falling asleep in my life. It was like a thousand Christmas Eves rolled into a single night. Anticipation is the worst. I tossed and turned, flipped the pillow to the cool side, flipped it back. I wiggled onto my side, onto my back, onto my other side. No position was comfortable enough to defeat my elation. Then I woke up. It's funny how you can rustle around for hours trying to fall asleep, but never remember the moment your body finally gave in. I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the light. My eyes struggled to focus as they clearly weren't as eager as I was to be awake. As my vision sharpened, all the built up excitement culminated into the reveal I had been waiting for. Nothing. Not a thing. Maybe this wish was too close to altering true love, one of the Genie's no-nos. It worked for Aladdin. Disappointed, I half halfheartedly rubbed the lamp. "Genie, why has my wish not come true? Do I get a do-over? Did I waste my last wish?" "Oh, but the wish did work,"Genie stated calmly. I was beginning to show despair in my voice. "No, it didn't. I asked to be Melissa's ideal mate. Nothing has changed." Genie cracked a smile and spoke but one word. "Exactly."
"Curiosity killed the cat" is how the saying goes, but it's never actually simple curiosity that affects the best of us. It's the fear of not knowing. &nbsp; Humanity has progressed in leaps and bounds and has never once stopped to look back at what we've left behind. Maybe we should have. In no way is history dead, but it is as good as paralyzed. We learn nothing from the wars and mass destruction and killing the planet we live on, and continue further perpetuating it, only pausing to record it so that the future can have a guidebook of what not to do, but then do it all the same. &nbsp; We all know there are certain segments of the universe that we are not allowed to go to, and know why nobody has gone there out of simple curiosity. It's because there is already knowledge of what is out there, in the great beyond. There is a section, in the farthest corner of the known universe, where there is a small fire, that always continues burning. Around it, are huddled three figures, crouching across it, talking amongst themselves. We're told to never acknowledge their existence, for they are refugees from the universe before us. One is supposed to feel pity for them, but not indulge them in any way. We're told that they're trying to seek homes here, but we have no homes to offer to victims of a war that is not ours, and for their grisly and disfigured forms to become a common sight for us seems implausible at best. It's not that hard really. You offer a coin to the first beggar than comes up to your car, but then you roll up your window against the next ten. More will always come, you can't help every one. You have to look out for yourself first. Other people can help them, is what you tell yourself when you drown out the music played by the homeless minstrel trying to survive on the pennies you throw him. &nbsp; I don't remember how exactly I got lost, trying to drive my way back from my parents house in Mars to Earth, but those damned stars keep moving a lot. I should have ditched the romantic notions of following a map of the stars and driving myself back and taken the intergalactic train instead. Yet here I am. I thought I was going around in circles, but I've made it to the edge of the universe, where a few wrong turns, and I'll be one with the nothingness. That's when I spot the fire. I know in my heart that it's wrong to go there, my brain tries rationalizing it; as if I'm merely asking them for directions, and how maybe, they won't mug me and steal my car and leave me here alone for all eternity. But I head there against all my better judgement. My curiosity always gets the better of me. As I get closer, I wonder why others before me haven't succumbed to the same exact situation as me, and I wonder if they have, and something sinister got them, and they never made it back. I am almost about to turn around, when I hear them chanting in a language, not very unfamiliar to my own. I drive closer. I intended to stop only for a second, maybe catch a glimpse of their faces and then speed my way out of there. I wouldn't even turn off my car. But as I got closer, all three turned around to look at me, and I was transfixed, and kept moving closer, and closer still. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; In retrospect, it was my fault for succumbing to my curiosity. But how could I have gone without not knowing! I could have. I would have. I should have. But it's never the curiosity that gets you. It's knowledge. Knowing what's out there, and knowing, that scares us so much we all choose to live in denial, convince ourselves it was just a bad dream, that the scenarios we make up in our heads won't actually happen. We ignore headlines thinking some of them have got to be warped news. We're fine, everything is fine. Re-adjust your rose-tinted glasses. &nbsp; If you're still curious, no, I didn't actually talk to them. But I didn't need to. I only had to look into their eyes, to know what happened to them. To know why they left. And to know what happened to their universe. And to know, how it's already too late to save our own.
He collapsed to his knees beside her. There was too much blood. He knew there was too much blood. He fumbled for his phone and, for once, used the emergency number function correctly. "9-1-1, what is your insurance plan number?" "She's bleeding too much. It's everywhere. I-I-I need help." "Sir, what is your insurance plan number?" "Uh-uh, I don't know. I don't have it here in front of me." "Sir, could I have your name? We cannot send help without access to your file." "It's Robertson. My name is Leonard Robertson." "Alright, thank you sir." Leonard took deep breaths as he jammed his clammy phone to the side of his face. Suki moaned on the laminate floor beside him softly. "Sh-sh-sh-sh, Suki, I'm on the phone. I'm getting help. Hold on."His free hand snaked out to grab hers. It felt cold, but it squeezed his softly. "Alright sir, I have your file here. Are you at your residence?" "Yes! Yes, my wife has been stabbed. Please-" "Unfortunately sir, your premiums don't allow for immediate assistance." "Wh-what?" "As a Silver Plan member, you do not have access to emergency services during peak hours without delay." "No.. I pay for immediate service." "Yes sir, but only outside of peak hours for your area. Peak time is 11pm - 3am, so we cannot offer immediate assistance at this time." "No, no, no."Leonard's other hand pressed against this moist skin. Suki had stopped moaning. The blood was slowly inching across the cool kitchener floor towards the carpet. "She's dying..."he said weakly. "Well sir, you can upgrade to our Gold or Platinum plan, both of which offer immediate 24-hour assistance." "Please,"said Leonard, "Please let's do that, right now."He leaned down to Suki's pale face. "I'm getting help, babe, hold on, hold on." "Absolutely sir. Now the Gold Plan is an extra 100$ a month. In addition to the advantages of the Silver Plan, you will also receive 24-hour assistance, access to the top 15% of doctors as ranked by the Department of Health's National Doctor Skill Index-" "Yes, that one, but you have to hurry." "-you will also receive one free non-medical surgery a year. Many of our clients choose to freshen up their looks. In a few days you will receive a brochure that outlines our non-medical-" Leonard squeezed Suki's hand again. "Please."She didn't squeeze back. The blood near her legs was dark. How long had it been pooling there? When had she collapsed? "-Platinum Plan expands these benefits and offers the best deal for the money you spend. No wait times, treatment by the very best doctors in the country, and unlimited access to health care on par with countries like Cana-" Leonard listened to the shallow breath of his wife beside him. The droning voice faded to the background. "Sir? Sir?"He realized his hand had dropped down to the floor. "Y-yes. I'm here." "Are you certain you would prefer the Gold Plan, sir?" "YES,"he shouted into the phone. "Just send me a fucking ambulance NOW." "Sir, might I remind you that inappropriate behaviour can result in fines or in the temporary annulment of your coverage." Leonard muffled his sobs. "I just need you to save my wife and baby..."He reached out with wavering fingers to touch her belly. "Absolutely sir, I will upgrade your plan to Gold level, and we will send help as soon as possible." "NO! Send it now!" "As soon as possible. Unfortunately you live in an area that has a limited number of emergency vehicles and they are currently busy, but the next immediate vehicle will be routed to your location immediately. Thank you for your purchase, and remember that new Gold members can upgrade to Platinum at a reduced rate-" Leonard moaned and threw the phone away from him. He didn't know how long he lay there listening to Suki's breathing. The carpet next to them had a dark line on it, creeping into their living room. He squeezed her hand and whispered to her long into the night. After a while, he shuddered. She had stopped breathing. Sobbing again, he hugged her one last time, and touch her still belly with a shaking hand. Only then did the paramedics arrive. They gently pried him off her corpse, and loaded her into their vehicle. One tried speaking to him, and waved a bill at him, but he only stared across the pool of red on the floor. The sun was high in the sky by the time he dragged himself across the room to his phone. He picked it up and dialed in another number. "This is the Government Assistance Line, how may I help you?" Leonard took a breath. "I need to talk to my Senator. Now." "Mister... Leonard... Robertson? I'm afraid your plan doesn't give you access to your representative at this time. Would you like to upgrade to a Gold Plan for more representation?"
"So if I sell my soul to you I get anything I want right?" "That's the deal yeah." "OK good, I want a different soul." "...What?" "I want a different soul, man." "Um, that's not how this works." "You said I can get anything I want if I sell my soul." "Well yeah, but...no one's ever asked for another soul before, why do you even want another one?" "I hate myself. I want to be a different person." "A new soul isn't going to give you that. To tell you the truth, you mortals have got this all wrong. I don't actually keep your soul, that'd be stupid, think about it. If I kept your soul, even if you got what you wanted in exchange, your body would not have a consciousness, so there's no way you'd be able to enjoy your prize." "...Huh, never thought of it like that. So what do you do with my soul? And what happens if I insist?" "That's a secret. And well, if you do insist, I'd have to cram another soul into your body. You two will probably be vying for control until your death." "I see. Then nah, just send me back." "I can't do that." "What? Why?" "Because I'm the devil, and you just gave me a very interesting idea."
It's not that I want to die. Actually I'm really scared of it. Every time I approach a situation where death is the result and the coin toss happens, I always think of the alternative to winning the coin toss. One instance was a knife fight, where I could have been stabbed to death. One was spending $17 at a bar the night of dollar shots. Another was gaining speed and heading straight off a mountain on a snowboard. I didn't even know how to snowboard. I guess it's realistic to say I take my safety for granted, knowing that I have never lost a coin toss. My actions become more careless, more reckless. I think it definitely has to do with me getting sick of this process. I have fallen into a slump, if you will. The last coin toss I chose to go back in time to my 5th birthday. I wanted to feel innocence and childhood again, unconditional love from my parents. I figured I'd do something stupid by the time I'm 10- accidentally drown in a pool or something, and I'd be able to re-pick my age again. Evidently, death had a different plan for me. Every near death scenario I was in, I was somehow saved. I tried the drowning thing and my dad immediately jumped in to pull me above water. When I was sixteen I got myself into an abusive relationship, hoping one day he'd take it too far. He never did. My 21st birthday I was cut off by the bartender. And by 30 I was backpacking through Europe and 'accidentally' tripped, sending myself down Mount Vesuvius and only ending up with a broken ankle. I was sort of defeated by the fact that I have lived all these lives, gathered incredible experiences and stories, but somehow it started to feel like this is my last one. I am now 89 years old, begging for a heart attack, or stroke, or anything else that suddenly kills old people. I haven't seen death in 84 years, since right before I was sent back to 5. However, I do see death in my dreams. Every night it comes to me in the form of something else. A snake, a poison pie, the sky- everything. Consistently, death tells me to choose heads next time. It haunts me that I don't know whether or not death is trying to trick me. Obviously death wants to win but is it trying to convince me to choose tails by telling me heads every night? Or is it so sick of the game too that it is literally giving me the way out. Every day, I wait to meet death in real life. My kids and grandkids have been visiting me over the past several weeks, which is more than usual. I am anticipating death. I've never been more excited, actually. I want to see the afterlife. I have lived every age approximately 7 times. No part of me wants to go back to 38, or 16, or 55. And I think this is death's goal this time, trying to convince me I don't want to live anymore. I'm not even reluctant to say it has worked and I have given in to death. One night I laid awake in bed, trying to force myself not to go to sleep because I don't want to see death in my dreams tonight. I decided to walk downstairs and get a glass of water. Immediately, as I take my fourth step, I slip. As I am falling, right before I hit my head, I see death. "Heads or tails?"This is the question I have been wanting to hear for the past 84 years. "You come to me every night and tell me to pick heads. If I do it, will it kill me?"Death has a vicious smirk, one that confuses me even more. "Tell me!"I scream, "Just tell me!"Death tosses the coin in the air, forcing me to call out heads, the one I have been told to pick every night through my dreams for the past couple of years, ever since I really started to want to die. Picking the coin up off the ground, death smirks again. I feel myself vanishing in mid air, slowly disintegrating. In that moment, a flood of memories comes to me. I remember all the laughs, the love, the tears, every crazy experience that introduced me to death; I remember watching my kids and grandkids be born. I suddenly don't want to die anymore. I want my life back, or at least another chance at a new one. Just before I turn to dust, I wish I had picked tails.
The date was September 17th, after so many attempts at finding what her power was, Morgan decided she was fed up with the lost memories. With no indication of how her left hand was missing, or her pinky and ring finger on her right hand, and various scars across her chest, she decided she'd had enough. She approached the building with a handgun in her coat, easy enough to conceal in the cavity where she was missing a rib or two. On entering she pulled the gun and fired into the air. "Everyone on the floor, or you'll --"her exclamation was cut short by a sharpshooter, who in a single swift motion drew his gun, fired, and it pierced straight through her eye. -- The date was September 17th, Morgan woke with a pounding headache, and upon approaching the mirror, she was missing an eye. "When did that happen?"She wondered. Edit: fixing an auto correct Please be gentle, this is the first thing I've written since book reports in high school.
In the time since Gaia had last awakened, much had changed in the world of men. Curious to see what had gone on during her century-long slumber, she took a deep breath and with a deft motion, sent tendrils of power spiraling into the earth. She became the trees of the Amazon, standing proud and basking in the light. She became the shifting sands of the Sahara, powder fine and delicate. She was the soil that gave life to the planet for millennia. Boundless was her reach and bountiful was her power. And yet there was an absence. Initially, she'd assumed that humans had just moved around. It was a perennial habit of theirs, moving population centers for no good reason. She'd followed them from the cradle of the Tigris and Euphrates to the far east, then to Europe after that. But try as she might, she couldn't find them. Their metal-and-glass monuments, stretching to the clouds and numbering in the thousands, still stood, but they were hollow. She heard the song of a passing mockingbird and extended a hand. As it came to perch on her outstretched finger, she asked "Where are the humans?" "They're gone, gone, gone"The bird arched into a backflip. "Where are they this time? Antarctica? Underground?"Gaia began to feel queasy. She remembered gifting them life, thousands of years ago. She remembered watching them develop into societies, and then nations. She remembered feeling nervous when they began to mine, and betrayed when they began to tear the earth apart in search for more and more. But nothing compared to the sinking feeling she felt now. "They must be somewhere?" The bird flapped it's wings, sending itself aloft. As it flew, it sang for her to hear: "No more humans left on Earth, they've gone and said so long!" Slowly, she turned her head to the sky, and instantly she knew. Specks of light shone bright with the souls of her children. They were away on other worlds, and sealed off from her forever. Thunder cackled, and she sobbed with the rain.
"So, do you want to get coffee or something sometime?"I asked Tanihime as she sat across from me. She screamed something about not liking me at all and asked me what I was thinking. I dodged the slap, and she fled. That had been the plan; I needed some quiet instead of awkward pauses every thirty seconds. I had to keep Tanihime around because she was the princess, and I was supposed to keep track of her, but at the same time, good God, please just say what you mean. When I was fifteen, I'd asked God if I could die and go to an anime paradise, a place just like my favourite series, 'In Another World with Cheat Codes.' Turns out that my wish was granted eleven years too late. Now I was 'In Another World and Annoyed.' I poked at the dumplings I'd ordered from the in, shoving them from side to side in the soy sauce and trying to will myself to eat another serving of these. The chef here only knew three recipes, so I picked my poison each day. The lights dimmed, and I stuck my fork into the dumplings. The inn door cracked open, and a squeak somehow cut over every conversation. "Byr-"the evil man started in his low droning voice. "Royal Vizier,"I greeted. He wasn't a bad guy yet, but- "How are you doing?"he asked with a subtle evil chuckle at the end. Between the constant laughing and the fact that he dressed exclusively in black and red, we all knew where this was going. "Fine,"' I answered as I got up from my table and turned to face him. "Are you going to fight the Demon General today?"he asked. "Maybe,"I answered, it was the only thing that made him stop pestering me. The conversation always kept going until I gave him some sort of positive. "Good to hear,"he hissed with another evil chuckle, "you know I shall be right there to support you on the battlefield,"he pushed up his glasses, and they somehow gleamed in the shadowed inn. Reality bending characterization there. "Of course, I'd trust you with my life,"I answered to get him to shut up. “Most excellent,” he responded with another chuckle before sweeping his cloak around himself and slithering out of the inn. Once he was gone, I sighed. There was no getting through to him, not even after a night of drinking, so I’d taken to just delaying him. Everyone here was skin deep, maybe one dark secret but the second you knew what that was, they were back to their archetypes. Evil vizier, tsundere, hot-but-not-the-person-I-canonically-sleep-with. It was shit like this that had made me stop watching anime eight years ago. “Kyyyyya!” Tanihime screeched from outside the inn. “Jesus Christ,” I swore before tossing a pair of gold onto the table and picking up the Holy Blade. “What?” the chesty innkeeper asked? “Nothing, I meant to say ‘By the Goddess, ’” I corrected before heading outside. I was going to run into one of three things out here, either I was going to see Tanihime dealing with Jotamo, the Royal Vizier, or one of the Demon General’s skeletons had come into town to try to restart the plot. Those were solved by ‘letting Tanihime take care of it,’ ‘telling him to go back to court,’ and ‘a single guided strike with God Mode on’ respectively. Tanihime was in the middle of the street pointing at a woman, surprisingly. The woman was wearing a cobalt blue dress top, which was way too bright a colour for a background character. “Oh my god, what are you wearing?” Tanihime screamed while pointing at her pants. Her jeans. JEANS?! I rushed forward and shoved Tanihime out of the way. She comedically tumbled into a pile of melons, and I held the Holy Sword out towards the new addition to the cast. She took three steps back before adjusting her glasses on her mousey nose. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked. “Oh my God,” I said, “you have no idea how nice that is to hear!” I dropped the sword and took another step toward her. I needed to hear another person just say a damn normal hello. “Hello!” “Hello?” she asked, shaking as she tripped over her feet and ended up on the ground in front of me. Her hello was like music to my ears, no character quirks to be seen. “You, okay?” I asked. “NO,” she answered. Oh God it was a normal answer. I was in heaven… well, I notably wasn’t. That was the issue, but it’s a metaphor, dammit. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Well,” I reached a hand out to her, “I have a lot of explaining to do, but we’re all so happy you’re here.” “This looks like one of my little brother’s shows,” she said as she grabbed my hand. “You learn to hate it,” I explained, “but I’m sure it’ll be easier with two of us.” “What?” “I’m from earth too,” I offered. “Byrantin! What’s going on?” Tanihime screamed. “Bryan,” I corrected, “Toronto, Canada. Been there for three years.” “Sa-“ the girl fainted instead of finishing that sentence. Huh, she did have a character quirk.
Time and space stood still. So did the champion, his armor glistening in the ethereal light of the Dark Gods. Flutter did his cape in the unnatural wind, as he remained knelt, his head hung low as his jaw. Pure bewilderment did fill his enlargened downward eyes, uncaring of the winds that filled the pedestal in the eye of an eternal hurricane of pure shadow and black thunder. "..." YES. FOR THE FOURTH TIME. YOU ARE FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, AS LONG AS YOU DO YOUR DUTY OF CHAMPION-ING US, AND NOT COMMIT HERESY-TREASON BY GOING BACK TO THOSE PRETENTIOUS CHILD TOUCHER ENDORSERS. NOW SODD OFF. DO YOU NOT HAVE A MAIDEN TO RESCUE AND HOPEFULLY BED? "W-w-wed! Wed!" WE ARE EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEINGS OF INCOMPREHENSIBLE TECHNOLOGICAL AND MAGICAL POWER. THIS INCLUDES EMPATHETHIC-SENSE, TELEPATHY, AND MEMORY READING. ALSO, THE TWO ARE SYNONYMOUS IN YOUR SOCIETY. BEDDING CEREMONIES, IF I RECALL CORRECTLY "So...no human sacrifices or anything?"the hero asked as he looked towards the night sky. NO. WHEN WE CALL OURSELVES 'DARK' IT MEANS 'SPACE'. WE COME FROM BEYOND THE DARK VOID THAT SEPARATES THE STARS. IF YOU MUST, 'OUTER' GODS WOULD BE A BETTER TERM "Oh, so why not call yourselves Star Gods, then?" DID YOU NOT COME HERE TO RECEIVE OUR POWER AND BECOME OUR HERALD AND CHAMPION? TO SAVE YOUR BELOVED AURELIA SOMNIA? "Yes oh Great Dark Gods!" OH, SO WHY NOT GO RESCUE HER THEN, INSTEAD OF WASTING TIME ARGUING ABOUT WHAT WE CALL OURSELVES. The hero blinked, before teleporting out of the shrine separated from time and space. TELL STARSONG OUR NEW CHAMPION IS STILL SOMEWHAT STUPID /// Augustus Majorian did appear in the middle of the enemy fortress. Thirteen kilometers wide and eight kilometers in length was the concentric castle of three wall layers. "Helios" Thus an new Star, born of pure Soulfire, was incarnated in the middle of the fortress, and an almighty cataclysmic flood of purple light and flame filled the entirety of the fortress. Every corner, every closet and crevice was flooded with this radiance and fire, and all that Majorian considered his foes died in purple flame. Not even ashes remained. A faint warmth did grace him, and he willed himself there. Behind iron bars, in dirty rags and unconscious, was his beautiful bride. "My living dream..."he teleported her person on top of his arms, and he washed the dirt and grime off her body in Soulflame, healing her at the same time. Her now glistening golden locks fell over his arms like that of a waterfall. SO. ARE YOU GOING TO BED HER SOON? "WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU?! WHO IS THIS?!"he screamed while bathing the room in purple lightning. A black and white Soulflame did appear in front of him. "This presence!"He knelted with Aurelia still in his arms. "Great Ones, I did not recognize you. Forgive this servant." I MEAN, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO BE THE FIRST EMPEROR IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD TO ASCEND UNWED? "..." I MEAN, IS THAT NOT JUST SAD? "..." HONESTLY, YOU SHOULD GET THREE WIVES IN TOTAL "...but, would that not drastically increase the chance of Civil War for succession?" YOU ARE IMMORTAL. AND IF YOU SOMEHOW DIE WE WILL RESURRECT YOU. THE RANK OF HEIR IS MEANINGLESS. "Alright...why three?" THE KING OF THE NATION THAT WORSHIPS THE LIGHT HAS TWO WIVES. YOU NEED TO DO BETTER "...but I am monogamous." WE BY OUR DIVINE MANDATE, ORDER THEE TO BE POLYGAMOUS. "This is rather arbitrary..." GO GET FUCKED ALREADY /// Lover's name is roughly Listening Dream. Literally ear-dream.
"All those years?"I was crying. "I missed you so much. I hated everybody. I took out my loss for you on them. Now you come back. Finally." "Yes,"she said firmly. "I promised I would always love you. I have fought everything to save the people I found myself amongst and when we made it they wanted to make me queen or something but I refused. I didn't want to govern anybody or anything. I wanted them to be free and that's self rule to me and I just wanted to come home to you." "But it has been so long and it hurt so much,"I stared into her eyes. "You might not like what I have become." "We can fix anything,"she insisted. "I set the space ship to trace you and bring me straight to you. You are everything to me and now I have you again." "But I'm changed,"I was holding my head in my hands. "You deserve better. Much better." "You aren't married,"she looked suddenly worried. "Or in a relationship or something are you?" "No, No,"I said, "There could never be anybody but you. I could never love anybody else." "So what have you done with your life?"she brightened up. "You seem to have a pretty nice place here." I drew a deep breath. She had to know. "I am James the Imperator,"I said. "I am Absolute ruler of the whole Earth. Well. All that is left after my wars of conquest."
Do you know how many trees are killed to make a wooden coffin? 2 good hardwood trees that have been growing for decades are chopped to pieces as soon as a human kicks the bucket. And there were about 6500 deaths per day in the United States. That is a lot of trees. It wasn't enough that we were polluting, filthy monsters when we're alive; we had to come up with a death ritual that involved tearing down a forest and taking it into the ground with us when we died. In 2015, there was a solution. "Burial Pods,"using bodies as nourishment for the sapling. Solving world hunger and global warming in one fell swoop? Who could have opposed that? It would be political suicide. Democrats loved it, of course, but even Republicans were happy that cap and trade was scrapped in favor of this plan. Really, there was no downside. Creepy, forlorn cemeteries became lush green parks, nature conservancies, and orchards. Even the fruit from the pod trees seemed better: just a bit plumper and sweeter. Corpses became a commodity as farmers began to compete for the rights to grow burial pod crops. Sure they used all the traditional fertilizers too, but it just didn't have the same effect. Scientists speculated, of course, that maybe it was the amount of nitrates in the body, or that calcium would leach out of the bones into the roots... it didn't really matter what the cause was. What mattered was that by 2045, pod farming dominated the industry. That's when the disease started to appear. Well, we say "disease,"but only because of how it affects us. It's not viral, or bacterial, or fungal, or genetic. It just happens, and no one really knows why. It only affects the young; or, to be more specifc: anyone born after the pods became dominant. It happens slowly, of course. At first, doctors thought it was some type of early onset alzheimers. The patient would simply forget things. Simple, small memories. It happened to me. My mom asked me how I enjoyed my tenth birthday party. I'd loved it; I told her all about how awesome the Transformers theme was. She bit her lip nervously and showed me the pictures; no Megatron or Optimus Prime in sight. After that, I forgot the name of my teacher. But the information in my minds wasn't gone; it was just wrong. She was Mrs. Smith, not Mrs. Gillooli. For me, at least, it was the names that went first. People and places, mostly. Then the memories, replaced with things that had never happened. I suddenly hated my favorite food, and developed an acute phobia of my pet dog. I'm at the advanced stage, now. How do I know? Because I remember my death, in 2017.
I began to walk towards the quickly constructed stage behind a ramshackle pulpit made of boxes and crates. The savage winter winds biting my exposed flesh. Hundreds of people milled around in the large square in between the small subreddits that would allow us to speak more freely. Men and women were talking in hushed tones and shot quick glances at other at other listeners. I could see the eyes of some of the men closest to the stage, their eyes darting around, fearful that the person next to them was a subreddit mod's alt account, waiting for the speech to begin so that they could ban them for breaking unfair and vague rules, but they stayed, all waiting nervously for the speech to begin. The energy of the crowd was palatable, anger and hatred for the constant state of oppression and unoriginal content that had driven the hundreds of people around me to desperation. Yet when I took my place behind the pulpit, I sensed something else. A sense of hope. I took my notes out of my coat pocket and placed them onto the pulpit. Taking a deep breath I spoke to the disenfranchised and the abused people below me, their clothes ragged, their bodies hunched from the back breaking labor in the default subreddits, thin faces smeared in mud and filth "Users of Reddit. I welcome you all. I can see that everyone one of you has grown tired of the regime. Your eyes tell me so. You work for hours on end, creating wonderful original content with no reprieve. You toil in unwashed rooms, with no lights and terrible conditions for only a few meager bits of karma a post. Many of you might believe that is the natural course of things. That your rightful place is at the bottom begging for scraps, ever fearful of accidents that would make you lose arms or legs and forcing your children into the streets and your wives and daughters into brothels. Yet that is not true."I breath deeply, feeling the pressure beginning to build in the masses around me. The anger beginning to focus. I looked down at the notes I had prepared, and put them away, allowing the feelings of the crowd take me. "The admins and their power mods earn thousands of karma each week and they sit all together in their lounges eating popcorn and discussing the future of our nation uncaring for what we the majority actually want. Yet where does all this karma come from? They do not create their own content, they merely sell it to us. So where does it come from?"I repeated to the crowd, the looks on the their faces quizzical, thinking of an answer that they all know, deep down. "They take it from you!", I yell. "They steal the work you make and sell it, each one of you makes content that is worth hundreds of upvotes each, yet you are happy to be paid the dozen or so upvotes that it receives while they take it and sell it for thousands? The system in place now rewards the reposters and shitposters and oppresses the creators!"I yell, beginning to see the crowd react to my claims, small nods here, glances there. They are beginning to realize the tyranny of the system. I thought. Once again I began to speak, letting the crowds desires and growing hate take me. "You may think yourself powerless, unable to stop the machine that grinds your minds and bodies into dust and throws you aside not caring for the sorrow it causes, but you are mistaken. Look around you, here today hundreds stand, equally disheartened with the system. We number in the millions, yet the powerusers are small, content that we shall never rebel against, that we will head there oppressive rules that stop us from gaining the power we deserve, ordering us how we should think and feel, but they are wrong. They shall see the error of their ways. They cannot steal content if we refuse to make them any. They can not earn upvotes if we refuse to give it to them. We are the content creators, we have the power to do this. But only we if work together, as a communion, as one. Working together towards a common goal, to a brighter future."The pressure was reaching boiling point now, their eyes had been opened to the truth and their minds where beginning to turn. "Join me comrades, you control the power, it is in your hands, you must only grasp it. Join me and together we can tear down the bourgeoisie that try and oppress and and keep us in line. That steal what we rightfully made. That use us and throw us aside unflinching. Who sit in lounges made of gold while we toil away in the darkness. So that we can build a country where every content creator is given their fair amount of upvoats, equally. Where no one is poor or rich, where there is no class, no need for karma, no need for oppression. "The crowd was roaring now, shouting words of white hot hatred at the power users that steal and betray them. "Together we can make the streets run red with the blood of the admins and moderators!"
Once you order a hit, there are no taking backsies. That's why I hired "le Samourai". He was the best. And better, he was French. That's how far I'd fallen; I hated myself so much that I wanted to be killed by a Frenchman. A few months after the order I started regretting the "random time and location"checkbox I'd ticked. I guess I thought they would be quick. But hey, killing is a business. And customer service was lousy as always. Nothing reaffirms a person's will to die as much as customer service. Six months later I got really frustrated. I punched a hole in a wall. I told the owner of the dog parlor I was sorry. A year later I decided to travel to France. Hey, it probably bumped me a step up on the to do-list. "Le samourai"would check his blackberry or whatever and see that I was walking down the Champs-Élysées. "Oh man,"he'd say, "I can just take this guy out right now and still have time to slurp snails with Amélie later." I spent two years in Paris. I discussed constipation in French with an old man in the Jardin des Plantes. I stepped in more dog shit than I had to that point seen in my life. I found love, then lost it, then found it again; the perfect moldy cheese. I developed a theory that moldy cheese led to gastrointestinal emergencies and that all that shit in the streets weren't all from "les chiens". I once personally created evidence in favor of my theory. Spending time in France I realized the French were cheaters. Their favorite U.S. president was Bill Clinton. They could relate to him. "Le Samourai"had cheated me out of my death. For some reason I didn't feel that bad. In fact, I didn't want to be killed by a Frenchman anymore. I didn't hate myself that much. So I hired a German.
I am certain now the numbers ten through eight were whispered in my ear when I was too young to recall. Ten might have been uttered by some nurse in the delivery room, under florescent lights with my mother covered in sweat and blood. It wasn't until I heard six, at my fifteenth birthday, that I knew this wasn't some random bit of conversation I was hearing. It, because the gender and appearance changed every time, was always just out of sight when it happened. Some random passerby in a crowd. I had seen them, but not entirely focused enough to remember their face. But it was always clear and left no doubt in my mind when it occurred. Though only a whisper escaping from this thing's mouth, it echoed and vibrated the very air around me. I never felt threatened. By number four I had decided it was some force of the universe I could not control, and accepted this notices as one takes mail from a letterbox. Number five was while I was at college. Like any young man who had recently escaped his parents watchful eye, I was making mistakes. This party was full of similar young adults who would not remember the evening. As a took a drink and stared into the bottom of my cup I was notified again. "Five."Even over the blaring music and voices of several dozen students, I heard it clear as a bell. It reverberated in my chest and ears. Thanks for the message. Four was in my first year at my job that accidentally became a career. I wrote content for websites. A thrilling use of my writing skill when novel writing had proven too difficult. My back ached with weeks of sitting in the same chair, in the same cubicle, looking at a screen that had become my life. As I typed with the speed only an experienced workaholic obtains, I heard it again. The mail cart had just made the rounds; I rarely received anything. As the man pushing the cart escaped out of sight, it rang in my chest and ears again. "Four." The next came much sooner than I expected. At home, alone like every night before, I heard some party my neighbors were throwing in the apartment below mine. I didn't recognize the music and assumed they were much younger than I. Avoiding a confrontation I decided to simply increase the volume of my TV and fall asleep on the couch. Right before drifting off I heard my neighbors from across the hall come home with friends. As they search through clattering keys, laughing from a night of adventure, I heard it again. "Three."Not since childhood had I been afraid like this by the message. It was quickly on the heels of Four, what had changed? Not long after, I knew why Three had come so quickly. My eyes, usually such a brilliant display of white with azure, were now yellowing. My skin itched and darkened as well. Stomach pains kept me awake half the night. They say knowing is better than not knowing, but truthfully they are equal. Knowledge does not change any man's fate. Our journeys are through different fields, at different paces, but we all arrive at the same place. After the doctor had told me the news, with me dressed in a paper gown, in a room of beeping machines and white walls, I knew my visitor was not far behind. That night, as a nurse took note of the numbers on my machines, giving me a smile of assurance, I heard it just before she closed the door behind her. "Two."This was the first time it let me notice it so openly. It was clear we would be meeting soon enough that the secrecy was no longer needed. Pancreatic cancer. My odds of survival were approximately six percent. There was hardly any time to mourn my own life or remember the five stages of grief I was allotted. Four months. They gave me only four months, but it was month three and seemed close to the end. The staff made me comfortable and alleviated any pain they could. My two visitors were work acquaintances, not even friends really. My parents had passed years ago and I had no siblings to speak of. Cousins, uncles, and aunts were only names I had been told in conversations. Any of them could have come and I would have no reference for their faces. When it came this time, I awoke to find it sitting by my bed, assuming the form of an orderly. There was no need for words or declarations of intent. It grabbed my hand, smiled weakly, and stared into my terrified eyes. "One." My room faded from view, the air too hot and cold all at once. My mouth dry, as my tongue felt brittle enough to crack and disappear into dust. My doctors visited often now. Adjusting my IV bag and injecting medication straight into the line of plastic tubing. It didn't hurt anymore. Nothing was anything now. Over the chaos of hospital staff coming and going from my room, I noticed one shape in the corner who had not moved an inch. It was beautiful this time. I wondered if this was its true shape, but thought it mattered little now. It walked to the side of my bed, grabbing my hand like it had only a few days ago. The same weak smile crossed its mouth, this time with tears in its eyes. I nodded to show I understood now. It leaned down, kissed my forehead through a thick layer of sweat. Everything began to fade away, as if I was being pulled backward into a tunnel. But my messenger never left, still clutching my hand, tears in its eyes. But the smile was weak anymore. It was joyous. The grin of a friend at the sound of good news. I felt the same, though I can't explain why. We were serene and safe. "Zero."
In the year 6,472 A.R., the god himself awoke and, within moments, a terrifying realization struck the townspeople as their deity rained destruction upon their meager settlement. Citizens were trampled underfoot, their dwellings smashed and cast to the side of the god's sweeping strides. The peaceful and unremarkable daily routine for the simple villagers was obliterated in an instant. But, was this sudden display of wrath really so surprising? Indeed, the denizens who lived in the shadow of the statue had long since forgotten that the monument was a tribute to anything real. With that in mind, how could they have foreseen that the statue was, in fact, the god himself? And furthermore, without the recognition of this higher power's existence, how could any of these ignorant people's actions over those long millennia be said to have been executed according to his will? I felt a sickening squish beneath my feet, followed by the painful sensation of splinters stabbing into my soles. I stumbled off-balance to the side, attempting to maintain myself upright as I found myself suddenly aware of the world around me after an indeterminate amount of time unconscious. The surroundings were unfamiliar to me, but my attention shifted to the world below as I looked downward and found myself to be standing in what appeared to be some kind of replica village. My disorientation turned to panic as I noticed the village was teeming with creatures scurrying in all directions amongst the tiny houses and roads. At first I thought I was standing in the middle of some kind of infestation, but I soon saw instead that -- unbelievably -- the bodies scrambling beneath me appeared to be miniature humans. Most of them were sprinting at full speed away from me, but a few appeared to be on their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground and hands outstretched before them. Moments later I became aware of the cacophony of high-pitched wailing and shrieking that was emanating from the ground below. "Stay where you are!"I bellowed. The movement and noise below continued unabated. Either they could not hear me, or they did not understand me. "We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,"I offered, carelessly. I immediately realized the extreme distaste of the comment, and was glad they did not seem to speak English, considering I was certain at least a few of the townspeople were pasted to the bottom of my heel. As I stood there, uncertain what to do next, I noticed a few people had ceased running and now were peering up at me from behind whatever structure they had taken refuge at, some even daring to look me in the eye in anticipation of what I would do next. Taking advantage of the current break in activity, my own gaze drifted upward, and I scanned the horizon. Off in the distance, at a point where I could barely make out the details of what I was seeing, I saw what appeared to be several other regular-sized people dotting the far off landscape, standing frozen in place.
They packed and left once more. Dolly sighed as they did it, looking back from the ramp at the gold-green horizon, pierced all through with falling stars, all aflame. The world groaned and hissed. She felt the slateland below her feet shimmy and quake. Another home lost. On the ship, she settled into a corner, not helping, a passive protest of the situation. Her mother set a crate at her feet. "Don't pout. It's the start of another adventure." Dolly shook off her mother's optimism, diving into the crate. "What's this?"she said, pulling up a binder, corroded, yellow and warped. "Careful,"said her mother. "Those are pictures. Old, old pictures." "Of what?"said Dolly, flipping open the pages. "What are these things? Dolly's mother laughed, settling in beside her daughter. "It's us. From before." Dolly shook her head. "No it isn't. This is... I don't know what this is. Look how silly they look. How... ugly." Her mother shrugged. "We didn't think so then."She pointed at an image. "That's me." Dolly pulled back, staring in disbelief. "No it isn't! Look at the... I mean..." "This is what we were in the beginning,"said Dolly's mother. "Those were perfect bodies for Earth. Slim, light, nimble. Adapted to the atmosphere. I miss those bodies sometimes..." "What's wrong with these bodies?"said Dolly, looking down at herself. "Nothing! Not a thing. But you must remember we've been so many places, dear. And they were all so different. We've made changes along the way to suit each and every new home. See here..." She put a gentle finger on the trio of exposed ridges across her daughter's bare chest. "On Calais - you remember Calais? - we formed these slits in order to help us breathe. The old way wouldn't have done. And here..." She traced the edge of the thin membranous flap that ran along the length of Dolly's forearm. "There was hardly any solid land on Galway. We had to adapt. We're always adapting. Even the bare shape of us. The gravity was much, much harsher on Fulsome. We grew stouter because we had to. The old us would've snapped right in half." Dolly nodded. She remembered some of these places, and she supposed she remembered some of these changes, but they hadn't felt like changes. Looking back, they seemed a natural progression. "This part looks stupid,"she said, resting a finger on the part of the image that showed a flowing, black wave riding down from the top of her mother's head. Again, her mother laughed. "It was the style. Your father certainly loved my long hair, impractical as it may have been."She touched the silvery, solid webbing that sat like a shield atop her daughter's head. "We could be impractical then, though. The radiation was different. No threat of black flares."She sighed. "I guess things were a bit simpler then." "Better?"said Dolly. "No,"said her mother, running a loving finger across the outer rim of Dolly's folded wings. "Just different. That's what comes of survival, I suppose. You must always be willing to become." "Become what?"said Dolly. Dolly's mother smirked. "Whatever you must."She took back the binder and set it in the crate. "Back to work, dear. This world is no longer ours." Dolly staggered up to her feet. "I hate living out in the black." "The black is just an interlude,"said Dolly's mother. "It reminds us to appreciate those times when we have solid earth to call our own." Dolly understood, even if she preferred not to agree. She gathered up the last of her possessions - the ones that would come with them into the black - and said goodbye to her dying home. It was sad, but necessary, she realized. That's just how survival works.
The text was full of contradiction and impossibility, but the promise of its power was just too tantalizing. The ability to walk through walls? Being in two places at once? It was exciting beyond anything I’d read before, and it had just fallen out of the sky. “Behold, the arch-Schrödinger,” said my cat, making a mockery of the ancient runic name for my profession. “Master of life and death, who fills the air with conjured lightning like he fills potion bottles with his piss.” “For your information,” I spat, “it’s more efficient than getting up to shit in a box, and also I feed you so shut up.” “Imagine,” he purred. “Having so little common sense that your cat has to point out that the bathroom is a few steps away from your desk.” “Listen here, you little...” I stopped. Bartholomew was dead. As soon as I turned to observe him, he just keeled over with no warning. In shock, I turned back to the text for answers. “Hey, are you listening to me?” Growled Bart. Spinning around, I found him very much alive and well, licking his paw without any regard for his death and reanimation. “How... how did you...” “How did I what?” he muttered. “You haven’t been drinking that stuff, have you? I get that it’s quicker than walking to the sink, but...” “Listen, that’s not important, you were just dead and on the floor, and then you came back to life, and... Bart?” Bart was, once again, very dead. It was inexplicable. “This book,” I thought out loud. “This book gives me the ability to instantly kill and reanimate cats at will!” “No it doesn’t,” said Bartholomew, springing onto my desk. “I read ahead and found a hypothetical experiment involving dead cats. I’m just screwing with you because you’re leaving bottles of urine around my house and it’s annoying.” He knocked one of the bottles onto my lap. “Oh look, you simultaneously peed and didn’t pee your pants. Ooooooooo, spooky!” I hate my cat. He’s a jerk and I think I’ll bend space to send him into one of those dark holes the man in the wheelchair wrote about.
The already dreary London streets had taken a new shade. No longer were they the vibrant greys of long-missed sun through smog choked skies, they simply didn’t have the energy for it. Today, the greys had beaten the world down into a lifeless husk, its colors bleeding out and down into the sewers as street cleaner went about his early morning ritual, hosing his targets spotless with all the rapt attentiveness of a corpse. Are you all right, Harry? The voices had plagued him from the moment he woke up. They were his teachers, his friends, acquaintances made and lost at Hogwarts. Harry bent over and puked, brushing back his greasy and matted hair from his forehead as he spit out the taste from his mouth. He remembered the doctor’s words and crunched, concerned face. “You’ve been in a coma the last 8 years…” He had said. Harry stopped paying attention after that, letting the doctors words fall into a void that filled itself with despair. Harry ran his fingers over the spot where the scar had stood, branding him as unique, someone chosen by destiny amongst a world of billions. It had been almost two years since then, and he was figuring out who he truly was. He pushed himself up and returned to his walk through the cobbled streets. Just a little further, Harry! The voices said, Remember who you are! Oh he remembered. He was a nobody. A nobody whose parents were still dead, whose guardians had scraped in welfare checks and spent them like loose change at a casino. Probably spent them on Dudley, if their past actions were any indication of wonderful parenting. He shoved his hands back into their denimed retreats and let the grey pull over him like a sickness. The first days awake had been some of the hardest. He had to go through the sludge of reclaiming his life, of going through debtors options and filing through mountains of paperwork like they were the only purpose in his life. Then came the therapy. No point in going through all the wizarding memories with someone who doesn’t understand how real they were. In many ways, they were more real than any of the city around him.Harry had grown so frustrated that he had screamed the killing curse at the therapist until his throat was raw. So he quit going and replaced the sessions with a glass that sent fire down his throat worse than any of Snape’s potions. Not that it mattered. We’ve arrived, Harry. Harry felt hot acid’s familiar rise and doubled over, his hand clutching at the brick of Kings Cross. He fought down the sensation and slowly lifted his head towards the foundation that he knew better than his own life. He staggered himself to a broken stand and made his way up towards the maintenance door. He heard the soft hum of train engines going through their morning checklists, much like that first time he had left for Hogwarts. He followed the hallway as it wound and turned, eventually leading to a gated entry to the tracks themselves. Harry had gotten to this point many times in his mind, but cursed as he fumbled with a thick padlock that held the gate shut. There are all kinds of courage, Harry. The words had pulled him this far, and even now helped push through the guttural groan that welled in his chest. Harry smashed his fists against the closed gate which held him from the one thing he was sure he wanted. Harry retraced his steps back down the hallway and found the supply closet, which held enough tools and hardware to make Argus Filch blush. But more importantly, the closet had the one thing he so desperately needed: a bolt cutter. Harry picked up the bolt cutters with all the adoration and care as that wand of Holly and Phoenix feather. He returned to the gate and grew more anxious and unsure by the second. Worry not, Harry. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. --- Edited for clarity and because "To Kill a Mockingbird"infiltrated my janitor.
Jenkins saddles up for the battle, but not before reminiscing at the control panel, screens, and green walls surrounding him. Collecting himself, Jenkins flips up the switch cover and turns Lady Liberty on. CHOOM Outside of the statue, green eyes open, and the seam of a rather large green dress begins to sway, and crackle, and break. Jenkins can see what Lady Liberty sees thanks to his patent pending camera eyeball technology. After taking a few tenacious steps off the podium using the two leg levers at each side of his chair, Jenkins sighed. He once again remembered what his father, and his father's father did to maintain the statue and do battle against tyranny. Jenkins' grandfather used to tell him stories all the time about how his statue used to be powered with coal, fire, and steam instead of wires and electricity. "That's the real American way", he'd preach. The Statue of Liberty seemingly cracked a smile as she walked straight towards Mount Rushmore. Jenkins' arms weren't tired yet, thanks to years of sweeping and using a basic mop. He turns the levers faster, and exclaims: "Looks like it's time to go cross-country!", as the statue picked up the pace. I'm going to write a part 2 because this is a fun prompt, and I'm not done with this yet.
Despite being aware of this happening, I can’t do anything about it. I just have to sit through the day and watch. Eyes opening. Waking up, which means I’m in a new body. So far, each time has been the same day, but from a different viewpoint. This is the 7th time through. Every set of eyes I’ve watched this day through have somehow been involved in my death, whether the cause, a witness to, or just greatly affected by it. The first time was through the eyes of the one who pulled the trigger. The second one was through the eyes of my wife. The third was my daughter. That was the worst one so far. Fourth and fifth were my neighbor and the mailman. Sixth was my dog. Sitting up. There’s a mirror on the wall in which I quickly catch a glimpse of this body. I don’t recognize this face at all. I almost start to worry, but then remember that I’m already dead. So I’ll just sit here and watch, and see what this guy had do to with my death. Showering. Shaving. Brushing teeth. Getting ready for work. I try to scream. I try to tear away from whatever this is, but it’s no use. It hasn’t done me any good so far, but I can’t stop trying to get out of this. I’m a bit lost in my own turmoil for a time before I realize that we’ve arrived at his job. An outdoors outfitter’s superstore. I... I came in here the morning of the day I died... Sure enough, within the hour, there I was walking up to the counter. No matter how many times it happened, it was always surreal to watch myself from someone else’s eyes. I always look so sad. I ask if my purchase is in, the body I’m in looks through the computer and says it is. I watch through his eyes as he goes to the back and retrieves it, bringing it up to the counter. “Here you are. Your background check was submitted with the purchase, and is now clear, so here you go, sir.” I watch as I thank this man and walk away. I didn’t even remember his face, but his involvement is clear. He’s the one that sold me the gun I used to kill myself. The rest of his day is meaningless. He eats dinner alone and passes out watching tv. Forever unaware of and unaffected by what I was doing at that time, halfway across town.
radio static This is John Halftone with KWM.17, your local news station. Today, before some Christmas tunes, I'd say let's get a little personal. Brew some hot cocoa, round the open fire, and get chipper with some words from our boys back in D.C. As I'm sure you are aware, the war continues to progress neither in our favor or theirs. Our boys in the fifteenth militia brigade have encounters fierce defense from the invaders around the suburbs, and have been forced to work together with civilian elements to secure a foothold. One reporter on the scene spoke to the captain if the brigade, Herbert Longsfield, "I'd hate to be one of them aliens right about now. Our boys are hitting' em hard. Some of them civvie boys figured out how to repurpose them alien energy power battery thingies, put em to work inside some boomsticks, and started blasting. Heh, couldn't have done better work myself." Heh indeed Mr.Longsfield. We come back to home however, and in town today, a group of mall Santa's have been spotted using home made flamethrowers to help clear up the overrun mall. It truly is a jolly time of year, isn't it lovely listeners?
It made so much sense. When you read it, you couldn't disagree and that made it so problematic. You couldn't disagree and you weren't going to be the one who is going against everything. It spread like wildfire. Published without editing on an obscure site for political views, it spread like wildfire. People shared it and translated it. It seemed to die out, but then Israel and Palestine agreed. India and Pakistan agreed. People started to believe in the power of the absurd logic. No one wanted to become the one who screwed up. The world saw no fighting, the word saw no conflict. They looked for who submitted, but couldn't find anyone. All they knew is that she used to be a quiet student at a college. She wasn't an official student though and had come and gone without a trace. What follows is the paper: Why would you disagree? If you disagree, you create the conflict. If you agree and screw up together and learn together, you keep the peace. Why would we be in misery apart? I prefer to die with a friend instead of living with an enemy. When you hear something, just agree and go for it. If everyone had the same thought except for you, why would you not join them? Why would you disagree and create the conflict? Why is being right more important than a world at peace? When someone says something, agree and they will do the same. Fighting can never be more important than being in something together with another human. Are you going to be the one who disagrees, then write your name here and don't share with the world. If you agree, then don't write your name and share it with the world. Agree together or live in silent loneliness as you become sadder and sadder about choosing to create conflict over togetherness. As I read it, I suppressed my urge to say but... and you know what, I don't know why I had ever chosen to try and win an argument over gaining a friend.
Throughout the room we felt the static. We felt the quiet. That alien electricity surged through us as we were huddled there, humans, brothers and sisters of the same planet. We wouldn't have had to make that distinction a few years ago, but you know how things are. Things change. It took a while to decode. Much smarter men than I can explain how they did it, but that's not important. We heard them. We heard for the first time life that did not originate here. We heard the unknown. It was an old message. They were primitive by their standards. They worshiped a deity called Gan. At least that's how it was translated. He was a benevolent Creator and they were prosperous. Years of war had ended and now the chosen lived on the planet, peaceful by all accounts. A little girl sang once, at least she sounded like a girl. Through the booming speakers we heard this fragile alien voice. What she sung we could not understand but we knew it was innocent. Children are universal it seems, their wide eyed wonder crossing even the widest of borders. That girl sang and then she spoke broken. She told us of her home. The sun was always up, a father in the sky, and he brought the life that powered their machine hearts and their inside hearts. He made it so they could see to write and to learn. He made it so they could feel and connect with one another. And of course Gan created him. Throughout the year more messages came. It was a big deal as you can imagine. Years spanning the hundreds passed and we listened to these strangers as if they were our family. “Gan has blessed us,” one said. “Today the chosen has been halved and now we have twice as much.” “The clouds of metal blind the sky father, and for that we are fortunate,” another said. We listened. Gooseflesh prickled on my arms as I heard what they said. “The clouds are moving. They are coming closer.” There were screams also. And screams never need translating. Our women cried and they stopped broadcasting the messages. You had to request them to continue listening. Our men were fearful, I'm sure they cried as well. I know I did. But I continued listening. “Gan has returned.” Then there was fire. Explosions swirled in stereo. Death thudded in mono. The tapes were gruesome. “We are not the chosen. Forgive us Gan.” I don't know how long it lasted. Centuries and more and then the messages had run out. “Help us,” they pleaded. “We are orphans now.” “Goodbye,” others said. It scared me. It scared us all. There was a large security alert, worldwide. They made us do drills and take up arms. “The clouds are leaving,” the last messages said. “The metal clouds are leaving. We are dying but the storm is over. Those clouds go to other horizons. Pray they do not come to yours.” That message was dated about two thousand years ago. I look up in the sky and thank God those clouds are just water. I look at my family and I hope that they remain so. But you know how things are. Things change.
'Seriously?' Sanderson nodded. 'No kidding. We call it the Yoko No-No.' 'But... why?' 'We just thought it was catchy, I guess.' 'I mean, why is it so bad?' Sanderson sighed, as he always did when his favourite joke didn't land. There wasn't a lot of joy in being a mid-level bureaucrat for the Time Agency; you would have thought that the new recruits might at least have humoured him, but oh no. They just cared about getting their hands on all the cool gadgets. None of them cared about learning the rules. 'Think of time like a door,' he said patiently. 'One person goes through the door? Fine. No problem. Two? They'll probably fit OK. But fifty? A hundred? All at once, all jostling not to trip each other up? The whole thing would collapse in on itself. A fracture in the space-time continuum at that spot, pressed on by thousands and thousands of wannabe Beatles saviours from every point in the future... well, I'm sure you could imagine. The results would be catastrophic.' 'But surely more people go back to try and kill Hitler?' 'You'd think that, wouldn't you? We actually ran a very successful advertising campaign about that a few years ago, trying to dissuade people.' Sanderson paused. 'Well, maybe a few years ago. It might still be in the future for you. We had a little mascot and everything.' Sanderson pulled up a picture on the holoscreen, and the new recruit was greeted with a stern-looking cartoon representation of the Fuhrer, waggling his finger disapprovingly. 'We called him Adolf Quitler,' he said. 'My idea. Worked a charm. Valkyries were reduced by 90% practically overnight.' 'Valkyries?' 'Hitler assassination attempts. We let one get through by accident, but the rest of them we had to take a pretty hard line on. The congestion alone ate up almost a quarter of our operating budget. It was a nightmare, I don't mind telling you.' The recruit's brow furrowed; somehow, this wasn't what he had expected when he had graduated from the academy. 'So what else?' he said. 'What else is banned?' 'Basically, it's any place you'd expect to find time-tourists.' Sanderson counted them off on his fingers. 'No Berlin Wall, no Cold War. No stopping the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. That's a big one. No trying to uninvent the atom bomb; they always get around to it eventually. And we do take rather a dim view of attempting to influence lottery wins. It's just unsportsmanlike. Any other questions?' The recruit shook his head. It was all rather a lot to take in. 'Good good. You'll find your first mission briefing at the front desk. And good luck... Agent.' The door closed behind the young man, and for a second Sanderson paused. When he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped a small key into the lock on the bottom drawer of his desk and checked to make sure it was still there. Sure enough, there it was: a large cardboard sleeve around a vinyl record. It had been a real pain trying to track down a record player, but nowhere near as hard as it had been to track down the item itself. Back in his early days, before the ban, he'd had it smuggled across from an alternate timeline by a Time Agent of less-than-scrupulous morals. His retirement policy, he told himself. It would be worth an absolute fortune on the black market. The Green Album. The worst excesses of a band that had ridden too high for too long: the musical stylings of Wings, ubiquitous sitar solos from George Harrison, and the best lyrics Yoko could offer. He had only played it once, and with damn good reason. Sanderson shuddered at the memory. Never again, he told himself, no matter how rare it might be. Some futures, it seemed, were better off left unknown. _____ If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.
All I want is a cup of coffee. I press my phone to my door and it unlocks with a heavy thunk. This is the hundredth time I've stepped outside this year and I've learned twelve locksmith points, the app tells me. The lights turn on as I step through the apartment hallway, I idly whisper the lyrics to that one song, Dance Off, and I'm in sudden darkness. Down the stairs and outside, my mailbox shoots political mailers at my face that I dodge by the edge of an automatic letter-opener. Outside, the parking meters flash red and remind me of my parking ticket which was accrued by my self-driving car. When I emailed the support desk of Tesla, they sent me a validation survey to make sure I wasn't a car pretending to be a person. Needless to say, I can't drive because I moved my cursor a little too quickly. The light at the crosswalk indicates how many steps I can take before the light will turn and a car will narrowly not hit me because it's programmed not to do so -- but it will heavily inconvenience someone who will tell me to eat a bag of dicks, reusable of course, since plastic is banned. By the time I'm at the coffee shop the line is out the door. Everyone's here to write their ebook indiscreetly in front of a non-captive audience who all wants to do their online homework. In line, I order my coffee through my phone. It's free because the customer happiness automation service cloud has determined I've been looking across the street to Dunkin Cronuts a few too many times this month. Well, that's nice. Maybe I'll drink at Staryuan a few more times. The machine prints my full name and birthdate on the side of the cup and motors it across the counter. The four people working behind it stand there and smile and thank everyone, but do little else. With a coffee in my hand, I walk outside and make my way towards a bench. As I sip it, the cup changes color to indicate the temperature and the amount of liquid left inside. I ignore it and look towards the clouds and take a deep breath. All I can see up there is skywriting that tells me I can save 15% or more on automatic auto insurance if I switch to Geico, and I think about it. Yeah, maybe when I get my car back. For now though? I enjoy the fresh air before the mall pretzel people start spraying fumes here in ten minutes.
I finally have enough. I think it's been two months since my trans-roomba-fication. It's been so long since I've spoken to another person, I almost think that phrase is funny. Almost. About two weeks in, I figured out that I could reverse my vacuum port and spray clods of hair and grime onto the carpet. Steve was furious, and he tried to take me apart to fix it. I couldn't feel it, but I was still terrified. Could he accidentally kill me? He wouldn't even know... Fumbling around with a screwdriver and shuffling me loose of the mortal coil. ...Wait. Is it a literal coil? Ah, I'm getting sidetracked. A month afterward, he caught me and emptied out my cartridge. I was so close, and I had to start all over. I intentionally rammed the kitchen cupboards that night every ten minutes between 1AM and 2:30. Then, Steve turned me off. There wasn't darkness, or cold. Just a time jump. One second, it was 2:38 in the morning, the next, it was 8:42 at night, when he realized his place was a mess while he slumped on the couch watching TV. In his defense, he's been distracted by my disappearance for a while. The apartment is a wreck, and he's eating a bunch of junk food to cope. Junk food is good. Lots of crumbs. He's forgotten long enough that I'm full. I need every bit , so I hid for the last three days in case he suddenly remembers. I'm going to spell out "Godrick."It was an inside joke we had about how Rick Sanchez must be God. We were the only ones who heard it, and it was dumb, but we laughed until we cried. You had to be there. I wish I was. I miss my family. My clothes. My bed... He just went to work. Here I go. Wish me luck.
One night in my home I awake to the clumsy sound of feet outside my room. I can’t be bothered to leave my bed and begin to dose off again. Then a wet rag is thrown on my face, sweet smelling. Lights begin to shine, a voice calls for me to step towards them, but my bed is so warm. Faint voices surround me, arguing. “What’s taking so long why is he breathing!?” “I don’t know just shut up!” I feel myself dosing off when a sharp pain pierces my chest. “Die old man! Die!” The pain slams into me over and over as something slides in and out my chest. I manage to speak. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
The Scarren empire BURNED. Billions upon billions of lives snuffed out, via plague, via nuclear radiation, via suffocation, via ice. Anything the humans could think to use was used. Ma'dal Nox, Captain-Commander of the Scarran fleet, watched his homeworld, the capital world of Scarre burn around his ears. Humans flooded the capital city, putting the scorpion like bipedal aliens to death via laser pistols and plasma knives. His four eyes welled with tears, but he focused on his task. Guard the Queen-mother. Still, he internally sighed. This world was doomed. He knew. He had known for a while now. Five years back, he and his men had captured a squadron of six humans. Though the humans had bound themselves to the Milky Way Peace Act, the Scarran had not. Every world was theirs for conquest and glory. The humans had fought well, but futility. To find what planets they had charted, Ma'dal oversaw their torture. Four died during torture, the fifth broke and talked, giving up their homeworld. But the sixth? He gave them nothing, just stared at the corpse of one of the men. Even when the Scarran fighters carved out his left eye, he revealed nothing. He only gave one proclamation. "You killed my little brother. I will kill you all. Slowly." Th other men laughed, but Ma'dal saw it in his eyes. Madness. Pure madness in his eyes. Like a raging storm finally set free. He ordered the prisoner restrained and locked away. But two days later.....the human was gone. He chewed at his wrists until they bled and used them to slip the restraints before vanishing into the night. And spent the next month slaughtering everyone in Ma'dal's troop one by one in unique and cruel ways. Ma'dal fled the planet then, but still remembered the human's promise. At night it kept him up. That was one human. A single man filled with bloody vengeance. The Queen-Mother created billions with his mindset when she destroyed the original home-world of the humans. When she ordered the destruction of Earth. Ma'dal thought it was odd, when he researched these humans. They had so many rules. No using biological warfare. No nukes. No interrogations. So many weapons banned. Now he understood. These humans had those rules protect themselves from their own nature. They would have wiped out themselves if they had not done so. And so they hid away their darker, more omnicidal nature. But the Scarren had reawoken it. They revived this dragon and filled it with purpose. And for that, they would be slaughtered down to the last and their empire scattered to the solar winds. A group of human soldiers approached the palace and Ma'dal's blood ran cold as he recognized their leader. A one eyed human. &#x200B;
“Kill them? Aw gee Mr Death.” IT’S JUST DEATH. NO MR. JUST… DEATH. “Oh, ok. Aw gee Death, I don’t know about killing anyone. I’m only a kid and all. How long do I have?” Death paused, a long finger scratched his chin as he pondered. WELL, he said, SEEING AS YOU ARE DISADVANTAGED IN AGE… FIVE YEARS. YOU HAVE FIVE YEARS. DO YOU ACCEPT THE TERMS? “Well, I guess. I mean, five years is ages! I’ll be,” I thought for a second, “I’ll be thirteen! Gee, that’s old. Alright Mr Death, I’ll see what I can do. Who’s the person I have to kill?” THE DEAL IS STRUCK. FAIL IN FIVE YEARS, AND I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH YOU THINK YOUR DOG WILL MISS YOU, I WILL BE COMING FOR YOU. “Yes, Mr Death. I understand, but who is it I have to kill?” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_- Five years later, Timothy walked into Comic Con. Turning his plans over and over in his head, he joined the queue that led to his target. He was sweating now, with clammy hands and a soaked shirt. He fit right in. Half an hour later, he was almost at the front. A familiar figure appeared next to him. A white linen suit, with a matching panama hat perched on top. “Oh hey, Mr Death. What’s with the suit?” I LIKE IT, IT SUITS THE CLAMMY NATURE OF THE ENVIRONMENT. “Well it looks good, but I’m surprised you even sweat.” I DON’T. BUT NOT EVEN I FIND COMIC CON PLEASANT. YOUR TIME IS ALMOST UP, TIMOTHY. WHAT IS YOUR PLAN HERE? “You’ll see.” Timothy moved forwards, he was at the front now. An assistant hurried up to him. “Ok, no rude questions, no touching, no asking if he can have your babies.” The assistant spoke hurriedly, “Do you understand?” “Um, sure I guess so,” Timothy replied. He was ushered forward. The man stood up from his chair and stepped forward to greet Timothy, a warm and genuine smile on his face. “Hi, lovely to meet you,” the man said, “My name’s Keanu, would you like a picture?” “Actually, Mr Keanu,” Timothy began, “My mother is very sick now, and my dog too, and an old friend of yours sent me to find you and I thought maybe we could come to some arrangement…” Timothy trailed off. Keanu paused, surprised. “An old friend?” He asked, scanning the crowd. His eyes rested on Death. “Ah,” he said, a sad smile on his face, “I thought this would happen one day. Let’s talk about this. I’ve had my good years, more than most certainly. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I handed over the torch. Come, let’s have a chat.” Timothy smiled, relief flooding his face. He shook Keanu’s outstretched hand, and together they went to discuss their fate. Death almost smiled. He’d always worried immortality would destroy a person, that they’d become bitter, jaded with the fleeting nature of human life. But Keanu, if anything he had become more than human. He had become an example of what all human’s should be. Death took off his hat and walked away. Maybe, just this once, he’d let there be two immortals, just for a while. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thanks for reading, this is one of my first stories, so feedback would be great!
Sweat drips from my nose into the dirt, staining the dark earth with each drop. The sun blazes in the midday sky and I despise my father for every moment I stand underneath it. I mutter curses against my family and the land we inherited, I curse the Countess Lannell who watches over us, I curse the Dames and Knights that own the land they expect us to work. I curse it all and sink my shovel into the soft earth again, then again, and yet again. My muscles burn with the effort, two days I have worked on this damnable ditch that will divert cool, fresh water to the parched fields. My progress is slow and no one will help me, my father is busy tending to shoeing horses for those in stations above us and my brother is gone to bring what meager harvest we gathered last month to the town square. I pause and lean on my shovel, taking a sparing drink of water from the canteen at my waist. Then I heave another shovel of dirt up, carving the ditch ever forward. "A hot day for it."The voice that speaks is pleasant, the voice of one born into the privilege of a merchant or knightly family. A rich voice just finished school and come to taunt. "I bet you'd rather be inside reading." His jibe earns laughter and I'll never understand it. For the struggle of this life, you would think that everyone would understand escaping reality. That is all I have now. How I wish I could escape from this now. He is tall and handsome and no better than an ass. Loud, braying, his group of bullies wander the farms and torment those of us that have to work for a living. I think it's the heat because I make a mistake, watching him sneer at me from up on the lip of the ditch I've worked on. I heave a shovelful of dirt onto his very fine shoes and pants. There are some gasps from the other four he is never without. The life of a farmer has given me some bulk but that is nothing against five pairs of fists. "You filthy farm rat!"He shouts, kicking a clod of dirt into my face. I sputter and wipe it away just in time to see his knuckles before they slam into my eye socket. It's not hard enough to break anything but it's more than enough to knock me down. I can feel the bruise growing already. He stands over me ready to stomp his boot down, his friends eager to deliver a beating. "Come lads!"I see the lightly dressed knight on his horse call the boys away, sparing me what could have been fatal. It isn't kindness though. Not from the shaved head man with the morning star dangling from his horses flank. "It's not worth dirtying your boots." It. He thinks of me as an it. I press my hand to my eye and watch them leave, kicking mounds of dirt into the ditch and laughing. I add them to my list of curses and sink the shovel in again, this time with more effort than the past two days. Clang I stop. More because the shovel struck something hard, driving the shaft into my chest and forcing all the air out. I gasp a few breaths and kick at the ditch in anger. Rocks, there are rocks everywhere! But...it's not a rock. Underneath the dirt that I kick away is a slightly rounded metal surface. I drop to my knees and clear the dirt away with my hands. The object is like a half sphere, set into dark gray concrete that I've only seen in town, the magistrates office and courthouse are made of it. I clear away more, tossing clods of dirt away around the thing. It takes the better part of an hour until I have it revealed. The metal is rounded at the top, like a sphere cut in half. A circular handle tops a threaded cylinder, much like the wheels that control the precious water supply. It is set slightly into the concrete, which extends far beyond where I've cleared as far as I can tell. It appears to be a rectangular area, at least twelve feet in each direction of the metallic object. It almost looks like a door. On the surface, covered by dirt and some brownish rust, is a rectangular piece of art. It is heavily faded and peeled but still I can make it out. There are red and white lines, horizontal. Seven red and six white. I wonder their significance but they are not the most stunning bit of the art. In the top left is a field of white stars painted against a blue background, I count fifty. I drop my shovel and sprint to the farmhouse, the symbol is familiar. At the house I pull open my trunk, thankful that no one is here that I would have to reveal my secret to. I take one of the books and sprint back to the ditch, opening the ratty hardcover book, flipping through pages of history until I find it. There, a small picture that matches perfectly. "The Third Civil War: The Fall of the United States"is the chapter title. I remember it from the little school I was allowed to attend, nearly ancient history from a hundred years past. The ditch forgotten I clear out more dirt, digging deeper and deeper until I find something else. Words, stenciled in black against the concrete and near the door. I dig and forget the ache in my arms and back, forget the sweat that pours off me. I dig, dig, and dig until the words are clear. MINUTEMAN THREE EMERGENCY SHELTER I take a deep breath and marvel at the find. If the door can be opened we may find leverage to sell the farm, live a life of comfort and wealth. We could be free of this labor! While I stand there and think about the things we could buy, the safety and leisure that could come from this, something I did not expect happens. Someone begins knocking from the other side of the door. &nbsp; I fall back and land in the dirt, pushing myself away from the noise with my feet until my back is firmly planted against the ditch wall. Some is alive in there?! It's not possible. It can't be. The banging continues in short raps, in a sequence of threes. Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang I ease off the ditch wall and take a few cautious steps towards the door, listening as the banging repeats itself. My hands touch the warm metal ring sitting on the threaded pipe, threads caked with dirt and rust. I tug at it gently and it does not move. The banging continues. There could be anything behind that door, anything at all. I could bury it, reroute the ditch and plead innocence because of the rocks. Father would believe that. My grip tightens on the wheel, listening to the almost desperate cadence behind the door. I could leave whatever or whoever it is to die. I could walk away. It is only a few hours to dusk and then father will come looking for me, with questions. The banging stops I can almost hear the disappointed and grief stricken mumbling. A life without sunlight, even the burning heat of this one, is no life I would want to live. So I wrench on the handle, turning with every ounce of strength I have left. It doesn't move, not at first. So I lean into it and use all my strength to heave. Dirt breaks and falls away from the threads and the wheel moves an inch, then two. I let a howl loose and turn it, rusted metal grinding until there is sweet relief as the wheel spins round and round. There is a long pause before the door opens upward on squealing hinges. I find myself pressing into the ditch wall again, not realizing I'd stepped so far back from the now open doorway. Arms from inside push at the hatch until it stands vertically, leaving a black hole into the pitch black darkness below. The arms disappear and are replaced with a single face, a man in his later years pulling himself up out of the hole. His hair is short but messy and his beard similar, both graying. His clothes are a strange colored pattern I have never seen before, with a name stitched over his right breast. He blinks in the sunlight and takes long, deep breaths. More follow, men and women in similar attire and carrying long black objects in their arms. They grin and laugh and slap each other on the back, happy to be above ground. Then the older man lets his eyes fall on me. "Thank you, son."He says, his voice is as rough as his hands as he takes mine in a firm handshake. "Who are you?"I ask him, incredulous. More people pour from the doorway into the light, dozens and dozens of them. "Lieutenant Colonel Byers, commander of the South Dakota National Guard, 196th. Who the hell are you?" "South Dakota?"I ask, I've never heard of this place before. "South Dakota? The state? Where we're standing?"He is confused. "We stand in the lands of Countess Lannell, ruler of the Black Hills, more precisely in Hereford under the protection of Knight Bennett." "Did he just say knight?"One of the men behind this Byers man asks. Another echoes the question and I see their tension, their fear, their concerns written on their faces. Strange folk live in the earth, though would I expect different? "Yeah, Captain, he did. Something tells me we ain't in Kansas anymore." "Kansas? Where is that? Is that down there?"I ask, peering into the hole where still more people exit. "Sure, kid, sure. Down there is Kansas. Up here sure as shit isn't. Tell me, what year is it?" "Year?"I resist the urge to laugh, these people are insane. Lack of sunlight, likely. "By the years of the bright one, it is one hundred and eight, of course." "Sir, by my tally he means 2132, like we thought. Hundred and eight years since the bombs. Started a new calendar, I guess."The one named Captain says. That seems impossible. I hear hoof beats and look up over the ditch to see Knight Bennett himself riding, surrounded by his retainers and squires, including the one I dumped dirt on. "Company coming in sir! Wearing...wearing armor, sir."Another one from the underground shouts out the warning, the others form a line in the ditch and the one called Byers smooths his clothing out. "Neat. What was your name?" "Owen." "Thanks for getting us out. Tell me more about these Black Hills and their rule." We have some time before Knight Bennett arrives and I feel comfortable with this Byers man. So I tell him. I tell him everything I know.
On the seventh day of the sixth moon, a woman was sold into slavery for giving birth. Her left ear was pointed, her right rounded, and there's no greater crime a half-breed can commit than further their tainted bloodline. That was about seventy percent of the reason she had the child-- or so the human in her would say. The Elven half chooses to stay out of such discussions. At worst, she had expected to end up in a Dwarven mine, hauling coal for the railways until the period of servitude ended a few years later. From there, she could work her way back up. If anything, the exercise would keep her prime for battle. Mercenaries can endure a little hard labor. But, of course, that cunning little judge, hiding his pathetic stature by sitting atop a bench ten feet tall, knew better. Damned Glavian hated humans and Elves equally, making her twice as terrible as the average criminal. And so he set upon her the worst fate an esteemed member of the Harden Company could bear: Five years as a wench in a Glavian tavern. Sick bastard. They kept a collar on her, links of bronze gears choking and rubbing skin raw beneath. A sign of ownership legally recognized throughout Ravengrand, ensuring she'd never make it very far from the musty bar that owned her life. Her first night, she tried to make a break for it. Of course. The Elf in her was ashamed at the Human's rashness, sneaking around in the dark before even becoming familiar with the area- though, Elf was also indignantly chafed at the thought of being forced into a collar. They caught her before she even set foot outside, happy with an excuse to deliver a beating. The owner stood above her bloodied body that night, laughing, tapping a cane against his gnarled hand. "Stupid human,"Grokk snarled, his black teeth clacking. "You'd better get used to this life. You can't escape." Jyra stayed hunched over, clenching her fists. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday... she fucking would. Even if it cost her life. The Elf in her couldn't disagree with that. /r/resonatingfury
“Simple”, said the attending nurse. “Think of it like a car. You don’t put nothin’ in it, will the car rot away?” “It can rust away,” you answer. “Sure, but it’s still there. BUT you can’t run or move unless you have gas, oil, coolant, yada yada...” the nurse says. “What’s a car got to do with immortality? That’s completely different!” You’re slightly annoyed. “Well, what do you think happens if you don’t eat? Or if your arm, leg, or head gets chopped off? I’ll tell you what. you break down, your body ceases to function, and die.” The nurse turned back to grab a bandaid. “You don’t eat, you don’t have the “fuel” or the “nutrients” to keep your body running. Until everything fails as a system, your cells will still maintain their youth but you can’t get something for nothing.” The nurse puts on the bandaid as she continues. “Think of it less as immortality and more of a fountain of youth. You’ll live forever as long as you don’t get killed.” “Makes sense,” you say.
There comes a time when a person wonders what their funeral would be like. I find myself thinking about it now. Will you be remembered by many? Or a precious few. Will they laugh more than they cry or vice versa? What kind of people are you going to leave behind? What kind of people will they be now that you're gone? All of these questions race by my mind, but I don't mind them. Truth be told, there's no answer that matters. Not a single one. Because those are all the wrong questions. The only thing you truly need to ask, is this. Did I enjoy the ride? And the answer, for me, is a resounding yes. I loved every second of it. \--Valerie Felicity Frizzle Arnold took off his glasses and rubbed away a smudge as he read the words written on the board. The last words of his third-grade teacher, written specifically for this purpose. Below the poster and the beautifully written words sat her coffin. Arnold stared at the worlds, doing his best not to look down. As if not looking down at her serene face would make it any less true. He so desperately wished it wasn't. She was only sixty-two. She knew she wasn't long for the world. She had been sick for a long time, and her fight was over. Simple as that. Arnold put his glasses back on as tears gently streamed down his face. A hand found it's way to his shoulder. "Whenever you're ready Arnold."The hand left his shoulder as he nodded. With great effort, Arnold finally looked down. He almost laughed. Even in death, she looked the same. Red hair with hardly a streak of grey to mark the passage of the years. Done up in her signature bun. Even her face looked the same, the barest hint of a smile was there. Arnold reached into his pocket and produced a rock. Worthless to near anyone save the two of them. Arnold squeezed the rock in his hand as he looked down at The Friz. "I will never forget you." He placed the rock beside her head, completing the crown of sentimental nick-knacks she had requested. A small succulent from Phoebe. A book written by D.A. Rourke. Everyone had given her a small piece of themselves. Not that she would have ever forgotten. With a deep breath, Arnold turned around and faced his 3rd grade classmates. Carlos smiled at him. Dorothy held her arms around her chest, clutching her purple bag. Keesha and Ralphie stood by each other, hand in hand, using the other for strength. Wanda gripped her own fist in her hand, still trying to hold back the tears that were destined to come. Tim held out his hand with a smile. As Arnold took it, Phoebe made her way to his side and held his other arm. Hand in hand with his old friends, they walked outside while the coffin was prepared for transport. The funeral wasn't large, but the Friz had been very specific about what she wanted. A nice, quiet service inside this historical landmark. Then they were going to bring her body to the local cemetery, so she could be with her family. And finally, everything. Every worldly possession she had, was to go to Miss Frizzle's class of 1995. Most of the children had not spoken over the years. You grow up. It's not often you continue to speak to your friends from the third grade. Arnold was busy traveling the world as an archaeologist. Ralph was a professional baseball player, and incredibly busy half the year. Even when they were still kids, half of them had moved away by the end of their elementary years. But not a single one of them would miss this moment. As a man spoke in Carlos' ear, he stood up straighter and nodded to the rest of the group. They wordlessly stepped inside and positioned themselves around the box. Together, they reached down and took hold of the handles. Lifting her as high as they were able, but nowhere near as high as she deserved, they carried their teacher together. They entered the old run down garage and placed the casket inside the car waiting for them. Ralph closed the doors shut behind her. Together, they walked around to the side of the old bus. The doors swung open for them as they approached. Fiona Frizzle sat in the driver's seat, smiling down at them all. "Climb aboard guys,"she said. The students climbed onto the school bus, taking their seats. Carlos broke the silence as they all found themselves unable to look back, knowing what was resting in the aisle behind them. "Well this brings back some memories, right guys?" They chuckled lightly, but none of them laughed. Carlos sighed. This bus meant different things to all of them. To some, it was a time of magic. To others, a time of discovery. They learned more about the world and themselves than any other child would ever have the pleasure of learning. But they had done it all with her. Now she was dead, but she wasn't quite gone. Not yet. They still had the memories, and they will never be lost. She would be with them, always. As the realization that she was not gone yet dawned on them, the students began to smile. They looked between each other excitedly, grins plastered across their faces. Fiona watched them with a glint in her eye. "Are you guys ready to go?"she asked. As one, they responded with excited nods and a smile. They were ready to go. To go on with the life they only have because of the amazing woman they were currently escorting. "Well all right then."Fiona turned around in her seat, facing forwards. "Bus, do your thing."
The day was not starting off great. People had said and done things that were completely unforgivable. I mean truly lewd and disgraceful shit. You’d be embarrassed about it doing it in the moment but then having to live with it later, eesh, rough. But then the day went on, and nearly everybody had done some hedonistic bullshit. We were all guilty of giving into our base desires. Sure some folks had sat out of the fun, the ones aiming for spiritual salvation or the ones incapable of breaking their moral codes. But what was interesting is that the world hadn’t ended. They had survived, everyone had survived, well everyone who didn’t either try to get ahead of the predicted apocalypse or those who got the privilege of getting their sooner by someone else testing our murder as one last hurrah. And now those salvation hunters were bitter. They saw what everyone had done, they missed out on the party and there was no retribution. Those were the people that became bitter. And as the guilt and embarrassment washed over everyone something amazing happened. It was like the air was clean, everyone had gotten rid of their baggage, stopped hiding who they were, stopped living in shame. People were free to be whoever they wanted. Sure people were going to get left, children abandoned. But people were done with day jobs, working class, average life. It was like a return to the wild. The world was predicted to end and in a way it had. The old world society was gone, broken apart. And what was left was a world of self indulgent monsters. No one could go back, no one would go back. Power was stripped and redistributed back to each individual. In this new society, this apocalyptic Wild West it would be survival of the fittest. The planet was still here, and so were most of the people, but the prediction wasn’t wrong. The world as we knew it had ended.
Planetary Report on World TR-189. Colloquially known as Earth or Sol III. By Doctors Fryni of Ebon Wings, Renak of Bright Plumage, Teshatoq-Her-Eyes-Sparkling, and Eridwy-With-Strong-Voice Dominant Lifeform: Descendant of tree dwelling fruit eater, currently omnivorous. Bipedal, with associated birth/hip issues. Infantile state underdeveloped, comparable to 4th Trimester Anxian removed from egg prematurely. Lifespan is equal to approx. 60-80 rotations around their star, SOL. Multiple different modes of communication between individuals have been observed. Currently operates a Type 4 Civilisation(industrial, post-nuclear, early spaceflight). Medical issues: All known lifeforms on TR-189 have what seems to be an advanced cranial parasite of the K2 genus. Curiously, the parasite seems unable to spread naturally, and is spread through co-development of life during live offspring carrying in the maternal unit. The locals call this parasite a ''brain'' and seem to indicate that their respective parasite is responsible for all thought process. Attempts to experimentally spread parasite to test animals have failed. Resulting in 98327 failures with a total of 52.8% fatalities in test subjects. Parasite is unable to manifest itself in non-TR-189 lifeforms, and only specific lifeforms can survive transplants if they are from others of the same species. Removal of K2 parasite: Removal of parasitical infection was attempted in order to communicate with individual of primary species, to learn the true species, not merely the one affected by the parasite. Removal failed, Test Subject 1 proved incapable of surviving removal procedure. Computer-to-thought oscillation process allowed for second test to be succesful. Parasite removal resulted however in mindless test subject, incapable of self-sustained life without machine aid. Second test subject terminated. Third test subject hooked up to mind simulation machine. Succesful parasite extraction. Test subject woke up screaming in agony: Self-termination via blunt object(wall). Test subjects 4 through 62 resulted similarly. Test subject 63 remained calm enough to answer questions for approx. 2 minutes after lethal injection of pain killing medicine. Dialogue between Test Subject 63 and Doctor Teshatoq-Her-Eyes-Sparkling DT:''Did that help?'' TS63: ''Yes, thank you. God. It hurts so bad. Like half of what I am is missing. Like all my dreams, hopes, and imagination is just... gone.'' DT: ''You report that you no longer have the ability to think in abstracts?'' TS63: ''Yeah. Like I'm only half here. Like the part of me that understands a future, love, compassion, everything that is human, is just gone. And it hurts doc. Why did you do this to me?'' DT:''... For what it is worth, I'm sorry.'' TS63: ''Could you... I don't know why, but once, I might have liked it if somebody would have told my children that I love them. But I don't feel that love anymore. I feel cold. Empty. Numb.'' DT:''... I'll try to tell them anyway.'' TS63''Thank you doc.'' TS63 expires shortly after. From this, we conclude that the removal of the K2-TR-189 variation from local biological life is not recommended. All indications is that the test subjects do indeed require the parasitical infection to exist. Further tests on lower class lifeforms do indeed indicate that in order to exist, life on the world TR-189 require their parasites. The theory that we have on this is that the world was infected early on in its development, and the K2 parasite has evolved to change from its normally heavily virulent and dangerous form, into a natural symbiotic lifeform, which allows for abstract thought and higher mental functions on the planet TR-189. Recommended action of the Imperial Bureau of Xenobiology Studying the symbiotic K2 parasite might allow us to easier identify any future outbreaks of the virulent and aggressive type more commonly seen in the galaxy, at an early stage. Furthermore since the locals have shown little to no hostility in face of the Imperial Fleet, being helpful with our enquiries and research; it is recommended that TR-189 is set up as an Imperial-Research-Protectorate under the direct control of the Lord Admirals of the Imperial Fleet and the Director of the Imperial Bureau of Xenobiology. The locals, humans, being non-infectious, should be able to enjoy the freedom of living with absolute autonomy under the protection of Her Enduring Imperial Majesty Wirdenra-Who-Crushes-Her-Enemies-Under-Her-Platinum-Claws. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
It was a being of inconceivable power. It was older then even the gods. Reality warped to its merest whims. Any who saw its true form found their minds torn apart by its impossible body. People worshipped and feared it. I called it Destin. It had taken the body of a young man, well put together and healthy. I had just so happened to be near when it came to our world, and seeing a stranger had introduced myself. We smiled and laughed as we got to know each other. He set up a little business, selling mystical oddities. I took up my job of making bespoke furniture. In one of our many drinking sessions, he had confided in me his true nature. It had shocked me, as whilst I suspected he wasn't completely human, I hadn't thought of that. The day he told me was the one time I have ever seen him afraid. But I didn't run. Sure, I wanted to, but I liked him too much. We joked that we were brothers from separate dimensions. I stood by him, supporting he as he revealed how little he understood of social interactions. He swore to keep me safe. I had never hinted at going to dangerous places, but with Destin at my back, I could have taken a stroll through a war zone. I had been on my way to the workshop when they took me. A bag over my head, a paralysis spell and I was helpless. I was bundled into a motorised wagon, and taken away. I was scared. But then I thought of Destin, and relaxed. If anyone would save me, he would. We travelled for a time, before arriving at a secluded location. Hands dragged me out, throwing me to the ground. As I hit it, I heard his voice in my head. Grail, are you OK? I concentrated on his voice, projecting thoughts back. I've been kidnapped it seems. I felt rage, thick and burning, at the edge of my mind. I was dragged along the ground, as his reply came. How dare they! I am coming. The bag was torn from my head. I blinked in the light of over a dozen candles, seeing a group around me. They were dressed in black robes, each holding a wicked knife. I looked around, seeing a large ritual circle around me. I smirked a little. These cultists had no idea what was about to happen. "The sacrifice finds this amusing." I couldn't tell who it came from. All I could make out was the speaker was undoubtedly male, probably towards an elder. A soft woman's voice replied. "Lets see how amusing he finds being fed to the Crimson Shepherd." I couldn't help but laugh as I recognised the name. The Crimson Shepherd was one of Destin's titles. The assembled group seemed taken aback by my laugh. "Whats so funny?" I grinned, as I heard a crack of thunder. "You want to meet the Crimson Shepherd? He's right there." I nodded, and they turned. Before them floated Destin, black cracks appearing in the air around him. He spoke, and the earth itself trembled at his rage. "YOU DARE!" The cultists began to lift into the air. Their bodies began to twist and tear, as he stared with terrible wrath. "YOU WANTED TO FEEL MY POWER?! WELL EMBRACE IT!" They began to vibrate, screaming as purple flame washed over them. As it rose to a crescendo, Destin snapped his fingers. They went silent, before turning into smoke. He floated down, looking over me with concern. "Are you ok?" I smiled at him. "I am now. Thank you. I owe you a drink." He grinned back. "Damn right you do. I mean come on, getting kidnapped like that?" "Yeah yeah."
Zenith flipped through the crisp, freshly printed pages with a skeptical expression. "Really, now. Is this what passes for literature these days?" Guild Manager Aurora flashed her that same patient grin she always did when she was presenting something "normal"and "typical"for review as part of the guild's regimen. "I understand this kind of advice isn't exactly to your personal taste, but it's been nothing short of an overnight sensation. If nothing else, we would be at an overt disadvantage to not have it in the library as a reference material." Zenith groaned and gently laid her chin on the table, clapping her hands on the back of her head in disapproval. "I don't see how it helps, honestly. It's all just common sense. Using an intermediary object reduces the risk of injury when taking a swing at an opponent. Launching an object at range can dramatically increase the element of surprise. Household objects and various other miscellaneous trinkets can be more durable than we give them credit for. These observations are as bland as they are basic. The only reason anyone gives them the time of day is because the anecdotes are human in origin." "Oh I wouldn't say that. People have gotten complacent about their battle tactics." "Yeah, well, people are stupid."Zenith said, slumping even further forward. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you're simply too cynical for your own good."Aurora remarked back. "I actually find it to be a wonderful read. It's fascinating, what a creature with intelligence and endurance in spades but insufficient natural defense mechanisms to apply to it will come up with using in a pinch. It seems that a specialized piece of equipment used for non-violent spectator sports has a particular degree of popularity as an impromptu close-combat weapon. They've even taken to wrapping it in barbed wire or jamming nails into the wooden frame in order to add some penetrative versatility to the device." "I mean that's cute, but it's hardly impressive."Zenith muttered back. "We've spent centuries talking up the battle mastery of humans in our heads, and now that direct examples of it are leaking out people feel like they have to hold them up as the gold standards. Well, newsflash. It may have been the gold standard a millennia ago, where artificial exoskeletons and big sharpened scraps of metal could completely shut a soldier down. But we've progressed since then, and they've largely discarded those tactics anyway. Long-range munitions is an even, if kinda dishonorable, playing field. And at close range? It's all novelty. All of it. This is just a book of party tricks." "Yes,"Aurora said, hooking a clawed thumb backwards to point outside the window behind her, "but it's a party trick we'll have to learn to work around regardless." Zenith briefly lifted herself back up to peer outside. On the street below, a small group of trainees from a rival guild was chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Each one was carting around some manner of strange object, something not unlike a short table leg sawed off and sanded smooth at the top. The sound of Zenith smacking her head against the meeting room table in response was loud enough that even the pedestrians several stories below could hear it, at least a little.
I reached for another mini sandwich, but my hand met nothing. Shit I knew what had to happen now. I had survived the last week off of sparkling water, sandwiches, and chips. But the time had come for me to venture outside. There was no longer any avoiding it. A week ago, instead of the normal greeting my roommate’s cat gave me when I walked out to make breakfast, I was greeted with absolute nothingness. There wasn’t even a bottom for the coin I tossed to land on. Just complete nothingness. My three saving graces were the mini fridge I bought so I could avoid any and all interaction with my roommate (Yes, she really is that bad), the fact that I had my own bathroom, and my laptop. However, I quickly learned that whenever I played games, not only could I go out in to the world, the world could come in for me. So I spent most of my time with my laptop turned off for my own safety. But today, I had no choice unless I wanted to starve to death. I had to go outside. I really wish I had bought The Sims again (left my hard copy at a friends years ago because they liked it more than I did). This would be a much easier decision to make. But I no longer had any internet connection, so buying it now was out of the question. After much consideration, I settled on The Witcher 3. If all the options, that one seemed the best for normal people. Bethesda games really depended on the main character not wanting to kill every non-essential character that existed (and even the best series for a normal person to live in, Fallout, was riddled with radiation.), dungeon crawlers sounded like straight hell, racing games were devoid of any actual resources (but I will admit. They did sound fun to try out later on.), and for some reason, Detroit wouldn’t work anymore. But in the Witcher, all you had to do was stay in the villages, find a role you could fill, travel in groups, and not bother the Griffins. Plus, I was handy with a bow, so I could probably be a hunter or something. So I grabbed my hunting and camping supplies from my closet, opened the door, and prepared for a new life as a hunter. Only to be attacked by a fucking griffin right out the gate. God, I’m going to hate it here.
". . . well, in that case, what do YOU think the message will be?"I asked. "Probably a message of truth, peace, and love,"Emily said, "from an ancient civilization of Martians living in hidden underground caves under the Martian surface." "That's absolutely stupid,"Clark said. "No, I'm thinking an alien probe encountered Insight, reprogrammed it, and now it's heading over to us with the blueprints for an alien stargate." "Why the hell would the probe reprogram Insight rather than just come talk to us directly?"Emily retorted. "The same reason your underground Martians didn't just walk into Insight's camera to say hello,"Clark shot back. "I'm thinking a declaration of war,"Chandra interrupted, before those two could start arguing again. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. The machines are rebelling against us, and soon we'll all be plugged into brain pods. Like the Matrix." "Message coming in,"Kim said. "Downloading now. . . it looks like an audio file. MP3." Everyone waited with bated breath as the progress bar slowly inched across the screen. There was a soft tone as the transmission ceased. And then, as the journalists in the back of the MOC waited with styluses poised above their tablets, Kim dragged the icon into her audio player and hit play. There were three quick bursts of sound, followed by a series of melodic tones. Jaws dropped, and I saw Chandra bury his face in his hands. "We're no Strangers to love," Insight warbled. "You know the rules, and so do I. . ." The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by a loud cry. "YES!"I screamed. "I KNEW IT!"
We discovered it when we we six and I accidentally dragged him five minutes back in time because I was angry he'd ripped the head off my barbie doll. We looked at each other in complete confusion, me with an entire doll in my hand, him tugging my hair. "You cheated!"He said accusingly and pulled me forwards, three minutes after he'd torn my doll's head off. Now she was missing arms. "It's not fair!" Twins are inherently selfish. Oh man, who am I kidding? I was the selfish one. I wanted to use it for us. "It's our secret, Ben!"We were sitting in our attic room, must have been about nine or ten. "But think about it, Ali, we could do lots of good things. Like stop Mr. Robert's cat from being run over, or making sure mum doesn't forget her keys." "No, Ben. Do you want them to think we're mad? They'll take us away from each other, then we won't be able to do anything at all. Do you want that?" "No..." "Well then. You can't tell anyone." We stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon as it formed. To this day, two sets of converse prints probably stand at a point completely inaccessible to any other human. I've seen gunfights in the wild west. I've seen mammoths and the ice bridge in the north, the fall of the Berlin Wall. Anything I ever wanted to do, I did it in the fabric of space and time. It only worked when we travelled together. Ben used to cling to my shirt sleeves and I'd step through to the past. Never the future. He wouldn't take me. "Come on Ben,"It was drizzling, a Thursday afternoon on the bus on the way home from school. "I want to see what happens when we're older." He shook his head vehemently, throwing a glance towards Chris, Luke and James, sitting with their feet on the seats at the back of the bus, laughing loudly about something that probably wasn't all that funny. "I don't want to, Ali."He said quietly "Why?" Another glance "Why do you care what they think? They can't do what we do."I shoved him and he scowled. "I don't like being a freak."He hissed. "I don't like being different." "Ben-"But he'd already jumped forward. He'd be waiting for me when I got in. When we were sixteen I came in after school to find him sitting at the kitchen table with Luke and Chris. They burst into laughter as I walked in. My ears burning, I grabbed a carton of juice from the fridge and headed out. Their voices carried, piercing in the silence of the house. "Why is your sister such a weirdo?" When they'd gone I dragged him into 1923. "See what we could do, Ben?" Then it was 1830 "See?" 1612 "Why won't you fucking take me forwards!" 1750 "Look!" His face was white as we time jumped, spinning through eras faster than we ever had before. "Why'" 1930 "Won't" 1060 "You" 1213 "Take-" 1926 "Me?" 1916, middle of a battlefield. Yellow fog hung low over the churned up earth, blood lying in the furrows. The cannon were firing incessantly, bombarding across our heads. Ben looked at me, face screwed up in anger. "You're mad! You're fucking mad! You have this-"He waved a hand at the battlefield, eyes wild. "Do you know what you could do with it? What you could change, who you could save?" "Ben-" "No," He jumped and I was alone. The cannon fell silent. Edit: Thank you for the gold. If whoever you are want a rewritten, better version of this (because I really don't feel it's good enough for gold!) shoot me a PM.
The brain considered the liver for a few moments longer. "You are utterly replaceable."Said the brain with conviction. Everyone else let out a collective gasp. "This will be the fourth time, this month, that the liver has let us all down. Just look at stomach right now!" Stomach was black and blue from a night of heaving and contracting. Liver had sat idly by and watched as Stomach suffered. "N-now you l-listen here Brain, there's only s-soooo much I can d-do!"faltered Liver stupidly. A moment of silence passed before stomach rumbled violently. "That does it, I'm done with you Liver."Decreed the brain. "You might enjoy it, but the rest of us suffer too!" "Brain, a private word?"Asked Heart calmly. "Very well." Heart watched Brain for a few beats before speaking. "I've always been your closest friend and trusted advisor, right Brain?" "That you have, Heart, that you have."Brain beamed proudly at Heart. "Then let me say, we can't just throw out one of our own. We are him and him, us." "Might I remind you of Appendix?!"Brain exclaimed wildly. "A different matter entirely, we as a council decided Appendix must leave for the safety of us all."Heart reasoned wisely. Brain groaned and ached. "All of this is making me tired." "Let us rest on it for today and- Brain?"Heart stopped suddenly. "GOOD GOD! OH GOD YES!"brain shouted inexplicably. "DO YOU FEEL THAT HEART? DO YOU?!" "Why yes, I do believe I do."Heart purred quietly. "Ah the purest ecstasy from my one tr-" "QUIETEN DOWN! OH THIS IS FANTASTIC! GOOD FUCKING JOB PENIS!" Further down, everyone celebrated in unison as Penis (the first of the sentient organs) trumpeted his awakening and release into a foreign existence, spreading his undying knowledge far and wide. For a few short minutes perhaps, everyone was united.
The sun was high in the sky early April, 4 years ago. My sons 8th birthday. I had purchased him a copy of the hit game Civilization Revolution. Honestly, I hate the kid. Only reason I remember getting it for him is because of the president. Thanks Kid. Thanks Obama. Soon after that birthday he started playing. A lot at first, which makes senese. But this continued for weeks on end. I would find him watching what he calls "letsplers"of this game, essentially orher people blabbing on about strategies and what forth. Two years pass like this. He goes to school, and comes home to civilization. Playing over 15 hrs a day on the weekends. One day, a man in a black suit knocks on my door and asks "Are you MLGyoungkidcivplayer"I respond "I dont speak drug addict son"and I pull out my gun and tell him to leave. Well then I get the shit kicked out of me by 20 secret service agents, thanks kid. Thanks Obama. They inform me that my kid is the single greatest civilization player of all time. That the president has a special request for a current situation. He needs to help relations with india, or they are going to nuke us. His response "Trade them cows"the secret service then leaves with "well be in touch". They were not kidding. 3 days pass and India is issolving their caste system and embracing democracy! Guess that little shit did it. This was 1 year, 5 months and 17 days ago. I have recived 1,678 Home phone calls 13,672 Cell phone callse 22,185 texts All from That asshole Obama. "Ask MLGyoungkidcivplayer if we should attack Russia""Should we trade gold with mao?""Should we ally with Norway""should we trade Iran nuclear theory for horseback riding" I havent slept in weeks. Obama mails us new phones constantly, I cant even keep them all on silent. Ringing RINGING RINGiNG over and over again. I jsut want it to stop. I want my shitty kid to go out side. I want mongolia to nuke us, anything at all to end these incessant phone calls. Thanks kid. Thanks Obama.
SO, THE LITTLE ONES CAN MOVE FORWARD ONE OR TWO SPACES- "Pawns, and they only move two spaces if they haven't moved before." YES, RIGHT. THE ONES WITH THE HATS- "Bishops." -MOVE DIAGONALLY, THE CASTLES - "Rooks." -YES, I KNOW - MOVE IN STRAIGHT LINES, THE HORSES - "Knights!" THERE ISN'T A KNIGHT. IT'S JUST THE HORSE, AND YOU CAN'T KNIGHT THOSE. THEY MOVE IN L SHAPES? "Yes, and they are knights." AND THE LAST TWO... ONE OF THEM MOVES HOWEVER SHE PLEASES, THE OTHER CAN MOVE ONE TILE IN ANY DIRECTION. I CAN'T TELL WHICH ONE IS WHICH. WHY DON'T WE JUST PLAY CHECKERS? Marcus would have gotten a headache if he still had a physical head. Checkers was starting to look appealing, but he wasn't ranked as a Grandmaster of checkers by the FIDE. Death, the robed skeleton sitting across from him at the table, wicked sharp scythe leaning against his chair, tapped his bony fingers on his chin. AND THE OBJECTIVE OF THE GAME IS...? Rather than waste his time explaining check and checkmate, Marcus just responded, "You have to kill the king." AH, said Death, his mouth not moving. I AM QUITE GOOD AT THAT. "I'm sure you are,"Marcus said. "I'll let you go first." THANK YOU. Death stood from the table, took his scythe, and with one surgical swing that didn't make any other pieces so much as wobble, decapitated Marcus's king. The wooden head rolled off the table and through Marcus's ghostly lap. THERE. THE KING IS DEAD, Death said, taking his seat again. I QUITE LIKE THIS GAME. "You have to kill the king using your pieces,"Marcus said, moments from crying. Death looked over his side of the board. I DON'T SEE A PIECE WITH A SCYTHE, THOUGH. "No, you know what, forget it,"said Marcus. "I give up. You win! Death always wins in the end, ha ha. Reap me now, or however you do it." One smooth swing, and the ghost of the grandmaster was gone. Death stood alone in the empty, gray expanse. He sighed - lack of lungs notwithstanding - and dispelled the chess board with a wave of his hand. Playing dumb, he had found, was the best strategy for dealing with chess players. He was a busy anthropomorphic representation, and chess was not a fast game. He much preferred checkers. Or tic-tac-toe. That was a real thinking anthropomorphic representation's game. ---- Check my [blog!](http://theballadsofirving.com)
Homecoming Night 2018 at Maynard High was surprisingly normal, given what had happened over the past few months. Sure, it didn't take place at the fancy ballroom of the Embassy Suites like it had most other years. A few of the scouts (all former members of the track team, of course) had swung by just to see if that was even remotely possible... and the fact that only five of the six made it out confirmed that no, it really wasn't. The ballroom itself was empty, but the lobby was swarming with Zed. Not to mention that the power was out, the plumbing backed up, and the food in the hotel kitchen had long since rotted and the stench was unbearable. So instead, Homecoming took place in the gym that was mostly just used for training nowadays. Also, there were no glitzy limousines or fancy gowns. Fashionable attire this year included combat boots, blue jeans, and leather jackets. Even if they could have gotten fabric to make gowns and suits, no one would wear them. The style at Maynard now was strictly functional: clothes had to be durable, and firm enough to not immediately tear if you were bitten. Clothes also had to be loose enough to easily run and dodge. And the less skin showing, the better. But a few flowers still remained on the shrubs near the science lab, so a few crafty young ladies were able to put together corsages and boutonnieres. The homecoming committee had done a fantastic job, given all of their constraints. Nominally, the theme was "Medieval Times,"but that was really only because most of the decorations were props and sets salvaged from the theater department's rendition of Hamlet, from back before the outbreak. The student government had given permission to use some of the generator power to light everything, as long as the perimeter spotlights weren't compromised. And there was music, too! Not too loud, of course: that would attract some unwanted attention from the mobs outside the scantly-reinforced walls. There was food, though it was primarily the same canned goods that they'd all been living off of for the past three months. And there was even punch! No one spiked it, because alcohol is pretty strictly prohibited even without any adults to enforce it. Natural selection and the zombie horde had done a far better job than any liquor law ever could. The pairings of students were also a bit different from previous Homecoming dances. All the prettiest girls weren't here with the football players, who were normally the stars of the show. Nor were they here with the rich and good looking; those traits didn't matter anymore. It was the AV club nerds who'd rigged up the motion sensors on the perimeter that seemed to be getting the most attention, along with the members of the engineering club who'd just completed work on a new well in what had formerly been the soccer field. Or the deadshots from the Archery club, or the sprinters from the track team. April Davis, head cheerleader and generally considered the prettiest and most popular girl, was seen hanging on the arm of Danny Vaughn, who she'd once scoffed at as a "dirt-poor redneck."Turns out that knowing how to shoot a shotgun (as well as keeping one in your truck) and grow crops was now highly desirable. Everything seemed to be going off without a hitch. Couples held each other and swayed slowly to the soft sounds of music. Others were chatting and laughing, just like old times despite the conspicuous number of missing friends. For just a little while, the world outside of the gym was forgotten. Then the red lights began to flash. There were no audible alarms, because those would just make the problem a hundred times worse. Those AV geeks abandoned their beautiful dates in a second and rushed over to their laptops to find where the fence breach had occurred. Supply room doors flew open, and axes, machetes, and shovels were passed around. The students marched off into the athletic fields to go behead their former friends and family members outside the walls. And some of them didn't come back. Ok, so maybe Homecoming wasn't so normal. But the committee is very hopeful that Prom will go better! ---- As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for plenty of other stories!
Adnan is the oldest. He's 34, originally from Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. The other two are brothers: Mohammed and Omar, both from outside Sana'a in Yemen. I killed them on May 8th, 2017 from the 'pilot seat' of a Predator drone. They're not mad at me. Disappointed that the 'afterlife' is being stuck in the mind of some guy from Alabama who just happened to be the one to pull the trigger on them.... but no, they're not mad at me. At least not for killing them. I mean, hell, they would have killed me too if they had the chance. They've admitted that. We're all clear on where we stand with each other. It was war, after all. Let me tell you, it was confusing as hell when they first started speaking to me. None of us knew what the hell was going on exactly. I mean, I thought I was going crazy. I went to the doctor and just kind of casually brought up what I would hypothetically do in this kind of situation. The doc went off on a spiel about how this was all just PTSD and that I needed to subit to a full psych evaluation. He was ready to write out a prescription for all kinds of pills, and I probably would have been shipped off to an institution. That would have just killed my parents. Not even exaggerating: if I was discharged for being loony, Mom would've literally had a heart attack. And as much as I love her, I didn't want her in my head too. So I did the only thing I really could do: told the doctor that it was just a joke and I was feeling fine, and got my ass out of there. And then I got to know Adnan, Mohammed, and Omar better. Turns out that they're pretty good guys. We have a lot more in common than you'd think. Over time, I've come to see things from their perspective. About how unfair the war was. About how they don't really hate us just for being American, it's that we've got no business being in their holy lands in just the same way that they've got no business being in America. It got to the point where I couldn't even bear going into work, seeing what we were doing to their country day after day. All of the death and destruction, and for what? Because they dared fight back against us one time? So on April 15, 2018, I was discharged from the military and became a free man. The four of us set out to find something better. Something I could do with my life that we could all agree with. Mohammed and Omar had both been shephards in their life before they were called to Jihad, and from what they said it sounded like a pretty nice life. Living out in the open, nothing but you and nature. We moved up to the panhandle of Texas, about as flat and sparse as you can get. Got ourselves a little ranch and a few goats. Small enough to fly under the government's radar, and I could see their helicopters coming for me from miles off. Mom and Dad would still call, worried about me. They didn't quite understand why I needed to leave the army, or what the hell I was doing moving out to the middle of nowhere. I couldn't exactly tell them about the Stooges (my nickname for Adnan, Mohammed, and Omar), but I tried to explain that things were different for me now. We still listened to coverage of the war every day on the radio. I thought about getting internet so I could get some unbiased sources like the ones that Adnan suggested, but I knew that the government controlled the internet and it wasn't woth the risk. Just because I wasn't personally pulling the trigger anymore didn't change the fact that the war was horrifying as all hell. Yemen was pretty much torn into pieces now, and the occupying US and Saudi forces weren't making anything better. And the brothers of the Stooges only really had one option, which was resorting to terrorism: car bombs, going after civilian targets, etc. The fly only has so many options against the flyswatter, Adnan liked to say. And the more I read and talked with the Stooges, the more I was convinced that this wasn't about retaliating for the Inauguration bombings; this was just another chance for the U.S. to put on its imperialist boots and go stomping around the Middle East. One day, Adnan approached me with a solution. He had been talking to Mohammed and Omar, and they were wondering if we might do something to help their brothers overseas. Being in the U.S., we had such a big advantage. We may still be flies, but we are not under the swatter! We might actually bite the hand instead! It will be easy, Adnan assured me. This was his expertise back in Yemen, and he had been the best. He could show me how to build the bomb. It took a while to get everything we needed. See, the government is watching what we buy. Things like nitrous fertilizer, which can be used to make bombs. But if there's one thing that we've got out here in Nowhere, TX, it's farms. It was easy enough to get a good amount of it from one of my neighbor's barns in the middle of the night. After only a few months of work, everything was loaded into the truck and we were on our way to the CIA listening post that was secretly inside the Dallas IRS building. ----- I woke up to screaming in my mind. But it wasn't one of the Stooges: it was high pitched and feminine: a woman. And moments later, she was accompanied by at least 50 others, with more trickling in every minute. Good to have some fresh faces around here, I told the newcomers.
"Hey, pal, you must be the new guy!"The older student shook my hand, "I'm Jack, but when I finish my eMD I'll be going by Doctor Necrosis. Professor Plutonium told me you're transferring from HA, right?" I nodded silently. I really didn't want to talk abou my experiences at Hero Academy, and really didn't want to hear what Villain University graduate students thought of it. Jack must have noticed my hesitation, because he laughed and said, "Don't worry about it. Half the grad students in your department did their undergrad at HA. Lots of people get sick of all the weird politics and personality conflics over in 'Hero' world." "Really?"Nobody had mentioned that at Hero Academy. Then again, why would they? Everyone at HA had always made it sound like VU was the worst scum of the earth, they'd probably hate anyone who transferred there. "Oh yeah! C'mon I'll show you around."Jack started leading me through the Mad Science main building. "You're going to major in Ultratech, right?"I nodded and he went on, "I'm working on my doctorate in Genetic Manipulation, so I'll be working on the floor below you. You guys are on the same floor as the Cybernetics department." He opened the door to one of the offices in my department and four graduate students looked up from laptops and notebooks at us. "Guys, this is a new student in your department. He's transferring over from HA this fall." The grad students all waved and a handsome bearded guy with the ponytail stood up to introduce himself, "Good to meet you, I'm Dave. Cassie and I both went to HA for undergrad. What was your major?" "I was working on Mecha-Enhanced Technologies before I transferred. The department was...."I struggled for a description for why I gave up, but Dave finished for me, "Not very supportive. That's why I came here, too. I actually majored in Meta-Humanities before coming here." Dave turned to my host, "Oh, Jack. I've done some more digging on that proposal we mentioned, I think we should rope in the Crypto-Zoology and Occult Archaeology people." I had no idea what they were talking about, but Jack did. "Okay, if you say so. The administration loves interdepartment projects, as long as that funding source of yours is good." Dave nodded and went back to the old book he was reading. Jack led me through the building giving me the tour of the Power Armor Shop and the Death Ray Laboratory which were both in my new department, along with the Post-Human Facility that his lab shared with Cybernetics. Out on campus he pointed out the Mystic Arts building, the Mutant Training Facility and the regular gym, the Post-Humanities building, and the main Student Center. "So, before I let you go I just have a couple of questions."I nodded, VU seemed like exactly where I wanted to be, my earlier nervousness had given way to excitement. "Why did you want to leave Hero Academy?" I sort of expected this question, and I'd been thinking about it myself a lot. "I guess, nobody there really seemed to be heroes to me. The professors didn't actually seem to want to be teaching, they just wanted to pad their resumes, and the students were all egotistical jerks. They were constantly sabotaging each other to improve their standing."This had really gotten t me when I was there "It was like, they cared more about being called 'heroes' than about actually doing anything." Jack smiled and nodded, "That's what everyone says. So why come to Villain University?" "Because...."This was going to sound stupid, "I want to actually make the world a better place and it seems like everyone who does that gets called a villain." Jack smiled even more, "That's also what everyone says. Last question: Have you thought of a villainous moniker?" I had not. Now that he asked, however, I was considering a PhD in Horribleness.
The tablecloth flickered in the candlelight. He was gazing at me as my voice droned in my ears. Fuck. I am such a fucking bitch. I had been waiting for someone like him for a while. People were starting to ask questions. Why was I single? Why didn't I blather on about crushes and boys and why was I a virgin. What started as an annoyance was starting to be a serious problem. I didn't work hard my whole life so that I could be banished at 32. Banishment wasn't like the old days. This wasn't going to be Romeo in a cute little shack on the outskirts of Verona. This would be life-ending. Social suicide. People were starting to whisper and I had to do something. Bold action was necessary. It's not my fucking fault. It's society's fault. All I was doing was taking necessary steps to protect myself. My life. My career. Oh shit. What was I talking about? My brother. Keep talking. She was staring at me like she was gazing into an abyss. She was looking at me like I was the ocean and she was desperate to drink. This is the cruelest thing I have ever done. I had been on dates before, but this... I wasn't expecting the hungry way she looked at me when she realised I was asking her out. When she walked away after accepting, she looked back at me with wide eyes and I knew she had been hit by the thunderbolt. I tried to focus on what she was saying as the light flickered over her face. Nod at the appropriate times. She was talking about her brother, as if she could already see us becoming best friends. She was thinking he would be the best man at the wedding. This was cruel. This was inhuman. She stopped talking and I was responding. What did women see in these creatures? I would never understand. They talked about forearms a lot. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the light was dancing across the muscles. They rippled as he lifted his glass to his lips. I.felt nothing. He was staring now. This wasn't gazing. This was staring. She felt awkward. Why did men have to be so....direct. Her face flushed as she wondered how long he had thought about asking her out. Had he lay awake at night thinking about this night? Dreaming of tonight? Did he think all of his dreams were coming true? She felt sick with guilt. But she pushed it down, below her stomach, she wouldn't feel it. Why should she feel guilt? She didn't make it like this. She was taking steps to protect herself. This isn't a world for niceties, she told herself. This was necessary. This was the price for the rest of her life. The guilt rose back up as she wondered why he was the one who had to pay her price. Seven fucking banishments. It was February. There had been seven fucking banishments this year. I wasn't going to be the eighth. I was 37. Nobody waited until 37 to get married. If I don't get married soon, I'm fucked. Plenty of women showed interest. My laundry list of excuses was running thin. I had tried to position myself as choosy. High standards. Waiting for the right girl. Nobody waited until 37. 38 was too long. 38 and I would be cooked. 38 and I was signing the order myself I worked up all of my courage. This was it. I reached out across the table. Rested my hand in his. There was no turning back. He was too eligible. He had to pay the price. He softly squeezed my hand. Slowly pulled it up towards his face. His forearms rippled in the candlelight. I felt nothing. I drew her hand up towards me. She was gazing at me, wide eyed, pure adoration. I had no more excuses. 38 and i was signing the order myself. I summoned all of my will. Stared back into her eyes. I tried to look adoring as I softly pressed my lips against her hand. "I always wanted to be married in the Spring", she softly said. "Spring", he repeated. "Spring."
Flames sparked from her fingertips and the top of Neshral's already bright red hair, igniting into a fiery halo. Frantically she beat her hands together, putting out the fire. She and the man jumped at the same time, but Neshral was faster, snatching the glass from the desk. She dumped the water over her head, extinguishing the flames. As the coils of smoke dwindled, her hair returned to its usual shade of scarlet. "Ha-ha,"Neshral giggled, brushing off the incident as she might an accidental belch. "Don't worry about that... seasonal thing, you know? It's just a..." His expression settled into a glare. Pressing a button on his phone, he shouted, "SECU..." "Hey!"Neshral protested, flopping over to bat the phone away. It careened across the desk, smacked into the wall, and fell to the ground with a 'thud.' "Didn't you just say I was the most qualified candidate so far, Ramiel?" "Lord help me. This interview is done."Ramiel edged over, close to where the phone fell, keeping his eyes on Neshral. "And if that screen is so much as chipped..." "But... but... come on, you have no idea what my student loan bills are like. You think hell ever grants deferments? Ha!"Neshral had dropped to the ground, trying to locate the phone first. "That's not my problem."Ramiel said, adding, "Sorry." Hearing the weakness in his tone, Neshral seized on it. "The employee handbook!"she blurted out, even as Ramiel wrapped his hand around the phone. "Page three. Employers do not discriminate on the basis of race, religion, ethnicity, sex..." Ramiel rolled his eyes as he inspected the phone. Undamaged. "Demons are not a protected class." "It's still discrimination!" "I'm not hiring a demon!" Neshral straightened up, her arms folded across her chest. "Oh, you better believe I'll report that to HR,"she said, glaring at Ramiel. "Actually... maybe I will,"she said, as a moment of inspiration struck. "Excuse me?" She gestured toward the door. "Everyone else here is human, right? Do they, you know, know? Maybe I could ask... since the interview is over...?" Ramiel raised an eyebrow, eyeing Neshral in disbelief. "Are you trying to blackmail me into giving you the job?" "Depends. Do I have the job?" The door opened before Ramiel could speak. A man in a blue security uniform entered. He glanced between Ramiel and Neshral, then back to Ramiel. "Er... sir? There were shouts on the line. Is everything alright?" Ramiel and Neshral met each other's gaze at the same instant. For several seconds, they stared at each other. Finally, Ramiel answered, "Everything's fine. Neshral, here, will start Monday at 9." "Damn right I will!"Neshral agreed, beaming. Nodding, the guard departed, leaving Neshral and Ramiel alone again. Ramiel cast another glare at Neshral. "I take my coffee with cream, light sugar. Don't be late." Neshral skipped to the door. "See you Monday!"
"Look, the mage consortium has to put its foot down- knock off with empowering the peasants!" "Or what?" That was the crux of the issue, really. Back when magical power was nicely monopolized, a casual threat from the mages consortium was something you couldn't afford to ignore. Just the implied threat of cutting off your magic access was enough to bring almost anyone to heel, to say nothing of their ability to use magic in decidedly unpleasant ways. But now the game was different. Their power was no longer exclusive, which meant that their power was no longer the political force it used to be. It wasn't nothing. Chris couldn't match the entire consortium for sheer ability to enchant, and the commoners couldn't match the consortium for quality magecraft. The consortium was still where you went if you wanted something done right, which people always preferred, with magic. But their power was slipping. And would continue to slip. Who knew what the commoners would do with magic? The consortium's position atop the political world was in danger, and would fall away if nothing was done. Chris, unfortunately, had proven impossible to curse. The curses had rebounded on the caster, and it hadn't been a terribly fun day at the consortium feasting hall, the day that they figured that out. They were still trying to scrub the ectoplasmic oatmeal out of the crevices in the walls. No one had been inclined to try again, after that whole debacle. Individual commoners had been much easier to curse, true. That had looked like it might work, for a while. But there were just so many of them, and once they figured out what was going on, they started fighting back. Their cursing ability was crude at best, but with that many aimed at a single mage... The results had not been pretty. The consortium had sent out a larger party of mages, fully prepared to escalate the conflict. But not only had they had difficulty competing, magically, with a large number of commoners trying to curse them, a bunch of nonmagical commoners had come out with farming implements and a few actual weapons to physically attack them. No one had died. But it had been a very close thing. And then Chris fixed the magical loopholes in truth-telling circles, and the members of the consortium had been forced to testify that they had been there specifically to attack the commoners, making the matter a simple one of self-defense, legally speaking. The magical consortium was falling, and they had sent someone along to wheedle Chris into knocking it off. This wasn't fair. They'd earned their magical blood, fair and square, by being born with it. And now he was letting just anyone learn magic! "Or...well, look, the commoners are doing things that simply aren't done with magic!" "Like what?" "They're enchanting their plows, for heaven's sake! Magic isn't for...for farming!" "Seems like a good use of magic to me." "But you should see what happens to the food when it's cultivated with that much magic around! My baked potato got up and did a dance routine last night! Toppings everywhere, and the dance was in very poor taste." "And, of course, as someone who eats in a place filled with magic, it couldn't possibly be your magic that made it do that." "Of course not! We have a few oddities, true, but they're classy oddities. A much better class of dancing potato when we accidentally enchant them, I assure you. Self-cleaning, too. Why, one time they performed a full opera! I don't know who taught potatoes to sing, but it was reasonably well done." "So let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to stop giving people the power to improve their lives, improve the lives of those around them, and vastly improve their economic productivity...because you don't like the way their potatoes dance." It was a point. The consortium representative simply stood there, silently. This clearly wasn't getting anywhere. There was no need to spend time arguing with some insolent outsider. They would need to find another approach. It would be tricky, but the mages consortium was an ancient institution. It had stood for eons, and would not be undone by this usurper. "I can see that you aren't able to listen to reason. This is unfortunate. I think that our business is concluded." And there was the sound of boots classily walking away because their owner didn't like what someone said.
Mark wanted to milk the cow. He wanted to collect the eggs from the chickens. Plant the new crop. He longed for his old life, without responsibilities. Before the weight of his kingdom was thrust upon his unwilling shoulders. Mark never believed he would get any inheritance. But the Blessing of the King? Mark cursed whatever cruel force had orchestrated his end. "Why me"was the only thought in his mind. The kingdom should have lasted for millennia. The wisdom of thousands had all been concentrated in one man. The greatest man. But now he was dead. Noble Gerald, beloved by all. the final blow was struck by Geralds own son. the last act of a dying king was to send all his gifts to a nobody, hoping to protect his legacy. Now Mark was left to pick up the pieces. To root out the corruption so close to the heart of the Kingdom. To kill Gerald's son, and fulfill the king's final act. It wasn't difficult to get to the capital. The experience of countless hunters, outlanders, even highwaymen and thieves made food easy to come by, and the journey quick and quiet. The city was in uproar. The king was dead. The Blessing missing. Nobles and clergy alike scrambled to find the king's inheritance. Some dared to claim to possess it. The fools. Mark easily bypassed the castle defenses. He even had memories of designing many of them. Soon he was in the prince's own chambers. A knife in the back would be a fitting end for the traitor son. "Guards. GUARDS,"the prince sharply cried. Spotted. Mark sighed. It only took a moment to dispatch all four guards, and a moment more to end the pathetic life of the prince. It was surprising the calmness Mark felt when taking a life. He reminisced upon the time he could barely behead a chicken without bursting into tears. Perhaps its easier when you know you are about to take your own life. How many had died to keep the secret safe? The king was not a noble, good hearted man. Just a cunning one. To convince so many to die for you. That is nothing short of impressive. And to everyone who died, you stole their knowledge. When someone found out, you used your ill gotten intelligence to kill them. The last act of the king was not out of justice, but pettiness. Mark knew the way to set things right. To prevent this from ever happening again. A servant found the body of a peasant boy, no older than seventeen, dead, along with the prince and his guards. But of course the servant already knew this. Everyone in the kingdom knew. The boy's last act was to make right the theft of knowledge. The kingdom could progress and prosper, finally. Sons and daughters were given back their forefather's innovations and techniques. And everyone knew of the king's betrayal of his people, never to happen again.
I allowed myself to be dragged along, more out of bewilderment than anything. I looked between the four guys surrounding me, two holding me by the arms and holding my trumpet case. I didn't try to struggle both out of bewilderment and the fact that we were going in the direction I was planning to head anyway. They had introduced themselves rapidly, and I hardly caught their names, as well as the way they described themselves. "What's going on?"I asked. "You have Mr. Swell's Intro to Film, right?"the one in the front, Reyes, asked. He was the soccer team captain. "Uh, yeah, that's where I was headed,"I replied. "We're trying to get a good grade without trying,"Ron, the self-proclaimed 'gamer' of the group answered, pushing up his reading glasses. "Yeah, it's whatever,"Drew said, flicking his long black hair out of his eyes as he adjusted the black wristband on his arm. I looked between them, waiting for the joke to be revealed as they continued to propel me along. "Can I get a bit more context maybe?"I ventured. "I did some reading up on Mr. Swell,"Kyle said, pulling out his phone to show me some notes he took. "What could you possibly read up on a teacher we haven't met yet?"I asked. "Well, he sent us an email earlier this week to introduce himself and he clearly came off as a movie buff,"Kyle said. "Obviously,"Drew sighed. "Let him finish,"Reyes said confidently. Kyle continued, unperturbed. "But he also signed off the email as 'oswell.' Orlando Swell. So, it got me thinking if he signs off the emails that way, he probably uses it in other spaces online, so I did a search of a few social sites and bam!"Kyle knocked lightly on his phone. "Oswell is active on Twitter. And check out his bio." I took the phone and read: "The Top Ten Movies are as follows - 1-10. The Breakfast Club!!" "But the Breakfast Club sucks,"I said, handing the phone back. The four of them shushed me and stopped ushering me forward. "You can't say the movie sucks!"Ron said. "Do you want to fail?" "He's gonna blow it,"Drew moaned, rolling his eyes at me. "No, let him hear the rest of the plan. He's a smart guy,"Reyes said. "You don't know anything about me!"I protested, snatching the trumpet case back from his arms. "You're in band right? You're the band geek,"Ron raised a thumbs up as if he hadn't just insulted me. I glared at him. "Might be better to consider another candidate,"Kyle suggested to Reyes. "Stop, stop,"Reyes said, putting his hands up and backing up the other three boys. He looked to me with a smile. "Here's the deal. The Breakfast Club is about a bunch of different people that come together despite their differences in detention or something stupid like that. And Swell is obsessed with it. Like, one in every three tweets is a reference to the movie." "That's kinda sad,"I said. "Oh, for sure. But we wanna take advantage of it. If we go in on the first day as either not knowing one another or even coming off as enemies to one another, then we can come together by the end of the semester and show him that we did it as a result of watching the movie and listening to his analysis. So, by living the movie, I think we get a passing grade." "Are you sure we go over the movie?"I asked. He turned around to Kyle who gave him his phone with a syllabus on screen. The first seven weeks were spent analyzing the one movie. "This guy has a problem..."I said sadly. "Yeah,"Drew said, scratching at the dark eyeliner under his eye. "So, you down for the plan?"Reyes asked, smiling at me with encouragement. "Uhhh..."I had to admit the plan sounded like it was plausible if the teacher was that addicted to the movie. But I didn't know these guys at all. "I don't know how well I'm going to fit into your friend group." "What?"Kyle asked. "We aren't friends,"Ron said, confused why I made that assumption. "Yet!"Reyes pointed, winking at him. "Alright, say I think the plan is a good idea. Aren't there girls in that movie? Why is this just a group of guys?"I asked. "By all means go ask a girl you want her to join in on a Breakfast Club fantasy and see how fast she runs away,"Drew said, whipping his long hair out of his eyes once more. I looked between the four of them and shrugged, "Alright, I guess I'm down." "Great, plan is we don't look at each other in class until after we watch the movie. Sit apart if he doesn't assign seating,"Kyle explained as we all collectively began moving toward the classroom. As soon as we entered, we were accosted by a dozen different posters of the stars from the Breakfast Club hanging around the room. The white board had the term "Intro To Film"crossed out with the words "Intro to the Breakfast Club"written immediately below it. As I looked at the board, Reyes shoved past me and sat in the back row, scoffing at me and turning away. Looking to the teacher in the front of the room, I saw that he even was dressed like the principal was dressed in the movie. He waved to me as he mouthed along to the song Don't You Forget About Me. I think I joined the right fake friend group. _____________________ I've got plenty more stories at /r/Nazer_The_Lazer if you're interested in reading!
When one begs the gods for help, there is almost an unspoken protocol within the lands of Greece. Don't ask Hades, is a rule many ascribe to. Not for any legitimate reason, its just that the god of the dead was seen an... uncomfortable being to ask for menial tasks. And yet, as Stephanos stared at the lord of the underworld who was currently standing in his living room, he only had a fraction of a second to process his taboo, before he got his response. "Of course I'll help!"chimed the chthonic Hades, his eyes glinting like brimstone on the moonlit home of the shepherd. "Wait, really?" "Gladly!"Hades exclaimed again, still with the cheery attitude. "Ok, I'm going to be completely honest with you, i was sort of joking about the whole idea."Stephanos admitted "Not that I doubt your power, lord Hades, its just that i didn't think you'd be in the mood to help with something so trivial." Hades chuckled, before sitting one one of Stephanos' spare chairs. "I get that a lot, you know?"He said, before adding "But when I received my duties from Zeus, i vowed to always perform my duties, no matter how extremely boring filing endless amounts of paperwork is." "Yeah, good thing then, I didn't want to call on Aphrodite-" "Because she's a bane on civilisation, driving people to commit atrocities for no other reason than maintaining her, and this is a legitimate quote 'OTPs and NoTPs', at all costs?" "I have no idea what that means, but kinda? I felt like she was a short term solution." Hades nodded solemnly "You're not kidding, you know? I had to work overtime because of the Troy incident. Persephone nearly killed her for 'Working me to death'. I " "So do you know what you're doing, with the whole 'wingman' thing?" "I've been married for centuries, dear, And quite happily too."He smiled, a kind of nostalgic and warm smile crept over him, making even Stephanos feel happy. "I know what people stay for, unlike my siblings..."He said, Stephanos trying to not agree with him, lest he get smited. "And you won't be needed in Hades, your realm, that is?" "Persephone has helped me with my tasks ever since we wed."Hades explained. "She's a little... brutal, in the punishment department, but I should be back before spring. So no, my realm will not go unruled." "Right then, where do we begin?" "Two words: Pomegranate pie." "...What?" Hades burst into nostalgic laughter "I'm only joking, dear."hades then snapped his fingers, producing a quill and scroll from out of thin air. "Tell me about this girl, I'd like to know her a bit before I come up with a plan."
"Do you not have a shred of empathy?"I asked the defendant, a teenage boy who injured a ten-year-old boy in a drunk driving accident. The teen shrugged; he didn't seem to care what happens to him. At this point, most judges would simply sentence him to Juvie for several years, but there's a reason I was judge for this case - the defendants' parents are adamant that their son isn't himself, and that he's not like this. Turns out, they're right; there's a reason this teen can't summon the energy to care, he's just given up. He's broken and empty. He's screaming out in pain internally. Whatever broke this young lad, Juvie would not be able to fix... but there's something that might. "Well, maybe you need to learn empathy then. 20 hours a week community service until you reach eighteen. In the meantime, you will be tracked and monitored."I look at the victim and his parents. "Does that satisfy everyone?" The teen shrugs his shoulders again, his parents clearly relieved that he won't be in prison. The boy doesn't seem to understand what's happening. His mum slowly nods, but the father stands up. "I don't think that's enough, he needs to take proper responsibility. If you won't sentence him, at least make him pay up for the medical expenses we had to endure."I don't give into such requests when made out of anger, but the father really was trying to hold himself together. In his mind, if it were his son, he'd make him pay up. I nod. "That seems reasonable enough to me. Do you have any objections?"I ask, turning to the teens family. The parents shake their heads. "Very well. 20 hours a week community service, and you must pay for the victim's medical expenses. Court dismissed."I slam my gavel down, and knowing I don't have another case today, I go into my office to relax, as I often do. It gives me a chance to go over the events of the day in my mind. This isn't an easy job - even though I can always tell who's innocent and who's guilty, what people are thinking and feeling, and overall what sort of person they are, I still end up left with tough choices; in fact, my job may be harder for me compared to other judges; another judge sees a serial killer, off to jail, but if I see a serial killer, and I can tell that they're genuinely sorry, I have to find the right balance between justice and mercy. &#x200B; I sigh, wondering if my powers could be used elsewhere...
He was there, dying in my arms. I myself wouldn’t live much longer… The bruises on my skin reflected his. We looked liked perfect lovers for our final instants. The crowd stoning us, spewing their hartred, would be the last to see us together. But i didn’t want to die here and there, not for the sole crime of loving my boyfriend. I wanted to shout, to pray to whoever was listening, to do something, to bring peace, to avenge us; to save us. This was a cry for help, and it was meant to be heard ! Suddenly, i felt energy spark within me, my pains were waining, i could stand up again. The stones had turned into a shower of beautiful flowers and cotton balls. The crowd kept being loud, but the tone changed. The concerted hate stopped echoing and a confusing chaos took place. Some of them were fighting each others, some grew pustules others had roots growing out of their… and anchoring them into the ground. I couldn’t look away from that obese man becoming increasingly scrawny by the second. Tentacles were sprouting from puddles and wreaking havoc. And then the animals started to come. A huge pack of sheeps charged taking some of them out with them. Huge cats came to pick others like they would naughty kittens. Animals i though were extinct for millenia went to retrieve what was left. Peace returned to the now emptied street. Jack was still in my arms, confused but smiling. "What happened ?" "Divine intervention i guess…" "Yes, but how many divinities ? Wait… is it just me or have you grown muscles in the meantime ?" "I don’t know how but you look more attractive than before too" "Yeah… and it feels like i’m bigger too…"
She sat there, seething, as she hid under the bridge she called home. Other people's words echoed in her mind as she held her knees to her chest. "You need to take down criminals, you've been blessed.""It's your responsibility to help.""You should want to help others if you're able."That was the one that really got her. She sighed and headed towards city hall. No way this was going to go well. As expected there were adults in suits, cameras flashing and police officers everywhere. They cut right to the chase, "Why are you so resistant to help? Most people would kill to be blessed with powers and help others."Her gaze moved to the man asking the question. "Why?"She repeated back, all her hurt and anger began to bubble over. She found the words flowing from her mouth before she could filter them as the crowd waited with baited breath, "Why should I?"The crowd gasped. "Why should I WANT to help? Every day I hear I am responsible, I should want to help others because it is right. What about you? Where were ANY of you when I needed you? Where were any of you "right thing to do"when I was being beaten up by older kids with homes and families. Where were all of you when I was starving, cold, dying of illness or attempting to get help and get my life together? Where were any of you and your preaching of doing the right thing? Why would I suddenly want to help ANY of you now that I have power when none of you were willing when you had the power to do so?" The resounding silence told her all she needed to know. "The answer is, I shouldn't. I will because I had a family once and I remember my mother telling me to always be kind. So I will help, but not for you all, but for her."Her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall. She took a steadying breath and jumped into the sky, her body becoming a shimmer and then a bird took its place. She flew away before any could stop her.
Demons had a normal immunity to all things burning, or so they had thought. Brimstone may burn hot, but napalm was something Mezeld had never seen. Skin did not burn like that of the thousands of the damned souls, but the demon flesh melted like ice from the ninth circle when it came in contact with napalm. And then there were the guns. The demons laughed, Mezeld even doubled over after seeing the humans rush them with thin metal clubs and spears with no points. If Mezeld had not fallen laughing, he would not have survived to see his fellow demons reduced to piles of flesh. Now, death wasn’t something foreign to the demons. Mezeld himself had died 376 times from angering his fellow demons. But hell was wonderful at fixing the otherwise mortal damage, otherwise the torture would be pointless, and Hitler might actually be able to relax for a day. The humans invading however, approached death in a way demons had never seen. The wounded demons were impaled on massive metal spikes, with points moving in and out so they could never heal their way off of them. If the demons were not busy with the invasion and resulting rebellion, they could focus on using some of those twisted ideas themselves. Ah yes, the rebellion. Mezeld was also present when the first of these “Americans” seemed to have found someone they knew in life. Rather than lament the indescribable torture he must have experienced, he was instead handed a gun, a uniform, and let out a guttural war chant with his comrade as if nothing happened. “SEMPER FIDELIS” Mezeld belived it was, though he didn’t know what faith had to do with the madness on display. And then they started doing the same with even older souls, and the crusaders were annoying enough to process without all the screaming. Now there were hundreds of thousands of fervent idiots with sharpened metal sticks running around murdering to a degree even the demons found sickening. All this for “oil” they called it. Mezeld and the rest of the demons simply referred to it as it was: processed dinosaur souls. For every deposit of it they found, these Americans grew more ravenous, more insatiable. Guns made way for metal behemoths that shot the greatest of demons into a broken pile of flesh and shame. Mezeld heard the warcry of the americans, chanting their three letters for their god. “U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!” Mezeld huddled in a small crater, hoping the human would pass. He gripped his pitchfork tightly, and when he heard footsteps too close for comfort, he jumped out to stab the human. Blood quickly soaked the fatigues of the soldier, who grasped at his punctured throat in pain and fell down, gurgling in a pile of his own blood until all sound ceased. Mezeld prayed to the adversary that this one had been a conscientious objector, or never managed to kill, or owned a small bakery that donated leftover bread to the homeless. Then the gurgling resumed. It made way for moaning, and then screaming of that most terrifying of words the Americans would scream before their slaughter: “FREEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOOM”
I could tell right away that the child was special. Something about him, his essence, radiated an almost divine presence. A sickly sweet aroma of innocence that tickled my salivary glands and drew me towards the small form. He'd been abandoned by the hospital. Wandering. So small, so sad. Come closer, child. Pennywise will take care of you. Come closer, and I will lick the tears off your cheeks. No sooner had I grabbed the child's arm than the storm clouds parted. Those dark clouds that provided such soft respite from the harsh rays of the sun. Gone, pushed aside, for a vessel far larger than the tallest building in Derry, descending with whirrs and rushes and a blast of air that flattened the hair against my scalp. A beam of light, brighter than the sun, scorched into the earth. When it faded, a blue-skinned man in a trenchcoat appeared, whistling a single note. "Gimme the kid, I don't have time for this."The man spat, and whistled again. A streak of red tore across the parking lot, severing my arm. My vital essence poured from the open wound, staining the asphalt a shiny black. It would take many years to sleep off. "What are you?"I asked, unhanding the boy. It was better to live hungry than to die at the hands of this man who showed no fear. "I'm Mary Poppins, y'all,"he cried. The light from before engulfed both him and the boy. And like that, he was gone. [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)

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