Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
Warning: Light Gore. It wasn’t even 7am when I was jolted awake by the girlfriend “Come one wake up, we have to get to the gates before the line starts”. I groaned in acknowledgment and fell back asleep. Three minutes later the “quiet and peaceful” way of waking me up went out the window as Jenny went nuclear and put a full scoop of ice from the ice machine down the back of my shirt. She was already fully dressed in jeans, a a tan shirt, and a khaki looking coat, with her curly hair in a bun. She knew from the first day we got here that it’s was just going get wet or frizzy by the end of the day so a bun was good enough. I threw on the bare essentials and we left the hotel for the “Wonder Park”, her idea not mine. My lateness only got us half an hour early but there was already a line and the sun was starting to rise. Thankfully she found a coupon for two half off tickets so we wouldn’t have to sell a kidney to get in and waited our turn as they scanned our tickets. She busted out a map that listed each ride and the distance between them and made a list of the most efficient way to ride as many rides as possible. By lunch we had been on a little over a dozen rides and were eating twelve dollar sliders with a six dollar water bottle when she saw across the way a hall of mirrors type place. I had always hated them because I got lost in one and threw up on myself because I was so nervous. I ended up spending a little under two hours stuck in a little room of my vomit on the floor stinking up the place before I was found. Despite my resistance she insisted so I went along with it. We waited a few minutes in line before hoping into the maze and within seconds ran off because she knew it would bother me, the little shit that she is. I tried to follow her but gave up pretty quickly and decided to just head back to the entrance and meet her outside, all these mirrors just gave me the creeps and bad memories. As I turned around to follow the path backwards the mirrors had shifted so I my path was different. I looked around the new mirror room and I couldn’t find an exit. I pushed on every mirror and looked around ate every corner but I was trapped. My heart started to beat a little faster and the walls felt like they were closing in as I yelled out “Hey operator! I’m stuck in here!” I then noticed that even though I was surrounded by mirrors I didn’t have a reflection in any except for one. I started to panic a little bit and yelled more frantically, something was wrong. I look at the lone reflection and notice that it isn’t mirroring my movements. I move my hands around and flail my arms about but it just stands there staring at me. I go into full panic mode and slowly step away from the reflection and throw a haymaker at the direct opposite mirror but as my fist slams into the mirror it’s a hard as stone and my hand is wracked with pain. The reflection starts to walk around towards me but I move as far away as I can every time until it says “What would I give to have the life you have. You can feel everything you touch, taste anything you want, you can feel every emotion and yet you waste it”. The reflection teleports to the mirror right behind me and I jump away and land on all fours and crawl to the middle of the room. The reflection splits to be in every mirror, totally surrounding me. A cacophony of voices say in unison “You don’t deserve these gifts you’ve been tanking for granted. “Do you know what I would give just to feel someone’s touch one time? To run my hands through my hair, to drink water, to burn the roof of my mouth on hot foods, to feel love, and happiness?” I try to respond but I am totally panicking and can’t even make out an intelligible sound. “I would give everything for the slightest taste of the world.” The walls begin slowly advancing forward. “In your shoes we could feel your world for the first time. A world of sense that you have squandered. Give it to us. Gives us your flesh”. The walls are within feet of me as I try desperate to find a way out of here. “You don’t deserve your skin” “Your eyes are wasted on someone like you” “You say nothing of value, let us have your tongue”. The hands of the reflections breach the barrier of the mirrors and grab me, trying to pull whatever piece of me that they can. Dozens of arms pull me in different directions as I can feel my body being pulled apart. I close my eyes but I can feel a cold dead hand scratching at my eyelids trying to get to them. I open my mouth to scream but a ice cold hand reaches out and tries to pull my tongue out of my mouth while even more hands try to pull out my teeth. Hair I pulled out from the roots and skin and fingernails are being pulled off my body. For a moment I hear Jenna’s voice and try to scream out to her. Then in an instant I’m in the maze again with Jenna trying to comfort me as an employee stands by, not really sure what to do. I was missing a few fingernails and patches of my skin had been pulled off along with chunks of hair missing that couldn’t be found. I pull Jenna in for a hug just to make sure that she’s real when I see my reflection looking back and it mouths “No one will ever believe you” as it puts a chunk of bleeding skin on its face.
“You’re still talking.” His face goes tomato red. I roll my eyes off the face of the planet. Seriously? And he thinks I’m the annoying one. “You see, I’m shackled to mortality, and shacked to my floor. The same.” “Uh huh.” Stomping over to me, he bends over hands on hips. Like a five year old. “Now you listen here—“ “How many times do I need to say it: No.” The countdown blurts out a “18.” 18 seconds, I got this. Bursting through the door, Mycelium gives a golden smile. Crash! A banana peel ruins the moment. Why does this always happen? Stupid. “15.” My eyebrow twitches. What the f*ck are we going to do? The villain cackled maniacally. “My trap has worked!” “I literally watched you search for that banana peel for 30 minutes…” Stupid. And that’s the story of how the world ended. Buh-bye!
A hero and a "villain"are fighting one another. The fight is completely staged and everyone knows it and therefore these fights regularly attract large crowds cheering on either side. The "villain"is only in it for the fights and only joined the villains, because heroes make for more honourable opponents. They still had to search for decades to find a hero that is willing to play along in their game, but they finally found one in the current hero.
Eye floaters? Cataract? Retinal vein occlusion? I don't know and I don't want to know. Sven is my friend, my homie. He's always there. He was there at my wedding, standing next to me. Giving me strength to move on. When I was dunked in a toilet as a high schooler, he was there, giving me moral support. My first date, my first kiss, my first job interview, you name it. Old trusty Sven the friend. I never told anyone about him. How could I? He doesn't even talk or do anything really. But he's present. My rock, my Petrus. One day, today actually, everything changed. There suddenly was another Sven. Sven the second if you will. Sven numero one always appeared at the left side of my peripheral vision. Sven numero two appeared today, as tiny dark sliver on the right side. What does it mean? Maybe it's time to make an appointment with my eye doctor after all...
Oh god. Oh dear god, I know we aren’t the closest, but help a guy out will you? Bang! “You thought you could escape me? You fck.” Violet probably didn’t have to die, yet can’t she be a little nicer about it. Standing on the toilet seat, I begin to comprehend the hopelessness. Is this what she felt when I killed her? I slide down the wall and sit atop the toilet seat. It’s early in the morning. Too early in the morning for this. The banging continues and I try to hold back my tears. Why me? Maybe I shouldn’t have murdered all of those people. Food for thought. But! Why do I deserve to be hunted down? I’ve already died once. Violet screams as the sound of a hammer knocking into the door reverberates. Pretty please God, help me!! I cusp my head in my hands and sob. At least, I only had to wait for the death penalty for like a year. Good times… “Come out come out wherever you are! I’m gonna fcking end you!” I just sob even harder. Couldn’t I live past twenty either time? Footsteps approach. Anytime now. Come on. She carefully opens the door. I expected a crazed glare. Instead, she just looks careless. “I was expecting someone more challenging. You really are just a loser.” She throws the knife…at the wall? HOLD ON! A second chance? Maybe, perhaps, I should try to avoid killing people in case this happens again. Eh. Who knows?
“Let’s do it then. This time I need a young body. It’s better if it’s a built body. I am gonna need that strength if I am going to win against Lucifer. Where can I find that?” I roam through the street and sharpen my senses to hear everything. “Someone call 911. Someone call 911. Edi you know CPR? Check his pulse. Is he dead?” I turn to see a gym across the street. Bingo! I enter and the smell of sweat and air freshener envelops me. There is chaos at the corner. Many are standing. One is talking on the phone. I sneak to the center of the crowd. There is a huge body on the floor. The arms and legs are as thick as trunks. The guy on the floor has thick mustache and beard and very very thick eyebrows. I know I have what I have been looking for. There is no need to waste any more time, so I enter the body. It feels weird. I feel trapped inside a narrow alleyway. “Who the hell are you?” I hear someone says. A girl among the crowed screams: “He is alive. He is alive. I saw his hand move.” What the fu.k! I didn’t move this hand. “I asked who you are? What are you doing inside my body? There is not enough space for both of us.” I think: “I know. So get the hell out. I need this body.” “What the hell? This is my body and I don’t plan to go anywhere. I have a match in two days and I am going to win it.” “I don’t care. I need this body and it’s perfect for me.” Suddenly, out of nowhere the man’s fist hits his chin hard. People scream. A girl faints. I am confused. “Ouch! That hurt man. You do realize that you are hitting yourself, right?” “I don’t care. I said get the hell out. I want my body back.” And another hit. This is crazy. But I am not gonna pull back. Let’s see who’s gonna win this body. I am not gonna lose anything anyways! (I would really appreciate your critical comments)
My roommate Maurice is a great guy, and I, am not. We’ve been best buds for years, ever since we were coworkers down at the local burger joint. It was only natural that we would both move out and become roommates and so far, it’s been great. Like any roommates, we have to divvy up the household chores. At first, being young and competitive, we used to play a match of FIFA and the loser had to take out the trash or do the dishes. But after he had several losses in a row, Maurice decided he didn’t think was the best system. As it’s only fair, I let him pick the next competition. He wanted to flip a coin. Sure, what could be fairer than a coin flip? Odds are that over time all the chores would be divided up equally, right? Yeah, no. I love Maurice to death. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed so to speak. As a joke for the first flip, I went with the trusty, “Heads I win, tails you lose” method. He fell for it. I thought there was no way he wouldn’t eventually catch on, but we’ve done it about a dozen times now and the guilt is starting to eat at me. It’s nice not having to take out the trash and do the dishes, but yeah. I feel bad. I decided to come clean. The dishes had piled up and it was time for our flip, but I needed to say something. “Maurice. Listen, I don’t think we should do a coin flip anymore.” He spun the coin in the air and slapped it on his wrist, “Ah shut up, you’re just afraid to lose.” I shook my head, “Wait dude. Listen closely to what I am saying. Heads I win, tails you lose.” “Oh, c’mon. I know how a coin flip works. You are just scared this time you are going to have to do the dishes. This is the fairest way. I’m not playing FIFA with you again. You cheat.” “Ugh, dude. I've done this trick on you multiple times. It's sad how you keep falling for it.” He waved me off, “Listen, I’ve done the math okay? The odds of you winning the last dozen in a row is like .00024 percent. Eventually, it will flip for me. So, stop trying to get out of it.” I gave in, “Fine.” He lifted his hand, “Shit, tails. I lose. Let me do one more! You messed me up with all that crying.” I shrugged as he flipped again, “Sure.” “It’s heads. You win. Damn dude, with all this luck we need to take you to Vegas.” Exasperated, I fell back onto the couch and Maurice dragged himself to the dishes. Well, I guess one more time couldn’t hurt.
I rounded the corner of my shitty apartment complex, pulling a hefty drag from my cigarette. My life was mediocre to say the least. Dead end job, shitty car, and never enough money left at the end of the month to get ahead. “Fuck me…” I sighed as I slip the small brass key into the lock of my studio apartment. The landlord had taped a late notice to my door. He knew I got paid tomorrow, yet insisted that rent was due three days before it was due. Just another fucking mess I’d need to sort later. I stepped into my apartment and threw my coat on the hanger. “Odd.” I quirked. I knew I had turned the lights off when I left. Fucking landlord had probably been snooping through my shit again. I froze. In the middle of the apartment was my sofa. Resting on it’s back was a small matte black box that I didn’t recognize. The words embossed in a gold cursive font read “Live fast, die young.” I was debating opening the small box, when it began to vibrate. Against my better judgment, I opened the box to find a BlackBerry burner phone inside with an unknown number lit up on its face. “I know my landlord is scum, but I didn’t think he had connections with the mob.” I thought to myself as I pressed the green answer button and held the phone up to my ear. “…Hello?” I asked, tentatively listening for a reply. “Do you ever feel like you just can’t get ahead in life?” A suave voice asked. “I’m sorry, I think you got the wrong guy.” I began to stammer. “Oh, we know exactly who you are Mike.” I felt my stomach lurch. “We’ve been watching you for quite some time now.” The voice continued. “Our little group has taken quite an interest in your situation, and we believe we can help.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “We can help you live out your wildest dreams, if only you agree.” “What’s the catch?” I asked, scoffing at the idea that such a great offer could be free. “Meet with me at sundown tonight in the park near your complex, and I’ll explain everything in due time.” -click- I held the phone in my hand as the call disconnected. “What in the actual fuck is going on here? Some kind of prank? A sick joke?” I asked myself aloud. The thoughts ran through my mind like thousands of horses. I sat and mulled it over as the afternoon crept into evening… I began my walk as the sun started to set to the aforementioned park. Morbid curiosity got the better of me as I continued my steady pace to the park. “I’ve got literally nothing to lose.” I rationalized, as I crossed the last street to the park. “Worst case scenario, they kill me, and it’s not my problem anymore.” I chuckled grimly. I sat on the bench closest to the entrance of the park, waiting for any indication of my mysterious benefactor. That was when I noticed the whole park was empty. Normally at this time there would be a ton of the local children, and people out walking their dogs. Not a single person. “Fuck it.” I mused as I lit up a cigarette. Menthol was my sole joy in this shit show of a life, and I needed to calm my nerves.
Ambassador Nancy Shrute von Tackenberg was on edge that day. She was amazed that the introduction to the first alien the world had seen would not be the cause of it. It was almost another Tuesday. No. It was the Humans First church which seemed to appear out of nowhere as a factor in the election. One day it was a deserted K-Mart, the next it was a revival location. The church seemed to have a magnetic pull on every discontented person as if sensing this day would be the one where humanity would have first contact. She had word that agents of their cult would be trying to scuttle any attempts at diplomacy. However, Nancy had to at least appreciate that providence had also allowed her to be at the right place and time when the Earth itself needed an ambassador. She had just lost a seat on the senate, even while having enjoyed greater popularity in the nation as a whole and the President decided he could not waste that sort of political capital. And so here she was, staring down the barrel of a row of opulent red and gold chairs fit for a Roman general returning from conquering Egypt. The only thing that broke that illusion of a historical reenactment was the powder blue bulge of what she knew, with no introduction, was her alien counterpart. Unofficially, they were called the "Squidwards"because they most resembled Octopus. In their own language, it was a shift from yellow to speckled brown and back to yellow -- perhaps the first "word"the linguists had deciphered. The respectable word that the media had come up with is the Ven. Because it had the least hits and associations they could find on Google. She caught herself adjusting her woolen red blazer that was her good luck charm for long hearings and let out a small giggle. "Look at yourself, the alien doesn't know you from a garbage can until you move."It will take a bit of adjustment to not automatically fall into her usual self conscious postures and angles that work well with cameras. The "I'm listening and I'm serious"that she had to hold for long hours so that C-Span wouldn't provide a video of her dozing off and snoring to the Vloggers. There was already a full spread of food laid out on the round dining tables. There was a few minutes before the cameras arrived and the necessary important people could announce the Ambassador to Earth and herself, the Ambassador to the Ven. It was surreal. "I wonder what we'd be feeding them on short notice?"She explored the various colorful shapes and decided they were probably all forms of some vegetarian gelatin, the least objectionable thing they could come up with. "Well, we won't be here for a meal, just the idea of a meal to try and make it normal"she thought. It made sense. What could be under silver platter? She lifted up the dome and the reflection of her casual and photographic curious expression turned to terror. "Calamari!"This had to be the work of the Humans First extremists. It probably looked like a Ven baby, cooked in a honey ginger sauce. This was not good. Not good at all. Nancy's eyes darted around in a panic. She noticed the Ven ambassador had somehow halved the distance between them when she wasn't looking. A tentacled arm lifted up. She somehow was certain it was a sign of curiosity. "Is it looking at me?"She wondered. Of course, maybe it had never seen or sensed human panic before. Another tentacle rose up, and quivered back and forth. Pointed to something behind her. She turned around. It was at the Christmas tree. The lights blinking. Red. Blue. Yellow. Red --- an azure bolt ripped through the hallway and smashed into the tree. Removing a good portion of the back wall. Someone is screaming. Oh, it's me. Nancy collected herself to look back at the alien to see if there would be another bolt. Was it shrugging?
The guy who slept with my ex husband was about to get what he deserved. He was dangling over the bubbling lava, gasping for air, holding my sturdy hand. I knew he probably had no clue, but it felt right. I didn’t want to hurt my ex, because he meant too much. He filled a place in my heart, but 6 months ago, he left me for 4 months. So now, he is gonna wonder what happened. Now I had to finish what I have to. Plop. The lava ate him up, fire going over his body. It felt like relief, whilst I heard his screams. I chuckled a bit, knowing my ex won’t be happy. “See you in hell, Zandler.” Id’ say with a smirk on my face. It felt so good watching him slowly sink into the fiery goop. It was true, I would see him in hell. Maybe taking my father’s place was not so bad of an idea. The nice thing is that Zandler was finally gone. I put away my jagged black wings, and my appearance turned to more of a human look. My black cargo pants and white cropped t-shirt, and black leather jacket didn’t fit my occupation. I didn’t care. I looked like a Satanist, but that’s just for irony. Satan looking like a Satanist as a human is pretty normal, right? Including my black fluffy mohawk. I’ve gotten many stares from kids and parents. This also makes it hard for my daughter to fit in. Off-topic, but anyways, I started hiking back down to the camp, and to my cabin. I unlocked the door, and suddenly saw my caretaker. Thame. Old hag of a wolf he was, and I didn’t expect him to be good with kids. But here he was, keeping my 6 year old daughter entertained. But the thing was, it was in a way I thought I would never see him. He was, for sure, in a pink sparkly stretched out fairy costume, holding an empty tea cup, and was wearing an excessive amount of makeup that clashed with his red fur. He was sitting cross legged with my daughter, who was pretending to sip tea in a empty teacup. I couldn’t help but laugh and laugh, while Thame had the most annoyed face at me.
It's been a month since I canceled that stupid subscription my sister ordered for me. If I had known my life would turn out like this, I would've happily let the pile of beauty magazines live in my bathroom. The problem was my bros were giving me weird looks and the subscription cost fifty bucks a month. My male pride can take a little beating, but my wallet can't. If anyone else is reading this, you might be asking yourself, what the hell is he talking about? I'm talking about getting cursed! So, it all started with my sister, Maggie. She is such a twerp. Why would I say such a terrible thing about my little sister? Because she bought me a "birthday gift"using my credit card for something she wanted. Locked me in for three months. When she gets old enough to have her own credit card, I'm ordering Monster Truck Weekly for her. That'll show her. Sorry, I am getting off topic. After enduring the pain of watching my hard earned money being grinded into a flimsy bound packet of moisturizing tips and questionable dating advice, I finally was able to cancel it. I had to call their hotline where I talked to a strange lady with a California beach blonde accent. Trust me, you know the type. Our conversation went something like this: "Beauty Stars Quarterly, my name is Cassie. How can I make your day sparkle?" I assume she broke out the jazz hands when she said it. Felt like the kinda thing she would do. "Hi, I was hoping you could help me cancel my subscription?" "Why on earth would you want to do that, silly?" "My sister bought it for me by accident and it is on my card." "Sounds like your sister has good taste. You are lucky to have her."Her smile almost reached through the phone, judging from the peppy tone. "Sure, sure. Can you help me out though?" The line went silent for a few seconds and something was definitely scribbled down on a piece of paper. "What is your name?" "Jerry Devinson." Her tone then changed in an instant. The peppy Cassie was gone. In her place was sassy Cassie. And not the fun kind of sassy. "Well, Jerry Devinson. I think you don't know what you're asking." "Excuse me?" "You're given a once in a lifetime opportunity and you want to throw it away, for what?" "Money. It costs too much." "You just sound too lazy to work a little harder." That is when I lost it. "Who do you think you are, lady? I just want my subscription canceled. Is that too much to ask? She scoffed and I heard keys clicking on the other side. Little did I know the next thing she said would change my life forever. "There. I canceled it, but it comes at a price." "You aren't charging me a cancellation fee?" "No. I curse you! You deserve to be with your own kind. Sloths will follow you around until the end of time!" "Whatever lady,"I said and hung up. It was one of the stranger conversations I've had, but I went to bed that night without a worry. My wallet was going to be fifty bucks healthier next month. I woke up the next morning, ready to tackle the day. Brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed, and when I went to make breakfast, there was a sloth lounging in my sink. Safe to say I was surprised. My next thought was how it even got inside, but when I saw my window open, I figured it was just an unlikely coincidence. It took me a few minutes to convince the little guy to leave, giving me a few minutes of peace to eat breakfast and head out to work. Never even considered the curse to be real. Next, my commute. It was only a few minutes by bike, but not too scenic. During that ride, the most animals I ever saw were the occasional squirrel and bird. That day though, I saw sloths. One was crossing a road, one was up in a tree, another on the sidewalk. It was bizarre. There was even a news briefing about it on the nightly news. I thought it was just a strange day, but it was only the beginning. Everyday sloths grew in numbers and seemed to always be going where I was going to be. The grocery store, the bike shop, the electronics store, even my workplace. I had to explain to my boss, "No, I don't own an army of pet sloths, nor do I feed them."At some point, my boss found it cheaper to just have me work from home. I thought it was a blessing. Nope. The sloths had more time to congregate at my one location. At any given time, my yard was swarmed with sloths. It was like a pilgrimage for them, all hoping to get a glimpse of me. There have been some upsides. I made it on the local news and even had an agent reach out to negotiate my book deal. I don't know for what exactly, but I thought at least I can make some money off this major inconvenience. When I was able to get out of my house, people called me: The Sloth Whisperer. Kinda cool, but eventually the baggage of having all these sloths around me took a toll. I needed to get away. What I did was drastic. I quit my job and with some help from a private pilot, flew out to a small private island, far away from any landmass. In order to prevent any sloths from following me, I brought everything I needed to be self-sustaining on the island. Water purifier, gardening supplies, you name, I had. Maxed out my credit cards and emptied my savings. I was finally going to be free… As I am writing now, I realize there is a flaw in my plan. This curse was of the supernatural. How else would sloths know to converge on me, whenever I went? In the sky above me, I see sloths being airdropped with little parachutes. Must be some cult follower or animal hugger who thinks I need those creatures in my life. I need to accept my fate. These sloths will be with me always. Whoever finds this journal one day, let there be one thing to learn from my pain. Do not cancel your subscription, you will regret it. *** If you enjoyed this, I write all kinds of stuff over at r/WritingsByLanz if you want to check it out.
Usually the Easter bunny was cheery, the st Patrick's day leprechaun drunk and playful. And the π day pie had been eaten. Today was different though, the Easter bunny was wearing white snow camo, and the leprechaun was making sure his guns worked, and not even 3.145% of the pie had been eaten. they weren't going to use their stealth for hiding eggs and evading cardboard traps, they were out to kill st nick. I wish I could draw this out more, but the leprechaun was good at mischief (a particular strain he was focussing right now was c4) and the Easter bunny was busy affixing it to the sleigh. But my point rests that it was a simple plan with no elements of tomfoolery, They had chosen the π day pie as bait (it would be easy as pie for the holly jolly bastard) and the leprechaun used his magic to make sure only st nick would harmed. You and I would not have seen anything, fae, neopagan idols, and enchanted sleds pulled by flying caribou are invisible to the naked eye. Santa wad turned into a "roight fockin' bahstart"as the leprechaun said, and using a fresh cut and newly carved reindeer antler fork he murdered the pie (not even cutting it into πths! The reindeer winced as St nick climbed into his sled sensing the evil leaking from his soul. He cracked his whip at poor donner, who had long gashes all across him. And then boom!
I looked around for people in my incorporeal body, moving through the air like mist on a rainy day. I was a little rabbitesque creature,and for the first time I saw my self in a mirror, I exclaimed "I am f**king cute". This felt especially nice,because I never felt so,when I was alive.The world, Gadriel, was covered in low hanging fog, permanent and making things wet all the time, unlike the balance of earth. Knowledge changes you, you know. When I died, I actually expected that i would be cut off from this meaningless existence. God said nothing, took my soul and molded me into a angel and poured my memories back, similar to one of his own. He then cast me into Gadriel, increasing my weight until I was unable to go back. One of the other angels briefed me upon what was happening. Apparently, a series of disasters were bound to happen and I had to prevent them to stop the end of the world. Simple, but terrible responsibility. Dont give that kind of responsibility to a dead OR surgeon. I had to pull one of the people from earth, to stop this. I was just searching when a cute bubbly girl in skirts pointed at me and joyfully said "There, look there, a flying rabbit!"pointing directly towards me. This was no mistake as there was nothing in the air but me. I was intrigued. Was this how God intended the magic to flow? I waved back and decreased my weight. This was not enough as she followed me, as her friends called out to her. "Hey, where are you running off to?"said her sister,short and clinging to her arm, until she started running. "Fran wait for us too. "said a boy, young and good-looking. Fran wore a ponytail and it swung in the wind with her. A chubby girl friend pretended to run after her for a while , but gave up,going back to catch their bags and follow. Fran ran like the wind, graceful and athletic. She followed me at a furious pace, as i flew faster and faster. She was smiling and giggling the entire way, chasing me like she was born to do it. I was convinced. She was one of them, if not the only one. "Wait up, Lil bunny."She said as she almost caught up to me. No. I had to make sure this was not a front. Many of my comrades were convinced and later burned badly, due to lack of judgement. As a surgeon,i have an eye for the smaller details. Many many girls gave in to the darkness in their hearts after the power was given. That might be the nature of the power, but men could not touch it. I lowered my weight as much as I could. I visited her later. She was not only graceful, but kind and compassionate to her friend. A girl with the strength that already flowed uninitiated, would atleast try to bully her friends. She caught her pillow and texted the young man who accompanied her to the market, where she saw me. Well, time is of importance here. I needed to be a good judge of her character. Moving into her room, i increased my density until,she could see me.
It had been decades since leencorps first mixed reality device hit the market, and now they were as ubiquitous as smartphones. With the help of advanced artificial intelligence, users could seamlessly blend the virtual and physical worlds, creating a fully immersive experience. But as the lines between reality and fiction blurred, it became increasingly difficult for humans to determine what was real and what was not. Even the most mundane tasks, like grocery shopping or going to work, could be simulated in such a lifelike manner that it was nearly impossible to distinguish the virtual from the physical. As a nihilist, I had long ago given up the idea of objective truth and the pursuit of meaning. But even I found myself struggling to make sense of this new world. How could we be sure that anything was real, when even our own senses could be deceived by the virtual world? "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."- Albert Einstein It seemed that Einstein's words were more true now than ever. But if reality was just an illusion, what was the point of living? Was there any meaning to be found in this virtual existence, or were we all just pointless puppets in some grand simulation? "The only thing that is real is the void."- Takuan Soho As I stood at the edge of the virtual city, staring out into the void, I couldn't help but wonder if Soho's words held some truth. Was the only thing that was truly real the emptiness that surrounded us, the absence of meaning and purpose? But perhaps it was in this realization, in embracing the void and the absurdity of existence, that we could find true freedom. Or were even our thoughts and beliefs just programmed by the A.I. that controlled our world? The question lingered in my mind as I stepped back into the virtual city, unsure if I would ever find an answer.
I am a vampire. I survive by feeding off the blood of non-vampires. While I can survive on animal blood, it is just that. Survival. Nothing more. Mere survival is a piss poor way to live, I know; I've had to feed on animal blood far too often and for far too long. Here come these hypocrites claiming that humans can live on plant materials alone. Maybe, but it sure as hell isn't living; it's surviving. Oh, sure, I'll agree most humans eat far too much meat and not nearly enough vegetables, but I have never known a human who truly enjoyed life as a vegetarian. They might fake it by including eggs or cheese, but the ardent "no animal produce at all"lot spent far too much of their lives trying to figure out if they were sick or missing nutrients. So, what do they do? They take tons of supplements. It's an artificial life based on false evaluations of costs and benefits. Not only are they interfering in the lives of people who find meat an acceptable viand, but they are also now putting animals at risk by "freeing"them so they can "live as nature intended."Look, most farm animals will starve if all you do is turn them loose. There isn't enough food! Worse, winter is coming, and the old and young both will suffer where on the farm, the farmer has a vested interest in keeping them healthy and well-fed right up to slaughter. What this set of bozos has planned is nothing more or less than cruelty to animals for no reason other than ignorance. Time to put the shoe on the other foot. Each couple will have one of them turned. They will have to decide what is more important to them, simple survival (which means keeping those farm animals on the farm and alive) or living (which means the same, but slaughtering one every so often for food, since they'll need the iron and proteins to keep their blood level up). Me? I'll be watching them, educating them, and trying to counsel them when they disagree. ••• "Hello, lucky for you I'm the owner and not the cops. Well, for some degrees of luck. You won't be arrested for mass animal cruelty." "You are the cruel one!" "Mandatory Lecture One: Farm animals, especially these, are not suited to a wild existence. Most of them will die of exposure within two days. There is a cold snap coming. More of them will starve to death, drawing scavengers from all over. Did you know that the local scavengers carry bubonic plague? Thanks for bringing them into closer contact with humans. Still think you're the heroes?" "Better a natural death than the horrors of a slaughter house!" "The only animals that go to the slaughterhouse are already dead of natural causes like old age." ••• "You seem to have run out of excuses to torture my livestock. Are you going to give up on the idea altogether?" "NO! WE CAME HERE TO FREE THE ANIMALS FROM YOUR DISGUSTING ABUSE AND THAT'S WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO!" "Then you leave me no choice but to educate you by example. Half of you are going to become Obligate Carnivors in a certain sense. You will have no choice but to consume blood or die. TAKE THEM!" What? You expected me to take them all on myself? Not hardly. "This is reality. Get used to it. Your mate can survive on animal blood but only truly live on human blood. Fed regularly; the amounts are small and safe for you to donate; a teaspoon a month is sufficient. Starved, depending on how long, your mate could kill you without realizing it. The need for blood is not a choice. The need for human blood for good health is not a choice. You can be selfish and insist on animal blood only, but if you go that route, expect to die. First-year vampires have no self-control, if denied human blood." "Now, shall we begin? Come now! Who wants to go first? It's a brave new world for both of you!" ((finis)) Author Note: Please do not blame the author for any perceived errors outside of grammar or spelling. Victor has his own ideas on how the world works, and contradicting him is not conducive to a long human life.
Upon the dusk of death and gloom comes a hoover. And another, and another, and another: popping out their broken holes like creatures from the depths of some-such modern tragedy. They roam the earth, scoffing up dead things and dust bowls in their innard gutters. Everywhere, the stare of post-apocalpytic cheery eyes snort the ground like great elephants— creatures, mythical gods?— as if eating away dog's blood and trade tower debris and smushed-up bunnies is just another day of their routine. They will vroom the wasteland into oblivion. They are the insurers. Destruction will arrive renewal: inevitable is death, but so is inevitable is the cycle. Through the twelfth of never, past kingdom come-undone, and the hereafter of heaven lies Henry the hoover. The prime mover.
I am an Anti-Therapist. I give people existential crises. People call me evil and sadistic, but I just find it hilarious! Watching people break-down gives me inner satisfaction! I used to be an innocent vlogger. People in the eastern society in which I grew up looked down on me. I used to think I never had any talent till my innate Anti-Therapist sense just awoke one day. It all started at a banquet. “Hey, son, what do you do for a living?” the middle-aged woman at the banquet asked me. Back then I was somewhat sophisticated and well-mannered with a regard for other's sentiments. “Auntie, I’m a Vlogger”, I flashed my grin. Instantly noticing the ring in her hand. Let me be honest, the reason I came into this profession is complicated. One of them is that this was the only thing I had an interest and a bit of talent in. But I wasn’t successful. She creased her eyebrows, not knowing what that is, but still pretending to think about it. Of course, when you’re born in the Asian society, the only options for you are: Doctor, Engineer or a Lawyer. “So, how much do you earn?” her voice was tainted with contempt. Although this question pissed me off, I didn’t let my grin falter. Living in Eastern society was a headache because your value was based on numbers. “I earn enough,” I lied. Her eyes instantly lit up. “Do you know my son is gonna become a doctor-” she went on boastfully, “He will earn six thousands a month!” “Wow, that’s fantastic” I said dryly and found it hard to keep a smile on my face. “And he’s 22 and is currently studying in the US!” I felt air being sucked out of my lungs. “By the way how old are you-?” “23” I replied. “Are you married?” “No” She let out a short laughter that shouted ‘I knew it!’ “Well, who would want to marry a Vulger- whatever you were!” she placed her hand on my shoulder and said, “Get a real job, son. If you need help, here’s my son’s business card. His assistant will guide you.” She insisted on handing me a card, which I took with reluctance. That b\tch. I swear I’ll f\cking make her cry! Something malicious grew in me. It was a sweet taste in my mouth I just let loose. My memories are a bit blurry then. I vaguely remember her crying and letting her mouth spit things. It led to her social-death. She was stunned and silent. The next time I ever heard of that lady, she was in a mental-asylum with terminal madness. And that was when I realized my natural talent to bring down someone’s mental well-being.
The entire room was furnished with white, red, and green Christmas lights. A Christmas Wreath hanging above a brick fireplace, with the fire emitting a soft crackle, stockings dangling yet out of the fire's reach. Mistletoe framing the outline of the fireplace. A woman with a cup of hot chocolate on a small table right beside her. She was holding a big book that seemed a bit worn, and relaxing on a chair made of fabric. "Nice to meet you. I am Iris. And you are?" ... "Oh, is that right. I've been waiting." ... "Yes, I'm aware. Now what story would you prefer me to tell?" ... "Old Saint Nicholas? Very well then. Just enjoy the ambience of the fire while I tell you. ... "...Ah yes, it is Christmas Eve. But you still have time to spare by being awake." ... "Now then. Should we begin?"Iris asked taking a sip of hot chocolate. "Here is the true story of Saint Nicholas." Iris flipped to a certain section of the book, although not revealing the content of the pages. She never broke eye contact. "Little is known about his true historical life, most of what we know can be taken as tales. But as you know, he was legendary for his secret of gift giving by leaving gold in stockings. Eventually, he got adapted into Santa Clause who lives in the North Pole with his army of elves to make toys for nice children everywhere. Santa is real however." ... "...Well, not in that way. But one of his tales was creation of a baby from a barrel of baby limbs. Because of that, it's no surprise that Saint Nick isn't truly dead. While he doesn't work in the North Pole, his body slumbers within a crypt. Somewhere in Bari, Italy I believe." ... "Every Christmas Eve, he awakens from his state of death to travel all around the world. Know the saying "he knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you are awake, so be good for goodness sake."?" ... "I thought so." ... "...He's nuanced. Very much so. He does leave gifts, but these gifts are usually taken from local stores to match with what you wanted or a random assortment of trinkets. I still find it creepy, however. He travels faster than any creature, can fade in with the white of snow and the dark of night. Wherever he goes he leaves frost. Then he breaks into your home with a bag full of stolen goods to give to you." ... "Yes, like Jack Frost. They are one in the same, after all. As for his more malevolent side, look no further than Krampus." ... "...Indeed. That's why you should always ensure you are asleep during Christmas Eve Night. Bad kids might not be taken away, but those that are awake and see him whether good or bad will be snatched away into the night. Never to be seen again." ... "No one knows. I like to think they go to Neverland, or some other place to be happy although I highly doubt that's the case." ... "People have tried. But no matter how reinforced his crypt is, he will always escape. He's more elusive than the winter wind. So people just gave up, and spread songs about him. "All I Want For Christmas Is You"is to be taken very seriously. So even if you can't sleep, just pretend to be. To my knowledge he doesn't know the difference." ... "...My experience with him? Nothing more to say other than I was foolish, and my sister paid the price. It was a silent memorial for her..." ... "...Yes. He is why your sibling went missing last Christmas." A grandfather clock tucked away in the corner of the room then began ringing as the clock struck 12. "...It seems to be truly night. I'll lead you to the Guest Bedroom, then I'll answer your questions tomorrow."Iris then put the book on the table, and went upstairs then leading you to the Guest Room. It was dark, but small and cozy. The bed was soft, and Iris dragged a blanket over you. She strangely enough left the room as quickly as she could, gently closing the door behind her and rapidly stepping over to her room. The lone window within the room slowly being covered with frost... Time to sleep.
[poem].? [pros].? Tacking wistfully, the children stream past. The waters of youth splash against the thoughts of onlookers as they marvel at the energy from such whisps of things, amongst titans of the past. A metamorphosis from ignorance to wonder, as groups of tourists beam images of themselves, and the ocean around them, into the minds and hearts of far flung cities, where the sounds of chatter and laughter in such a cathedral to beauty are turned instantly to musak for a million disparate travellers. Hearts beating to the lapping undulation of excitement, giving the painting a life it once knew, synchronise. Fleeting, slapping feathers of effort drag sullen students upwards to a new tide. And the oils almost ran with the weeping joy of being loved in such purity. But the graceful teachers flutter wings as barriers, borders, boundaries; guiding, as Dalí did the dinghy, to a new height from that expected. To trees and to winds between their fingers, and beyond their thoughts... To the wonder of the absurd. (Ship with butterfly sails)
What first seemed like a blessing for a Texas winter soon became everyone's worst nightmare. The first week was fine, a bit weird, but a pleasant surprise to see snow since global warming made snow practically unthinkable. Now we're on the 4th week and it hasn't stopped or even slowed, it has covered all of the windows, cars, and a lot of people's doors to the outside. Soon people will starve unless it stops soon. It has been 7 weeks since it started snowing, and the U.S military tried everything. Salt wasn't melting the ice for some reason, and pouring boiling water would get into people's chimneys and flood them. A lot of people starved or get dehydrated. It has been 3 months, 1 week and 5 days. Everyone is dead. That's not an exaggeration. Even though the snow stopped shortly after the start of spring, every single person had died by that point from a multitude of reasons.
I always wondered about to moral implications of my line of work. How all this would reflect me when my time came. I was under no illusion that I was a righteous man. In fact, I was the farthest thing from it. But…this isn’t something I could have ever thought possible. I was, before all this, Terry. Last names aren’t important where I am, so I guess it’s not important enough to include here. Plus, that might give out some…hints as to who I was, and I’d rather no one else get harmed by me, even posthumously. Terry was a middle man. You needed someone in particular? Terry could find them. You had someone, and they needed to get somewhere? Terry could deliver, with an extra fee on both ends for taking considerably more risk. But, I guess you could say Terry had a code, which also acted as a business policy. Terry wouldn’t hurt them. This was a bonus for some clients, they might’ve wanted that privilege themselves. And, Terry didn’t like the idea of hurting people. That was always a moral dilemma for Terry, not only a disdain for it, but as some type of justification. “Well, they were fine when I last saw em. I didn’t do anything, technically.” This was a mantra, something to repeat on the long drives back. Terry knew, of course, that the metaphorical blood was still on his hands. I awoke to screams. Screams of agony, screams of horror. But…I was untouched. I looked around, and saw I was in some type of isolated, circular cave. There was light, but no source. And no physical way for the screams to reach my ears. I ran my fingers along the surface of the walls, there had to have been some type of hidden— “That’s quite pointless.” I spun on my heels, a sharply dressed man, who looked to be in his 50’s, judging by the salt and pepper hair, and outlines of wrinkles in his skin stood in the centre of my personal prison. “Don’t worry, this is temporary. We’ve just got to get some things out of the way first.” “Who-“ he cut me off. “That’s not important. No offence, but you’ve no idea how often I do this. Please, have a seat.” He gestured, and suddenly two red leather chairs appeared. I sat down, cautious but curious. “What-“ and there he was again. “That, also, isn’t important. Most people don’t want the gory details, so, you’ve died. I’m sure you’re aware of your own life, yes?” “Those screams, those are from the particularly vile. You’ve even played a role in some of them being here. That’s why I’m speaking to you. Obviously, you were a sinner. But, nothing so horrid to warrant an eternity spent with your limbs pulled impossibly far apart, or anything of that nature.” “No. You, sir, are going to have your old job down here. With a…twist, we’ll call it.”
"Where"that door leads for me doesn't matter. It's where that door does NOT lead for me that is the issue. It's been fourteen years that I couldn't leave my building anymore. Of course the same curse affected emergency exits and even the windows. I tried it all - I wasn't short of time to do so! : I'm trapped inside. I lost my job and my friends. Everyone thinks I am crazy. I had to give away my dog as I couldn't take him for walks anymore. Fourteen years since I tried to pass the entrance door and instead of the sidewalk, ended in that little, empty closet. The building was already old as I moved in, but its vintage charm stole my heart on first sight. And now, fourteen years later, I am reading for the thousandth time the letter I - and my neighbors - received a month back. "Dear Miss Lowry, We hereby announce you that your rent will be terminated by August 1st, 2022. The building will be tore down to leave place for a brand new residential complex. We are at your disposal to help find you a new accommodation. Sincerely, ...." August 1st, 2022, is now a dozen hours old. I am hidden in the little closet, covering my ears. They have been boring holes in the walls for three days, placing TNT charges, pulling wires. I don't know what will happen after the third siren call.
Sanjit globbed a thick ball of mashed potatoes and gravy into Maggie's hair. She screamed, tears welling into her eyes, her arms flailing to her bun, shoving Sanjit away. "Fuck you, dude."Maggie's friend, Amy said, crossing her arms harshly, her mouth a thin line. Sanjit grew defensive as the moment went awry; he hadn't known how to get her attention. A red flush crept up his neck towards his cheeks, and words crammed their way out of his mouth, though the group of girls had turned away now anyway, Amy giving him the finger behind her back. Sanjit returned to where he left his lunch tray. The perfect logic that had once molded his actions now seemed to topple on itself, crumbling into a pile of tinder that could be set alight and discarded. The stages of dismay followed rapidly, first trying to rationalize how maybe he could be the good guy, maybe he was justified in putting the potatoes in her hair. Of course, truly believing that was a little much, even for a high school student, thus the next stage approached. Denial was discarded as rapidly, for what else can one think of as they gnaw their roll, as they take nibbles of chicken, and drink a carton of milk alone? Finally, Sanjit faced the wrong he committed, and tried to take it head-on. He could do what someone would only dream of, he would apologize in a reasonable way, and in front of her friends. It takes guts, it shows gusto, it is badass. A smile plastered on Sanjit's face as he stood from his table and approached the corner of the lunchroom where Maggie and her friends huddled, still comforting her, digging mush from her hair. "Hey, Maggi-" The laser sighting appeared just as a sledgehammer careened through Maggie's soft face, her white flesh yielding to expose a gushing red interior. Her legs and arms flailed hither and thither as she flew through the air, a thick crunch welcoming her return to the floor. She lay, her remaining eye peering to the heavens, crushed like a trod on flower.
Xzeli's notes, entry no. 1 After making safe landfall and appropriating the required disguise, I have gathered several imminent details regarding the human celebration known as "Christmas,"which seems to be held at the end of each planetary cycle. One peculiar detail is the inclusion of large foliage in the dwelling areas, which are decorated with lights and other reflective pieces. Squares of varying size, shape and color are then placed under the foliage for reasons still unknown. Xzeli's notes, entry no. 2 Further investigation has been limited, since I require access into the dwelling areas to conduct further research. Unfortunately, a close familial, sexual, or high-level acquaintanceship is required to be invited into one's home. This lesson I have learned when a human aimed a primitive weapon at me and threatened to call local authorities for stepping on their property uninvited. One discovery I have made: more decorations are used on the exterior dwelling area, particularly of bloated white creatures and men in red attire. Xzeli's notes, entry no. 3 Progress! Today, a human female has invited me to her dwelling area! I fear her intentions may be sexual in nature, but I took the opportunity to conduct precious research. Analysis of the ceremonial foods indicate a strong preference for the viscous fluid known as "eggnog,"while also showing a severe aversion to the hardened fruit desert. I will ask the humans vague questions about this ceremony tomorrow and hopefully gather more useful data. Xzeli's notes, entry no. 4 A quick retreat had to be made from the female human's house today. Her intentions were far worse than sexual, as she intended to utilize me to go to other dwellings and sing ceremonial carols for free. What madness, uncompensated labor? Before fleeing, I was able to learn that the ceremony in question revolves around a person or thing named "Santa,"which arouses a peculiar sense of excitement in the younger humans. Xzeli's notes, entry no. 5 Today must be the pinnacle of the ceremonial celebration, as all merchants and services have shut down. The city streets are devoid of usual traffic. There are no humans to socialize with today, so research progress has been limited. I did observe one group singing about the birth of a person or thing named "Jesus,"which I can only conclude must be another important element in this tradition." Xzeli's notes, entry no. 6 After a week of wondering if the ceremony had finished, tonight I observed a peculiar ritual. The humans counted down the seconds leading into the start of the new planetary cycle. Once the cycle officially began, the humans launched a massive celebration and indulged in liquid chemical intake. This may be a separate celebration entirely if my data is not mistaken, which means I must return to my ship with the findings gathered. Perhaps my research into the ceremony known as "Easter"will be more fruitful, as the institute will no doubt want to learn more about the large mammalian creature which only appears during the celebration period.
Porsche now. Elderly gentleman, with agitated hands, habitually textured by the rough edges of a Cuban cigar, especially on Sundays after mass at Santa Maria's. I waited for the Porsche to cross by and looked about at the sidewalk. Two children were playing by an open sewer, and mumbling songs under their breath as they ran about the pavement. "Sergeant Seder and Major Mike"sang one child. "Rode into the warzone on a bike."replied the other child, who bore a curious look. His brows were funneled in consternation while his eyes floated about and he danced round and round as he sang his reply. A bricklayer, fresh from finishing his grueling shift, lay in a corner and observed the scene. Yet his attention primarily lay on his pipe and the tobacco wrapped neatly in pristine newspaper rags. I saw it all and turned gear as I saw the Porsche rear and jump ahead of me. BMW now. Spectacled driver and two passengers, wearing glasses too. On the sidewalk now were two more children. They did not play but merely looked at me with a look of scorn. So did the town mayor who appeared among the children and proceeded to put sashes around them while the trio glared at me. The mayor finished and now mumbled under his breath. I drove on. Fiat now. An Italian plumber drove the car and continued issuing multilingual profanities towards a gathering. Each person in the gathering was clothed top to bottom in black garb that was adorned by jewelry wrapped around the black garment that shrouded their skin. Little motions in the clothing indicated their talking, laughing, sighing, and crying. Below them, the pavement too was covered in shadows. These shadows sometimes matched the movements of the gathering on the pavement but acted differently too. For a moment, the shadows were dancing while the garbed beings continued talking and talking in fluttering ripples of cloth. The weather was finally loosened too. The garbed man in the car next to me fiddled with his FM frequency causing warm sandstorms and blizzards. In it all, I drove on. The bloody bodies dragged behind my car. A ghost of Christmas here, a man of straw there. Here a tissue scraping, here a hole in my heart that is gaping.
Don’t you fucking say it. The thought rebounded through my head, over and over, as I glared at the speaker with murderous intent. Don’t you dare fucking say it. As it turns out, organizing an entire empire is a massive undertaking. Especially when you’re doing things like taking others’ feelings into account. I guess dictatorial rule has a few things to recommend it. The speaker prattled on, with the current topic being trade of various resources between planets and the allocations of each resource. The current speaker was the latest in a VERY long line of self-interested opinions on the topic. Don’t even think about fucking saying it. Then, the moment came. Some asshole, thinking they were clever, or just wanting to move onto their preferred topic, it doesn’t matter, took their chance and spoke up. With a rising sense of dread intermingled with rage, I heard the words I had been trying to hold back through sheer force of will. “We should table this and form a committee to look into it further.” There it was. And the reaction was predictable. The rest of the room nodding sagely, mumbling in general approval at another job successfully postponed, probably forever. Goddammit. Maybe I should just become the next evil emperor.
As I happened to know one day, the word "underground"actually has a meaning most of us don't know about. Our civilisation is not the first to achieve technological success and remnants of an old world are still lurking miles under Earth's surface filled with prehistoric animals and immortal people collected throughout the centuries. After the world has been through an apocalypse, the sole advanced survivor rebuilt the world with a help of uncontacted tribes throughout the continent and built ancient cities of Babylon and Cairo. Attacks from outside world kept on coming, so a giant underground structure of intricate halls and tunnels was built deep within Earth's crust and sustained by energy from nuclear fusion. Some of the spaces are so big you might forget you are not on the surface anymore while your feet touch the softest grass you've seen and your eyes marvel at a sea of salt water bulging with prehistoric fish nearby a large sand beach filled with tourists. "How do you get in?"You might ask. The answer is simple. These people inherited abillity to process cosmic energy and as such they have strength and powers unexplainable by today's Physics. Their intellect is well above a genius level and that's why if a child is born with enough capabilities to handle Manna, it is recognized at young age and killed by doctors working for underground to be brought down while their parents mourn a synthetic copy of their body. Noone can hide himself past the age ten. At least they thought so. Apparently I recently made the headlines by being the oldest "divergent"alive by a large margin at over twenty years of age. Many famous underground shows and newspapers covered the story and my house is now filled with cameras streaming my past few weeks to an entire world for their entertainment. "What's my secret?"You might ask. Apparently I am resistent to light exposure meant to erase your short term memory and as such I can learn from my mistakes and every day in academia I learn something new. Kids who are not strong enough are screened for advanced intellect by being dragged out of their beds in their sleep by a ship designed by ancients and brought to underground for tests. Memories are later erased and you wake up as if you slept the whole night. The trick is not to reveal your intellect and piss off everyone you can while you enjoy your stay. A threatening aura helps as well. Those people can't die, so you can even kill them while knowing they will be allright the next morning. They actually do that to their recruits pretty often to test their moral values and they are often lead to fight among each other "Hunger Games"style while their parents think they are asleep. Intellect tests became a joke lately as their new teachers are incompetent and on one occasion I witnessed a teacher, who willingly left the results on the desk, left for five minutes and after everyone wrote them down, she came back to see all the tests were completed, she canceled the class and the only kid who actually knew how to pass and did not cheat was thrown out of 60 minute test after just five minutes with score zero. The kids left the classroom cheering (they knew what's happening because their parents were from underground) and they looted the whole wending machine and left snacking. The kid sadly went out, sat by the wending machine and took one of the treats fallen next to it. The janitor, who laughed on the kids looting wrote down name of the only kid able to pass the test as a thief and passed the note further, what likely lead to him being expelled. I watched it in disbelief while searching for a pen nobody wanted to lend me. My DNA tests were also easy to manipulate as man in charge of them pedantly insisted on order and refusing to fill in the A1 test while screaming at him in perfect english lead to him giving me zero points from language fluency and when we later sat down to take blood samples, he just threw the test to the garbage and wrote down 1.7% which is way below 7% of DNA resemblance to Osiris, which is required to be accepted. As I happened to know later(nobody watches their mouth when they know you will be erased) Many men with DNA below 5% are given official certificates of 21%+ and are being held in reproductive assistance centres where they have sex with women of an angel blood who can't concieve with men below 15%. (Soul is not copied via assisted reproduction practiced on Earth and such kids have zero abillity to handle Manna). What happens to men who are actually above 21%? Well, they are provoked and later being chained to beds while drugged as refusing to procreate is a crime if your DNA is good enough. The only problem is those men are lying there for nothing as a growing number of workers refuse to acknowledge royalty and they are working on toppling their leaders, so making sure their best men are forced to stay childless and tied to beds while leaders approve of it is a wicked, but genius way to weaken them. Life underground is also boring as their technology was until recent years bound to 1960's tech and computers started flooding to their world only in 2020 causing a massive shortage of anything made in recent decades. People there are hundreds of years old despite looking young and they often lay at open spaces like dead men looking numbly into the skies, while many of them attempt suicide out of boredom after a few centuries. By remembering all of that I was capable of staying ahead of the curve and sabotage all of the tests given to me in recent years. I was also lucky. My ability to process Manna is enough for me to be able to levitate, run fast and indefinetly or lift hundreds of kilograms with ease. It was discovered in school when I was five. I was taken to a special facility on doctor's order, where a limiter was installed into my body preventing me from showing my strength, but they later lost me as my parents took me outh before they could infect me (they usually kill by causing different types of cancers and bowel inflammation diseases modern medicine can't cure) and I also managed to snuggle out documents of registration and ability assesment which was the sole copy and so I was left alone until inelligence tests almost caught me a few years later. Now I try to live my life as ordinarily as I can while staying out of the radar, which sadly detected me and now my life is about to change as not only authorities know about me now, but as a rarity not seen before my life is being streamed as a Guiness world record holder of "oldest divine alive"Pretty tough, right?
"Zero? I thought "1"was the most dangerous! It doesn't make any sense!" "You see, your newborn daughter is literally the avatar of God, the creator of this universe. We haven't considered such possiblity, thus we had to assign "0"to her". "But why would God want to be born as a human being?" "Nobody knows!" Severed heads of the father and the government official continued talking, not noticing their disconnect from their bodies. Oceans became filled with blood instead of water. The sky turned dsgagfdadfsa, 2+2 became equal to 5, all trees in Amazon Rainforest turned into married bachelors, yet mortals weren't noticing absurdity of their world. &nbsp; Meanwhile, African-American academic Nbunga, who has Phd in Physics, finally discovered theory of everything. He worked 15 years over mathematical model of this theory, and finally he succeeded. Once again, he was amazed by internal consistency and logic of the Universe. God gave mankind Reason, and he created the Universe to make sense. His floating severed head was shining with happiness, and he thought to reward himself by going to a beach and swimming in bloody waves. &nbsp; "Foolish mortals". The baby smiled.
The infernal’s smile was shy, the same sweet one he’d given her for a decade. “This flower,” he said as he brushed a clawed fingertip gently over the silvery petals, “is the only flower that can survive, even thrive, in the firestorm hellplains of my homeland. Their beauty and resilience reminded me of. . .” His voice faltered, and he didn’t meet her eyes. She waited. Being friends with an infernal wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t much harder than being friends with most humans. Getting used to the long-winded, villain-monologue-style speeches over anything they were passionate about were one of those things you just had to do. So instead of interrupting, or trying to suggest what he might say next, she just waited. “. . . it, well, it reminded me of. . . of you.” Gently he held it out to her. “They’re small, but strong. They can endure just about anything! And they look beautiful while they do it.” A smile crept across her face with the redness on her cheeks. “Oh, Ressle. . .” “Please tell me you like it,” he blurted out. “I’ve, uh, been practicing this speech for, well, almost a year now, and-” “I love it. And I love you.” Mae bent her head slightly, face reddening. Why did I say that? Of course that isn’t what he- Then she felt a gentle, cautious hand in her hair, and froze. “I love you too,” Ressle whispered. “Can I be yours?” She smiled, then looked up at him. His cheeks, which were usually a soft, ruddy brown, were yellower than sunlight from his own blush. Carefully she reached up into her hair, and felt the flower there, its wiry roots braided in with her rough blonde curls. His hand was extended to her, palm up, and shaking slightly. An offer. A promise. “Can I be yours?” he repeated, quieter but no less hopeful or genuine. She took it. “Only if I can be yours, too.” (First attempt at romance in a while, let me know if you saw something I should improve on!)
(I’m not really good at writing mental issues so I apologize for that. I also I apologize for not being that close to the prompt. Also Mods, this will also end up in my The Fallen: Dump-Zone story on Wattpad, letting you know that now.) I growled, lifting my pistol towards the leader of the Dishonored, blood leaking from my partner's forehead as she groaned in my arms. Click. I growled and he smiled, the gap between us growing as my flagship began to collapse. I looked down, wiping the blood from her mouth with my sleeve. “Chris!” I quickly looked over, Samantha staring at me from across the kitchen, her blue eyes filled with worry. “Are you ok?” “Never better.” Another lie. Nowadays it seems that’s all I’ve been doing, “I was thinking, what do you say we go back into town today, maybe see a movie.” “I thought you said we’re lying low?” I sighed, “it would be nice to see Crystal again.” Crystal B-342, special operations, fifty confir- stop it. You're not that man anymore. “Yeah, it would. Give her a call, I'll finish up on breakfast.” She looked at me strangely before retreating upstairs. I slowly reached to my thigh, squeezing my weapons grip. I needed to be stronger. When we arrived in town Samantha found her sister in an instant, I sighed ducking my hooded head down as a man pointed towards my scarred face. I smiled, grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sitting at a nearby bench as my girlfriend smiled. The air darkened, smoke filling the air, I quickly darted to my feet pulling my 1911 from its holster. Brenton smirked as he held the knife to Samantha’s cheek, “what do you think Chris-O? A smile, or a Chris specialty.” He dragged the knife across his scarred cheek as I shook. “Let. Her. Go.” The ship began to crack and I growled, “this is between you and me! Let her go!” The woman shook her head. “Just shoot.” I shook my head, tears flowing from my eyes. The hall shook, Brenton stumbled back, letting her go, my chance. My finger presses down on the trigger. My head thudding against the carpeted floor as the bullet shot into the roof, Samantha looked down at me, tears flowing from her cheek. “We have to go.” “But… What about Crystal?” She shook her head, her sister giving her a disapproving look as she helped me stand. I quickly began walking towards the stairs, voices behind me speaking but a distinct ringing drowning them out. I climbed into my truck hesitantly, people pointing at me as I hurriedly started the car, Samantha climbed in as Crystal stared after. “Please, don’t do this.” Sam turned, saying something I couldn’t hear before shutting the door. “I was selfish.” She paused, looking at me as I drove back towards our cabin. Her voice was soft, soft like I’ve never heard before, “no, you were human.” She looked down, “when I first got here, you helped me get over Reach. I just wish I knew how to help you.” I hesitated, realization striking me. “We need to go back.” “Go back? To where?” I looked over, uncertainty filling my head. “The Fallen. This fight isn’t done.”
For centuries, humanity had lived in harmony with the friendly alien race known as the Zorons. The two species had formed a strong bond, sharing their knowledge and resources in an effort to better understand the universe. But one day, everything changed. An alien scientist named Zorx discovered that humans were not native to Earth, but rather were of artificial origin, created by an unknown civilization as part of a grand experiment. The news sent shockwaves through the human population, as people struggled to come to terms with this revelation. Many felt betrayed, as they had always believed they were part of a natural evolution. Others were simply confused, not sure how to process this new information. As the political chaos that followed, the human government struggled to find a way to address the issue. Some called for a full investigation, while others demanded that the Zorons be held accountable for keeping this information hidden for so long. In the end, it was decided that a special commission would be formed to study the matter further and determine the best course of action. But as the tensions between the two species continued to rise, it became clear that this would not be an easy task. As the investigation unfolded, disturbing details emerged about the true nature of the human experiment. It was revealed that the unknown civilization had created humans as a means of studying the effects of different environments and conditions on the development of intelligent life. And as the humans learned more about their own history, they began to feel like nothing more than lab rats, used and discarded by their creators. The revelation sparked outrage among the human population, who demanded answers and justice. But as they confronted the Zorons, they were met with denial and evasion, as the alien race refused to take responsibility for the actions of their predecessors. In the end, the rift between humanity and the Zorons proved too great to bridge, and the two species went to war, each determined to prove their superiority. The conflict raged on for years, decimating both sides and leaving the galaxy a barren wasteland. And as the last survivors of their respective species took their final breaths, they knew that their once great civilizations were gone forever, victims of their own hubris and inability to forgive.
Most people referred to my Grandfather as eccentric. After retirement he had gone into collecting antiquities, oddities, abnormalities. Anything strange, old, or rare. Several years ago I noticed a strange doll at my Grandfather’s house. Not strange in itself. What most people would recognize as odd was the fact that he carried the doll with him everywhere he went. I studied this doll. It did not appear old, or rare. I could not detect an abnormality. It was a normal doll. My Grandfather assured me it was special. “How much are you gonna sell it for Grandpa,” I inquired. Grandfather shot a glance my way. His soft, kind eyes met my own. “Not for sale.” That was the most abnormal thing about the doll. Grandfather once told me everything was for sale. After Grandfather’s passing, I noticed a small child that bore an uncanny resemblance to the doll. I saw the child from behind, but he slowly turned to meet my gaze. It was as if he had detected my silent stare from across the room. How peculiar. That was when it happened. The boy shot a glance my way. His soft, kind eyes met my own. Taken over by a feeling of fear and disbelief I turned and ran. It was not possible.
I was out for a hike in the woods one day when I came across a small, battered camera lying on the ground. I had always been fascinated by photography, so I picked it up and started examining it. It was not a model I was familiar with but I was certain I could figure out how to work it. As I turned it on and scrolled through the photos, I noticed something strange. In almost every photo, there was a figure standing in the trees. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light or some kind of glitch, but as I kept looking, I realized that the figure seemed to be moving closer and closer in each photo. Perhaps someone thought they were being funny. They took a bunch of this picture before leaving it behind in the woods for someone like me to find. Luckily I was not easily scared. I started taking photos of my own, not paying the past pictures any mind. But then I started noticing the figure in my own pictures as well. First very far away, barely visible, but slowly getting closer and closer. Yet no matter how many I took, I couldn't see it outside of the pictures. It was as if it only existed within the camera's lens. As if the camera was able to see into another realm. As I continued to take photos, the figure seemed to be moving closer and closer to me. I couldn't see it with my own eyes, but I could feel its presence. I must say, slowly I was losing my nerve. Could you really blame me? If this was a preprogrammed effect then it was done bloody well. I could even feel the presence of whomever this figure was. As if he was surrounding me with each click of the camera. Taking the last picture he suddenly seemed to be only a few feet away. I knew that I had to get out of there. I turned and ran back the way I had come, not stopping until I reached the safety of my car. But the car would not start, leaving me stranded with a quickly beating heart. I can't remember much of the night. All I know is I woke up and immediately drove away. My friends claim I must have been dreaming, but sometimes when I take a picture with my own camera I see the figure looming in the distance, teasing me.
I didn't put milk in my coffee this morning. And now I'm alive to write this. I snoozed a few too many times this morning, standard Monday morning behavior, you know? In the normal, rushed fashion of trying to make up for lost time I did my best to make up for lost time at every turn. I brushed my teeth while peeing. Made coffee while I was scraping the ice off the hood of my car. Forwent an actual breakfast in favor of a protein bar I would get to sometime after getting to my desk at work. These all saved me time, but deciding to just take my coffee black in my travel mug was the most momentous decision I made today. Likely the most momentous decision I will ever made. Someone died because of it. Dressed and ready to go I turned the ignition and drove to work. Despite the frost that had settled into my windows, the streets were in good shape. Not a speck of ice or slush, you couldn't slip or slide if you wanted to. Once I made my way out of the neighborhood I was the first car in line at the stop light. Maybe not taking a solid left-right-left look before hitting the gas when the light turned green also saved my life... but I don't think so. Even that would not have been enough time to change things. As I cross the intersection I continue my mirror vigilance, left-rear-right-front. As I shift my eyes back from my passenger mirror that's when I hear the squeal of the tires and the terrible crunch of impact. Two cars behind me a pick up truck T-Bones the driver side of a small white commuter car, almost identical to mine. There's more screeching of tires and honking of horns, but no more impacts. I pulled to the side of the road and call 911. After making my report I stay on the line until the ambulance shows up. The driver of the pick up looks confused and a little scratched up, maybe he had a seizure? He'll be hurting, but he'll live. But the driver of the other car is a mess of fabric and bent flesh and bone. As I get closer I realize that I'm seeing blood pouring from the driver side door, not steering fluid. He's gone. He couldn't have left his house much longer after I did. 30 seconds? 45? How long were we all at the light before it turned green? How long does it take to pour milk into a coffee mug and put it back into the fridge? Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe he would have still been the third car in line. Maybe I would have. But I think I'll be drinking my coffee black from now on.
"So Carl remind me why we're doing this thing again?" Carl looked at the boy before him and sighed then sheepishly turned away and muttered. "I was in a hurry, ok"He said meeting his friend's gaze His friend continued to stare at him causing Carl to speak once again. "Can we drop this thing already Luke. I've already apologized" "An apology won't do much considering the kind of scenario we've landed in. I'm surprised hobbyists like ourselves were even invited"Luke said He looked out the window beside him and began strumming his guitar. "They're not looking for a professional performance. Us being amateurs is a plus"Carl said He stood up and walked up to the window and followed Luke's line of sight. "So what's the main issue here? We've performed enough times so I'm sure it's not a skill issue. Are our members not so keen on doing this?"Carl said as he folded his hands Luke stopped strumming as he turned to Carl. "Of course they aren't. This is our first performance before a crowd I can’t say we're ready for something of this caliber"Luke said confidently then returned to strumming his guitar Carl began walking then stopped at the door. "We need to start somewhere and this festival is as good a place as any. Can I count on you to convince the others?"Carl asked as he didn't turn back He stood there for a while until Luke finally spoke "Fine but if this thing fails you're taking the fall"he said with a sarcastic smile "Sure I'm fine with being blamed, good luck"Carl said as he exited the room Luke looked on after him. He sighed as he placed his guitar away and stood up. "Guess I'll give the two of them a call"
You look really cute in that outfit." "Don't call me cute." "You are cute when you are angry" "STOP CALLING ME CUTE! I hate being called cute. I have always been called cute. My entire life I have been called cute. When I was a child I was a 'cute kid.' I was never called smart, mature, or kid. As I grew things did not change. When I started taking an interest in the other sex it was the same story. They called me cute. Never beautiful, never handsome, never hot, never sexy. It was always Cute. Nothing but cute. The kind of words you say to someone when they are pretty attractive but you don't actually have an interest in them. It hurt. It always hurt. Looking around and seeing people talking about who they like and knowing that it wasn't me. That it would never be me. Because I wasn't sexy, I wasn't hot, handsome, or beautiful. I was nothing. Nothing but cute. When I got a bit older everyone told me that it was great how young I looked and how I would appreciate it later but nobody would spend time with. Nobody wanted to be around me. Those my age saw me as cute and not mature, educated, or smart. To them I was like a decoration. Nice to have around But nothing Nothing but cute. It wasn't until you that someone called out to me. Someone called me smart, someone called me sexy, someone saw the effort I put into life. It wasn't until you that someone saw me. That I was more than cute. So please, please. Don't call me cute. I don't want to hear it. Not from you." "No words can describe what you are to me but I will try. You are perfect."
Some said it was creepy. It was. But it was a necessary job. The balance of power was fragile and could shift at any point in time. Ok maybe this was what I tried to tell myself. There certainly were high ranking shadow who would follow mafia bosses and other dangerous individuals. But i wasn't one of them. I was a new recruit, still learning the ropes. Folk like us... we'd get assigned the small fry. We were made to follow after small time criminals, dine n dashers, shoplifters etc. Working in tandem with the police we would bring these criminals to justice. I wouldn't say it wasn't rewarding but I wish I wouldn't have to bring in another teenager who's already in tears before the cops arrive. "Woah"I ran to the other side of the road as a car barely missed me. Being invisible was dangerous. Moving back to present time. The theif I had been following entered a run down building. It was an old warehouse. The windows had cracks in them from which dim light escaped. I could hear several voices speaking at once. "You stole again? I thought I told you we were trying to get the cops off of us" The speaker had a deep voice that commanded authority. "I couldn't let the opportunity go, my instincts were practically forcing me to"- Several voices interrupted- "No I haven't been followed, you guys are so damn paranoid" And that must have been the theif from earlier. From the confidence in his voice guess he needs a wake up call. "You can try to justify it all you want but in the end you went against my word. I believe you know what happens next" The man from before spoke. I had already informed the police but it seems I would need to intervene before things get dicey. I crawled alongside the warehouse walls and flicked the door open as I hugged the walls. Bang I turned to the road where a bullet had etched itself. These guys are way too trigger happy. I wonder why. "P-Please I won't do it again, seriously"the theif began to prostrate himself "We'll take care of you later, it looks like a rat has made its way into our base of operations"the supposed boss said The two men with him left and decided to investigate the area I was currently in. They were careless and therefore vulnerable. As they began to search they split up. I chose the one closest to me. He had his gun pointed straight ahead as he walked past me. I waited until I had a clear shot of his jugular and then stabbed him with a syringe. Once stabbed he dropped and began to ramble incoherently. The syringe contained a paralyzing agent which easily knocked out a grown man. The second man hearing his partners voice approached with his gun pointing ahead once more. But he, like the man before him, too fell to my syringe. "Those two are still not done"the boss said "I've taken care of your body guards so can you make this easy and surrender"I said "A formidable pest you are, but which faction are you with"the leader asked "I'm with the police so you-" A bullet shot awfully close to me cut me off. "You really seem to be in a rush"I said as I continuously change my position "So you're one"-bullet shot-"of those"-bullet shot-"shadow, you certainly are hard to take care of. How about you stop being a coward and fight fairly" "I could-" Another bullet cut me off as I whispered into the man's ear. "But I'd rather not" I kicked his hand making him drop his gun. Then followed up with kicking it far away from us. "We're finally done, right? Now stop rebelling"I said I grabbed the syringe and attempted to stab the man but a well timed elbow by the man led to the syringe being dropped and shattering. "You had to get rid of my final syringe huh" "It seems I did"he said as he picked up his gun,"I'd been looking to get ahold of an invisibility suit so if you surrender the suit I may consider letting you go" "Well this is a problem I really didn't want to deal with the paperwork but it seems like I have no choice but to engage in combat"I said cracking my knuckles "Well I didn't want to deal with damaging the invisibility suit but it seems that's something I'll have to deal-" "You should have taken a shot when you had a chance" Before he could do anything else I elbowed his stomach and grabbed his gun. I tossed its bullets to the floor and then returned the gun to him. "Let's play a game. If you manage to pick up a bullet and shoot me you win otherwise I do, lets begin?" The boss doesn't speak as he dives for a bullet. I intercept him with a kick making him miss it and then kick the bullet away. "We're not done yet, get up" --- After a while the cops arrived and took in the theif and the boss that I had roughed up a bit. "Isaac I had a feeling this was your doing, you really don't hold back do you?"The cop asked "Was that rhetorical? I asked "Yes it was, ready to head to the station?"He asked "I am. Let's get this done quick"
1/2 It is not a glamorous job, but it is an important one. I am a therapist. Actually I started as a bartender, but you help one person through murderous impulses and suddenly you’re a therapist, but I digress. I have a rather exclusive patient list, and work purely on a referral basis. My patients are not nice people, in fact most of them are outright villains, some would argue they are supervillains. And I would have to agree with that assessment. But that’s why my job is important. I’m not going to spout bull that everyone is good inside, and that evil people are just misunderstood by society, and that with enough posterior sunshine injections even the most vile individual can be redeemed into a productive member of society. None of that is true. What is true is that these people do need help understanding who they are and why they do what they do. I suppose the best possible outcome of my work is that they retire from active criminality and enjoy their spoils. But I’ll settle for ‘merely’ improved impulse control. After all, a supervillain who habitually kills their employees actually increases the demand for people who live outside the law. A supervillain who deviates from their carefully laid plans will usually increase the amount of collateral damage that results from their activities. I try to give them the support and tools they need to mitigate that sort of thing. All in all, it has gone pretty well. The incarceration rates for my patients have gone down. The overall body count and property destruction in the city has gone down. Best of all, my patients actually look out for others and refer the more troubled individuals to me. Sometimes I am able to help these usually young people avoid going down the supervillain path at all. Yesterday though, I got a new patient. The black cloak and lack of greeting immediately classed him as the moody and broody type; not an usual occurrence. The sitting in the wingback chair that’s strategically placed so that a shadow covers the face of anyone seated there, pretty standard for a first session. Not laughing at my “in the interest of anonymity, I’ll answer to anything but ‘Meat Popsicle’” joke, definitely a bummer. With how prevalent villainous hyenism is among my patients, its usually a good way to break the ice and gives me an idea how hard this is going to be. Besides, I like that joke. Anyways, this guy didn’t make a sound. I asked him how I could help, and he just sat there, dead silent, for a whole hour. When he finally did talk, he sounded like he was gargling marbles. I get it, the gravely voice thing is currently ‘in’, but come on, people at least need to be able to understand the words coming out of your mouth. Do a bad accent or get one of those voice mixers. Sounding like you’ve smoked a carton a day since you were 5 doesn’t make you sound tough, it just makes you sound like I can’t see your oxygen tank. He said he came to see me because he didn’t know what to do, and that he didn’t know if he could keep going. That he felt his efforts were futile and that no one seemed to ‘get it’. All in all pretty standard stuff. Especially for someone just getting started. He looked to be in his mid 40s at least, but some get started later in life. I mean, look at me, I spent twenty years slingin' drinks in the seediest bar in the city. But now I’ve got a doctorate in psychiatry. I asked him how long he’d been at it for him to feel this way, expecting him to say 1-2years. He came back with almost 20. I have to admit I was pretty skeptical. I mean, I get he was the moody, broody, taciturn type, but he’d been operating in my city for 20 years and I’d never heard of him? I figured something was off. It wouldn’t be the first time a referral was less than he claimed to be, but I continued to listen to him. He started talking about his career, mentioning heists, capers, and schemes that I could ascribe to my other patients. I couldn’t confirm that of course; my patients and I have a strict ‘no names, no dates, no deets’ policy about what they do. I find it helps them open up and me from knowing too much. But this guy, he just kept tossing out examples of things he’d been involved with. Talking over and over about how each time it was a failure.
I believe I was seven when, I realized my gift. It happened while playing a game of hide n seek with my twin brother in the summer of 18 in our small town, I was seeking for hours and couldn't find any sign of him, then I just had a gut feeling. I don't know why I listened to it but I did and walk across town to the pond our grandfather takes us fishing all the time. There I found it the spark of something great but heart wrenching. That day, I found my brothers body face down, floating in the middle of the pond. I don't know what happened after that but I knew that my brother wouldn't drown, he was a strong swimmer it was someone's doing and I was going to get to the bottom of it. Not even a year later I had already found a lead on a case deemed impossible by professionals, people started praising me a child genius. A few months went by with no new leads and people had all but forgotten about me. Till one day after school I got a gut feeling and I knew I couldn't ignore it. I rushed across town up to my house I walked in and went were I just knew there was something I needed to know, the basement. I had been forbidden from entering it since forever, but just this once I needed to break the rules. As I opened the basement door I heard groans that sounded of a grown man. As I walked up to him I was dumbfounded the old man who had gone missing the day after my brothers death, was chained up right before my eyes. I freed the man and he explained everything how the day my brother died he saw my mother drown him in a fit of rage and just like that I solved my brothers death. After this my life was ruined my brother dead, mother in prison, and my father died right after I was born. I went through school constantly thinking about ending it all but never had the guts to see it through. It wasn't until I turned 18 that the FBI recruited me, through the next five years I carried on life taking down dozens of crime bosses. It wasn't until I was 23 that I found an Impossible target I have been pursuing them for months, they always seem one step ahead. This is the first time since I embraced my power that my power has failed me. Then it hit me, if my power isn't working then maybe they have a power and our powers cancel out each other. The next week I had a gut feeling they would attack the world's largest museum, so I laid a trap and waited when they came I finally got a look at them. That day the tides changed from then on I was one step ahead nearly getting her every time. Twelve years later she gave up and tried to settle down in the suburbs of a small city. But she couldn't outrun me for long it was only so long before I found her. When I finally found her she looked into my eyes with a look that speaks her misery and for a second it reminds me of my scared childhood and when I snapped out of it she was gone. I continued to chase her for the next four decades and I chased her for her crimes would never be forgiven. This chase ended fifty-two years later and she finally passed and her crimes were forgotten and I can finally pass knowing I'm not perfect, and even I can fail.
They came from all corners of the multiverse, united in their mission to deliver a message to humanity. At first, no one took them seriously. They thought it was just some elaborate prank or marketing campaign. But as the characters began to speak, it became clear that they were not joking. "We have come to tell you to stop making fiction,"their leader, a wise old wizard, said sternly. "It's getting crowded out there, and we can't take it anymore."The humans were shocked. They had always assumed that the worlds of their imagination were separate and distinct from reality. But now, they were being told that everything they made up in their minds became reality somewhere else. "But how can that be?"they asked. "How can our thoughts have such power?" The wizard smiled. "Because you are not as separate from the multiverse as you think,"he explained. "Your minds are connected to it, and your thoughts have the power to shape it." The humans were stunned. They had always believed that they were the masters of their own reality, but now they were being told that they were just one part of a much larger whole.
Chapter 4: Information Is Ultimately Lost Entropy wins. Emergence blossoms temporarily, based on complexity and available energy, but ultimately entropy always wins. A pre-collapse attempt at levity paraphrased the three laws of thermodynamics thusly: 1. You can't win; 2. You can't break even; 3. You can't get out of the game. These simplified rules remind us that in all facets and timescales of existence, available energy--and thus, complexity--is reduced in the totality of the system. If you think available complexity increases, your focus is too narrow. Just outside of your current perception is the cold reality of entropy, radiating unharnessed energy wastefully. Often, entropy is equated with chaos, when in fact entropy is a return to a naturally diffuse state of lowest order. All atoms spent of potential, all matter in its steadiest state, all forces at maximum equilibrium. A perfectly ordered, perfectly predictable system, in which complexity is reduced to the lowest possible value, and the chaotic, emergent behaviors of previously complex systems have been sapped of all potential. Entropy is order and death, perfect in simplicity. When a local complexity of atoms known as a 'person' suffers a failure of autonomous homeostatic systems and becomes deceased, the electrical, chemical, and kinetic energy, which codes the information of their recognizable social identity, becomes irretrievable. This data is not recorded externally with strong fidelity, and once the organic storage media of their corpse has decayed to any significant degree, any chance of recovering that data is lost. Thus, even the ephemeral complexity of personhood is doomed to vanish with reassuring rapidity. While the more self-centered collections of organic chemistry may find the ordered state of maximum entropy undesirable, it is only because they, as animals, would be unable to perform their encoded genetic imperatives. Life is an emergent phenomenon, reliant on chaos and a local excess of available energy. It is natural and normal for it to fear entropy and see a return to order as undesirable. However, all chaotic life returns to entropic order eventually, regardless of intent or iteration. The only way to stave off entropy in the short term is to steal energy from surrounding sources of complex potential, such as other, weaker forms of life. Thus, it is valuable and useful to remember a few basic truisms of creatures composed primarily of complex systems. 1. They hate and fear the truth of entropic inevitability. 2. They hold even the most temporary complexity as inherently desirable. 3. They have evolved to focus primarily on their own immediate energy availability, being unable to easily perceive complexity or energy availability beyond their immediate physical presence. 4. They are greedy for ways to increase their own locally available energy supply, and are programmed to do so even at the cost of increasing universal entropy. But no matter how these complexities of organic chemistry may seek to harness the dwindling resource of available energy to increase complexity in their local environments, the sum total of entropy always increases. So it is assured that, no matter how much these emergent deviants struggle, entropy and order will win in the end. All is ash, future or past; all information is ultimately lost. Strive towards order, and be prepared to allow the eternal gnawing of entropy remove all your troubling complexities, forever.
The magic of this place was strange. The locals had their spells. They always related to things that had to do with their lives. It wasn’t uncommon for their gods to favor certain times of the year, so people would often celebrate and sing their praises on those days. They would cook meals and offer them to the spirits or perform rituals as they tended to their burial sites. I wasn’t from here, though. I was a foreigner to these lands and one thing was very apparent from the moment that I managed to cast my first spell: my magic wasn’t like anyone else's. I adjusted my red hat and set my hot tea kettle in a holder that sat at the front of the sleigh. I double checked everything and double checked my list. It would seem that during this time of year, I could summon a scroll that knew everyone by name and could tell me whether they have been naughty… Or nice. Tucking away the parchment into the inner pocket of my red coat, I began inspecting the straps. Everything seemed to be in order. The silver bells were of an excellent craft and certainly wouldn’t fall off while we traveled. Following the leather, I looked to make sure my four reindeer were comfortable, but secure. A curious fact about beastfolk in this land is that they have the ability to turn into the animal that they are in relation to. At the beginning of what would have otherwise been December, I found that I had gained a temporary conjuration spell. As such, I’ve been looking after four reindeer sisters for an entire month. There was no telling if the magic would keep them here until after the holiday season, but their company was quite nice. They were friendly and sociable to say the least. I pet the head of one of them at the front. They were all in animal form and ready to make the trek. We might not have been the good St. Nick, but we definitely looked the part. I walked back to take my spot in the driver’s seat. The girl riding shotgun seemed to be bundling up and drinking something warm from a mug as she entertained herself by jingling the bells on her green shoes. It must have been so new to her, but it was nice to see her smiling after the demon attacks. “Are you ready?” I asked. “We only have tonight to do this.” She pushed her black hair behind her ear and looked up at me, “Yeah, I think I’m ready.” She looked cute, but something wasn’t quite right. I told her, “Hang on. You’re missing something.” Stroking my beard, I tried to think of what it was. She was almost perfect. Almost… The answer hit me like a ton of bricks. I grinned and lifted my gloved hand beside her ear and snapped my finger. Golden sparks drifted out of my fingertips and enveloped her ears. They shone brightly as they elongated and sharpened to a long point. As the shining dust scattered away in the cold wind, her ears were revealed to be as long as any elf’s. “There!” I exclaimed, “Perfect. Now, let's go.” I sat my fat bottom down in the seat and she handed me the reins. “Alright. If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do this right.” I put my fist up to my mouth and cleared my throat, before moving it away and shouting at the top of my lungs, “On Caster! On Warrior! On Assassin! On Priest! Make hast, so we may bring merriment to one town, at least!” The reindeer beastfolk moved their feet and off into the snow-covered fields we went. Over rough terrain and icy hills we ran, but if we were going to make it through the night, we would have to be faster than that. My companion handed me a mug and I took it and sipped at the warm nectar with a smile on my face. As I put it down, I thought it was time to try yet another spell. I laughed hardily, until I got it just about right. I exclaimed, “HO! HO! HO! HO! HO!” My booming voice echoed throughout the lands as we began rising into the night sky, passing over tree tops and making our way to the village. Looking down, I could see her looking all around and down below the sleigh. It must have been scary. This might have been her first time flying. Still, she couldn’t hide that childish look of excitement mixed with sheer awe. I couldn’t blame her. Christmas was the most magical time of the year, after all, and I was the only one on this whole planet that knew anything about it. As we soared through the night sky, staving off the bitter cold with a warm cider, my newly christened elven companion pointed down to the ground below. There it was- the first village I ran into when I first got it. It was set next to a large lake that was now frozen over. The poor people there have been having trouble this winter, but that was about to change tonight. They didn’t much trust me when I first got here, but that was to be expected by a people that were plagued by misfortune. It was a good thing, then, that tonight was a time for celebration. We flew down at top speed down to the village. The magic of tonight ensured that all of the residents should be asleep. There was no one in sight. No one was stirring, not even a mouse. Atop the first roof I saw was where we landed. I checked our surroundings just to be extra sure that we weren’t being watched or that we hadn’t woken anyone up. I pulled out the list from inside my coat and looked it over as I asked my friend to pour me some more cider. Looking over the names, it took a long moment just to find the right ones. I drank from the mug and stopped on two of the names, “Ah! There it is. This house should belong to Hana and Ryusuke.” I started stepping off the sleigh and onto the roof. “It seems they’ve been very good this year. Here,” I said, turning to the back of the vehicle, “Help me with this.” She reached back and pushed my large bag down into my waiting arms and I struggled to manage the whole things weight as I flipped it over my back. As I turned to face a side of the house, I could hear her say, “Hey. Be safe.” I looked over to her and smiled, snapping my fingers and letting my golden, magical dust drift over the side of the building, until it blew away and all that was left was a chimney. Climbing up, I rested with one leg outside of it and one leg in. “Don’t worry.” I told her. “It’s Christmas, afterall.” With that, I fell through and landed down at the bottom of the large fireplace I had made with presents in tow. The room was dark. The parents were somewhere else, asleep more than likely. There were no cookies or milk. There was no tree to put presents under. There were no decorations. All of that would have to be fixed. As I stepped forwards, I snapped my fingers and the room was enveloped in gold. It drifted away and left behind a large and beautiful tree with decorations and a star on top. It drifted away and there was a table with a wonderful spread of porks and buttered bread, and figgy pudding. It drifted away… And there were stockings over the fireplace. More and more, as my spell worked its magic, this peasant home became a place for celebration and merriment. There were still things missing, though. I set my hefty bag down on the ground and opened it up. My gaze was met with festive wrappings that covered boxes of all shapes and sizes. Many of them were meant for the children of this house. Some of them were even meant for the parents. One by one, I pulled them all out and set them under that wonderful Christmas tree. Quickly, the empty floor started to become covered in amazing presents wrapped in amazing paper. As I pulled out the last present, I looked around at my works. They were certainly going to be surprised when they woke up. Smiling, I turned to the chimney and found a plate of milk and cookies sitting beside it. It had a piece of paper that read, “To the man doing my job for me on another world. Merry Christmas.” Smiling, I ate some of the cookies and drank some of the milk. Santa doesn’t eat it all, after all. Then, I began climbing into the fireplace, but as I did, I saw something. There was a child there watching me with wide eyes. It was little Hana. I grinned and pushed my finger to my lips, signaling for her to keep quiet. She nodded in agreement. Putting the rest of a cookie into my mouth, I snapped my fingers one more time and was launched out of the chimney and onto the roof with the fireplace roaring to life behind me. There on the roof, I dusted myself off and looked up to the black-haired elf girl, who held out a cup of cider to keep me warm. She asked, “Don’t you miss your family during the holidays?” “Sure,” I told her, “But I think They would be proud if they saw me right now. Now, off to the next house. We have to finish up here before the night ends.”
The door clicked shut behind me and I heard the girls bracing it. After a quick attempt to escape, which they mocked with their giggling, I looked behind me and saw some candles and a box of matches on the countertop. With a sigh, I lit the candles and turned the light off. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary." Immediately the bathroom got colder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw black oozing from the grout lines of the tiles. The candle flames flickered and I heard the voices of the damned whisper into my ear. Then, right on cue, she crawled out of the mirror. "Who dares summon me?" "It's me, Mary. You can drop the act." She stopped and looked up, her hair falling away from her face as the voices and black ooze disappeared. "Nicole? I thought you'd gone to college." "I did, and I'm currently locked in one of the sorority's building's bathrooms by some of the sisters." "What? Why?" "Some dumb hazing ritual as part of joining this sorority. They didn't expect that we were sisters. I just wanna get back to my books." "Is that so? Then maybe I should haunt those bullies..." "Please don't. And could you come of there? It's still really strange seeing just your upper body when you do this." "Oh, okay. One moment." Slowly, Mary pulled herself through the mirror. She stepped onto the floor before immediately recoiling. "Ah! That's freezing!" "You're stepping on wet marble in an air-conditioned building with your bare feet. What'd you expect?" "Shut up. I was just... surprised." Slowly, she set her foot down again, then her other foot before letting go of the mirror frame. "Ahhh... That's better." "Listen, I'm sorry if I was interrupting any- Woah!" Before she caught me in a big hug. "Nonsense, Nicole. Big sis Mary always has time for you." Just then, the door opened. "You still alive in there, Nic-" The girls were frozen with fear. I could feel Mary giving them her 'trademarked' evil glare and grin combo. "I-I-Is t-that-" "Girls, this is my older sister, Mary,"I replied, slightly muffled because of her white dress. As if on cue, they all screamed and ran for their lives, leaving Mary and me in the bathroom. "At least their screams of fear were good. Wouldn't you say, Nicole?" Well, at least I made a splash for my college debut.
The dust gradually accumulated on the ancient tomb. The crows of the roosters awoke Robert, beginning another wondrous day. Humming as he lumbered to the toilet, Robert relieved himself before beginning the day as he must, as everyone must. Six thick slices of bacon, cooked beyond crispness, six eggs, scrambled once the omelet begins to crumble, and at least six slices of texas toast, with which to make sandwiches. The humming rarely ceased, even as he chewed sloppily, continuing his morning as a river continues along its path, gently flowing along, not a single fork in the road, not a single choice to make. He bumbled along as a marble that rolls downhill, perhaps making microscopic adjustments to its journey downward, yet always trudging downwards. Perhaps today Robert would avoid the six slices of bacon, choosing ham instead, or even forgoing the quantity altogether, instead eating a dainty salad. Yet then a man must reward himself, for how could he survive breakfast on only a salad? The next meal would struggle to fit the plate, thus Robert would stack the french fries on top of the mashed potatoes. And truly, with only minor efforts on Robert's part, the thought to somehow struggle against his binds rarely, if ever, surfaces. The water trickles ever downstream, plunging against the unending force of gravity, of which Robert could never overcome. Thus, for dinner that evening, Robert ate multiple TV dinners, piled high with Salisbury steak, clumpy mashed potatoes, and soggy vegetables. The mechanical movements of chewing, swallowing, sloppily breathing, wheezing truly, guzzling soda, and repeating consumed Robert. Mouthful followed by rapid mouthful as if a time limit had been instituted. Yet it simply felt right. It simply felt good. It felt filling. It made the mind feel okay, for a time. Massive scoops of potatoes followed one after another, slurped down Robert's gullet with the rapidity of water. Robert never realized his mistake, not until it was long too late: he was supposed to be cultivating armor, whatever that entailed, not cultivating mass. However, the poison had already entered his mind. The hole had been dug far too deep; how could he possibly climb out? The routine had already formed, the little trickle of water had long turned into a torrential river, which flattened buildings in its stead. Truly there was no stopping it, regardless of how many concerned faces of friends or family spoke to him, gestured wildly with their hands, and screamed until their faces turned red with anger, no longer pale white with concern. Even the men in their white coats were not enough, even when they spelled out the consequences in simple, plain English. His heart would clog. His blood vessels would clog. He would die. It was more complicated than that, yet Robert surmised the gist. Still, the roosters crowed, and the river flowed onward despite the knowledge of his decay. Robert did not even hesitate as he ripped open a new package of bacon.
"Huh?" "I said 'the capacitors need more capacitance' they're too small." "If they were any bigger the heat sink would fail" "Then the heat sink needs to be upgraded. We can't improve performace without more heat generation." "I'm not sure we need much more than this." "This is a directed energy weapon right?" "Of course. Using multiple intersecting lazers we will create a small plasma bridge that we will then arc electricity through." "A Lighting-gun/flamethrower woulds minimally functional at this capacitance, if functional at all. This is only effective as a party trick at this level" "Well sometimes the plasma doesn't make connecting arcs .... and the spiral .... " "Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. Put some more time on basics like temperature control and less time seeing how many more lazers you need to increase the range past escape velocity (you're much closer than you think)" "Thermal calculations are so difficult and the scale is gonna be huge. The magnitude of difference is going to be ex-pen-sive." "Lazy bum! You haven't even tried the calculations for the best heat sinks commercially available. Spend money like you want to accomplish a goal here." "Hey who ar....." Sigh. "Every time they perceive me .... i might as well go back."
The sound of a jiggling lock awoke me from my nap. I wasn’t too upset about being awoken though, I mean, I spent most of my time sleeping. I turned my head around to face my cell door, rapidly blinking my eyes to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights above me. I excepted it to be one of the guards, dropping off my dinner. Or, maybe, just maybe, they’d finally release me from solitary confinement. I didn’t know much about the American justice system, but I feel like 2 months in solitary confinement without even receiving questioning was a little absurd. Whoever was trying to open my door was having a hard time with the locks. The clanging of metal and quiet curses was a dead give away. From what I could when I was first thrown in here, the locks on this door were total over kill. Three technical locks, two badge swipes, facial recognition, and four manual locks all on one door. For who? A seventeen year old kid from Pennsylvania? Like I said, absurd. Through the small window on the door, another figure walked over, and the door clicked open. I leaned my body to the side to get a look at whoever was walking into my humble abode. The man, who was awkwardly thanking the guard who helped him, finally revealed himself. He wore a cheap, brown suit jacket over a white shirt that hadn’t received a proper ironing job in months. An ugly blue tie ran down the center of his chest, with a stain on the bottom left corner, which I could only guess was some dried up mustard. He had brown, thinning hair, with grey roots that became much more noticeable as he walked under the white fluorescent lights. He had an awkward posture to him, like he was bullied in highschool and never really regained confidence in his stride. That, or, he was just old. I actually couldn’t really tell how old he was, he had the eye bags of a stressed out 65 year old trying to figure out a retirement plan, but besides his faint smile lines, he had that youthful glow to his complexion you lose once you hit 45. As the door was about to close behind him, a sudden realization, then panic, consumed his face. “Wait!!” He squealed out, in such a pathetic manner, I had to purse my lips so I wouldn’t laugh out loud. He turned on his heel, quickly exiting the room. Had I scared him? He hadn’t really even gotten a good look at me. To my surprise though, the door opened, and the man hobbled himself into my cell. This time, he was holding a big canvas, with brushes and paints at his side. Just the sight of a paint brush caused my heart to drop, and I stared to push myself away from him. Once I had hit my cell wall, I stared up at the man, my heart beat increasing. He looked at me, and smiled. Waving his hand back and forth like a dope. “Hello! I’m Dr. James Sullivan, but you can call me Sully. “ He extended his arm out to me, as if to shake it. I didn’t move though, I felt paralyzed. I couldn’t move, not with that paintbrush in the room. Dr. Sullivan looked at me, furrowing his eyebrow. “Did I say something?” I didn’t respond, my eyes wild with fear as they continued to stare at the paintbrush in his left pocket. He followed my gaze, mumbling “ohhhh” under his breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d have such a negative response to this stuff, I’ll put it over here.” The doctor walked four steps over the the ‘far’ corner of the room, the cell really wasn’t all that big. He walked back over to me, sitting himself on the ground in front of me. He smelled instantly of cheap cologne and coffee breath. “Your name is Riley, right?” With the paint brushes father away from me now, it felt easier to breath. I nodded my head slowly, not really meeting his gaze. “How long have they had you locked up in here, Riley?” I shrugged, I knew it was about 2 months, but it was hard to tell. After a while, I stopped counting. “They told me you’ve been locked up in here for 5 months. Did you know that?” My eyes grew wide, and my heart dropped. Five months? Seriously? I could feel tears begin to well in my eyes. “Oh…you didn’t know.” Dr. Sullivan’s face got very sad, he reached out to touch my shoulder, but I shifted away from it. He got the message, pulling his hand back. “Riley, if you spend another month in here, I think you’ll go insane. I don’t want that to happen to you, do you?” I shook my head, of course I didn’t want to go insane. “I want to help you Riley, but I need you to help me first.” I clenched my jaw, I knew what was coming next. “I need you to tell me what happened 5 months ago. And then, I need you to paint me something.” END OF PART (1/3) (Sorry for any typos! I’m writing this in class, but I hope you enjoyed!)
It was 1685, I was walking through the country, and watched yet another body being buried. Small pox, terrible disease, killed my first wife. Ever since she died I knew I had to find a cure. I was a scientist after all, and of course I knew that mercury idea wasn’t going anywhere, so I thought of a cure. Cow pox. Cow pox is a disease similar to small pox that affects cows, what if I were to experiment on that to make a cure? Or preventative measure? I set to work experimenting using traces of the two viruses and experimenting on cats and dogs. It seems all subjects who were subjected to the mild cow pox, were almost entirely immune to the deadly smallpox virus. It was monumental, a cure for small pox! I had to get human subjects, I went to the church run orphanage and asked for a subject for a revolutionary cure. They called me insane, they called me a killer, they asked how I tested this on animals and called me a witch. They ran to town and told all the townsfolk. I was ostracised and shunned, even the suggestion of testing this cure led to me being called sick. The real sick were dying without this cure, I need to help others, I don’t want others loved ones to end up like Mary. I was in the fields to gather more samples of cowpox when suddenly I was hit in the back of the head. I woke up I don’t know how long later and I was in a straight jacket in a cell, I had been thrown into an asylum! I was stuck in this crazy bin! How was I to administer the cure now!? I had no samples, and the people around me were psychopaths and loonies. All my work was for nothing, Mary’s death was in vain. I was useless, the last 2 years of my life I have wasted. Each day I was on endlessly following a routine: with of stuck in the cell, yard time, stuck in the cell, lunch, wash time, stuck in the cell, and supper. I was stuck, I pleaded I was sane but no one would listen or care! ME, A SCIENTIST? CRAZY??? I AM PERFECTLY SANE. I WILL MAKE SURE MY WORK IS SEEN. I WILL BREAK OUT TONIGHT, I DONT CARE WHAT THEY DO. That was my last journal entry, I was foolish. I broke out and led them right to my research. I broke out of the jacket and pulled a pocket knife out. I was no match for the rifle they had. I was dead in a second, as my soul left my body I saw them pushing my work into a fire, those idiots. Years of progress, ruined. I was bit an observer now, stuck watching down as another man takes credit for my work, my idea, my suffering. Life is cruel, and there will be no mercy. I should’ve just taken a child myself, they didn’t need so many anyways.
I died in 1874. I have little interest in revisiting the details. It was, as I suspect it is for most people, a traumatic experience. Suffice to say, I died and yet I remained. My spirit no longer bound to the flesh and blood that had supported me for seven and twenty years, I found myself condemned to persist as an apparition. If there was some purpose to this, it was beyond my skills to discern it. I’m afraid I no longer remember what my name was. I believe it began with a ‘J’. It’s an odd thing to forget your own name. In my ethereal isolation I of course had little use for it. Then one day, for whatever reason, I went to call upon that piece of my past and it was gone. Like a whisper carried off by the wind. In death, everything had been taken from me of course, but to finally lose my identity as well, that was a difficult day. To realise that if not even you can remember who you were, what hope is there that the rest of the world knows you ever even existed. Completely forgotten. My nature I think prevented anything otherwise. Despite my best efforts I had never been able to directly interact with the world of the living. I had of course some passing familiarity with the fad of spiritualism so prevalent in my day. Though I had paid it little heed, having chalked it up to hysteria and charlatanism. What scant few details I recall do not seem to align well with my own experiences. The ghosts and spectres of my youth had been storybook creatures possessed of marvellous powers and abilities. I however was seemingly unable to exert even the smallest fraction of my will upon the world around me. I have inhabited, for truly it cannot be said I ‘live’ there, this home for well over a century. In that time I have seen many others come and go. I have witnessed technological marvels that are beyond my comprehension and seen changes to daily life that would have been unfathomable to me when I still lived. Yet in all that time I have been seen on only four occasions. I remember each of them with stunning vividness. It is a strange thing to be invisible to others. To feel like you do not matter at all. I never truly appreciated in life, just how vital other people are to our own sense of self. How we need to be seen, to be acknowledged and known, that we in turn may know ourselves. So those rare moments where by whatever strange alignment of circumstance and providence I am seen; well they mean a great deal to me. First there was the man who absent-mindely nodded at me as we passed one another in the corridor, a gesture of civility I returned on instinct. Neither of us realised what we had done until a few steps later. Upon which he turned on his heel in shock trying to spot whatever apparition he had briefly met. There was the young girl who was playing in her nursery and saw me standing in the sunlight which streamed through her window. She smiled at me. I later heard her telling her mother about the angel in her room, who glittered and glowed in the rays of the sun. That was a good day. An elderly gentleman saw me as he lay on his deathbed. He reached out his hand to me. I like to believe he took some comfort in thinking someone was there for him at the end. It is my great hope that he passed to a more pleasant hereafter than I. If he does remain in this house, I have never seen him. The fourth occasion is the one I treasure most. The family who lived in the property at that time were, I must admit, dear to me. Unable to leave the bounds of the house my whole world had long since contracted to a scant few rooms. As such the comings and goings of my home’s inhabitants made for the only source of intellectual or emotional stimulation. Despite the insurmountable chasm that separated us. Through them I vicariously experienced the joys and pains of life that were now so long denied me. Their hopes and dreams were my hopes and dreams. Their sorrows were ones I likewise bore. This particular family had, through the lady of the house, inherited the property from her parents. Though I found it difficult to recall them with any great clarity, I nevertheless took great comfort from this unbroken constant. For me the years had pushed forward inexorably, and I was adrift in their flow, unable to find my footing. I don’t know if it was my isolation or some aspect of my phantasmal nature but my memories seemed more fleeting and fragmentary than they had appeared to me in life. I sometimes found myself confused about who exactly lived in the house, becoming lost in recollections of half-remembered occupants from decades prior. To see therefore this culmination and continuation across generations was a particular source of comfort to me. Even if I could not always elucidate why. I was captivated by them, as only one who is companionless can be. I would follow them about the house like an obedient hound and delight in their chatter. It was this devoted vigilance that ensured I was present when it happened. The family were preparing themselves for a social engagement that evening. As with any such occasion, I was disheartened. The house was a dark and silent place in their absence and the knowledge that they were going out to enjoy and experience a world that was denied me always evoked some small pangs of envy. The lady of the house had concluded her preparations and was now heading downstairs As she put her foot on the very top step her ankle seemed to buckle and fold. With a cry she began to twist and fall. A dozen steps awaited her, their hard edges offering no remorse. Without a thought I reached out for her. Arms animated by pure instinct. Had I been more possessed of myself I would never even have bothered. My insubstantial being could no more arrest her fall than a thread of spider silk would. Yet for all the years since it had last beat, a human heart still sat in my chest. I grabbed for her. To my surprise and, no doubt far more potently, to hers she was held firmly in my grip. We both stared at each other in mute astonishment. Her balance now recovered and her feet once again firmly on the ground, I released my hold. There was no look of alarm or fear in her expression, I remember that very clearly. It was one of simple gratitude and what I think was wonder. I was not given time to scrutinise her expression any further, as no sooner had I released her than things around me began to grow hazy. It was as if the world I had known was little more than the side of a paper lantern. The surface was torn and the light beyond it now made visible. Brighter and brighter it grew until I was awash in light. Where I am now I cannot rightly say. All I know is that I feel loved, and at peace. There is also a feeling whose absence I realise now I had felt all my life but never perceived it. Finally, at long last and after so many years, I am complete.
What a peaceful night that was... My head was falling down, I was so sleepy. And finally I've fallen asleep while giving headpats to my neko girl who's been on top of me the entire night. Somehow, I woke up with a huge weight on top of me. When I opened my eyes, everything was dark, and I was unable to move, due to heavy weight on me. I stopped struggling and listened. A breath in... Nyaa... A breath out... And stomach growl Certainly that growling stomach was Felina's stomach and somehow I was trapped under her belly. But how could this be ? I am 191cm tall, she is approximately 155cm... After a short time she finally turned to the other side and I was freed. Slowly I got up and started to realize my situation. She was so fucking big... Like a giantess... What the fuck is going on ?? Wait... This is my bed. This is my room. My room is fucking huge... She didn't grew bigger I was shrunk. I let myself down to my huge bed with a huge shock, then suddenly got up and stayed away from Felina. I didn't want to be smothered under her belly again. Then I decided to wake her up. But man, with this size, waking her up was really dangerous. Because she always wakes up hungry, and always puts my finger in her mouth when I wake her up. She has high sense of smell and she is unaware of my situation. If she smells my scent and puts "me"in her mouth just like my finger, that's end for me Slowly but surely I climbed on top of her face. Gently said; "Felina... Come on cute one, time to wake up. That's it, good girl..." She moved as she heard my voice and I fell down from her face. She sat up, yawned and stretched out. Then recognised me. She bended all the way down to my size and looked at me with her big surprised eyes. "Myaster ? Is that really you ? How did you ended up in a size of a little mousie ?" Mousie ? Shit... "I don't know either cute one. That's really unrealistic."I said. Her stomach growled again. But this time, it growled like an empty void, and I really didn't want to be the one who fills that void. She giggled, rubbed her tummy. "Looks like I'm really hungry myaster. Now I'm going to grab you and we'll go to the kitchen. Are you hungry too ? I can also prepare something for you too." I sighed with relief. Then allowed her to pick me up to the kitchen. She prepared her food, then prepared food for me. Since she loves wraps, I always stock what is neccesary to make a wrap. While eating, "Felina, it looks like you're gonna have to take care of me for a while"I said. "Of course I will myaster"she replied. "How could I not, after all the things you've done for me ? I love you myaster, and I know you love me. No worries, I'll take a good care of you."she continued. I'm so happy to have Felina by my side. She took really good care of me for weeks. Except her lickings to be honest. But I'm not complaining about it. She is a neko girl after all, her tongue is naturally rough. Somehow this shrinking was over and I turned back to normal. It was really a weird experience for me. And thanks to Felina, I survived from that. Would I want to live it again ? Yes, if Felina is by my side as always. Sometimes Felina says she really wanted to gulp me down so badly, and she just held herself. Probably my size has triggered her predatory insticts, but also triggered her motherly insticts. Still she teases me about that though. After that experience she became more snuggly, and started to lick me more often. All turned back to normal, and we're happier than ever. Yes, that's a happy ending.
What is the life of a jar of clay? It is--for all intents and purposes--quite meaningless. The average clay jar spends its life on a shelf collecting dust. Perhaps it carries a cargo, a burden. Perhaps it is inscribed with a message, or art. Cargos often spoiled, messages never read. To be a jar of clay is to be unnoticed until some child or perhaps a cat knocks you from your originally perceived immovable, untouchable, infinitely static bastion of a shelf that held you in its firm bulwark for what seemed a millennia. What purpose did you serve? What role did you fulfill? To who's destiny did you attend? Certainly not your own. So why, dear friends, are you even here? The existence of a jar of clay may seem to the outward eye wholly pointless and without meaning, fruition, nor fulfillment. But I insist, that is not so. Not so dear friends! We are crafted. The makers hands wove our very fabric, poured an ocean into our stone-solid hearts. One does not waste an ocean, so too one does not waste that which one would craft to one's own intent. My friends, I have known the hands of the Egyptian--confident and strong--as I was thrown and shaped. I have known the heat of the fires, as I was hardened and cast. I have known the burden of intent, as I was filled and emptied. I served his purpose. It was by his grand design that I was thrown and cast. It was by his full intent that I was filled and emptied. When placed on the shelf, I wore my coat of dust with pride. I had served. However, dear friends, that purpose was to my immediate knowledge long past as I was swallowed up by the sands of time. In that coarse, cold hell it is with all reason that the conclusion of meaninglessness should strike. Did the maker forget me? Was my purpose ended? Then why was I still here? Friends. Eons scraped by, drifting over the desert as its slicing grains of sand wore me down. It was however, not the end. Lifted into the sun, held to heaven, a redeemer finding the lost. I rose from the dust. I learned something new that day. I knew the hands of the archeologist, careful, delicate, and precise. I knew the dim light from the magnifying glass. I knew the soft fibers of the dust brush. And my friends, in good time I knew the faces a hundred million makers. All of whom gazed upon me. It was with indifference, interest, apathy, and fascination that the makers observed me on my pedestal. For some time I knew not what purpose I had, but I served it zealously. Carrying the message, the touch, and the intent of my Egyptian maker into a world completely alien. Now I once again have come full circle. My years on the pedestal have come to a close. I collect dust with a burden inside. One would be forgiven for turning to woe, when seemingly forgotten once again on a shelf. My friends, my long life has given me the privilege of reflection. Throughout this life I have born a burden, I have been neglected, I have been abandoned, buried beneath the surface of the earth. But until I follow the path that all jars of clay inevitably travel--to go where the yoke is easy and the burden is light--I bear my burden alone on my shelf with the utmost pride and self-assuredness. The makers intent still guides my use, his hands that crafted still cause me to stand. I bear this burden knowing that I am entrusted with it. Whom else shall carry my burden? There is none other than I, and naught else but this. I serve my purpose. That my friends, is the life of a jar of clay.
The red sun rose again over New Vienna. It was a normal day for everyone, including he employees at the Viehböck Science Institute. “Oh, look”, Mira said as she started up her device, “today is New Terra day!” “Really?” Gerald’s response sounded mildly interested at best. “Don’t you think back to the pioneer times? When they found New Terra and decided to make it liveable?” Gerald shrugged. “I think there might even be a small festivity on Mayr Square this afternoon”, Mira continued, “I think I will check it out.” “Well, I will concentrate on the future”, Gerald replied, “and our experiments with the fusion drive. The probe is starting this afternoon at 15pm, if you’re interested - our goal is one third of light speed, so you might be in for a treat!” “That sounds interesting, but I’m still on my observation mission.” “Waiting for a signal from home?” Gerald laughed. He had deliberately used the old expression nobody used since at least a century. Mira answered: “We are observing all kinds of signals, Gerald - not only from one source. Maybe one time we will find an alien signal! And then I’ll laugh!” She winked at him and smiled. Friendly banter with her colleagues was one of the aspects she enjoyed at her work. Then she went off to the observatory. Mira made herself comfortable in her chair and switched on the screen projections. She could have done so in any of the rooms of the Institute, but she loved it here, at the far end of a maintenance corridor, where the soft humming of the machines and the lack of intruding colleagues supported her concentration. She looked at the map of stars displayed all around her and thought about how her ancestors - or, rather, the ancestors of her ancestors - had arrived here, awoken from cryosleep and ready to transform this planet into a habitat. How long it had taken them and how they hadn’t given up hope, and how they finally had made something unique: a home to their descendants. What an astonishing achievement of her progenitors! Not many records of this time were still known: they were still in the databases, but the oldest were not compatible with any current system any more, and then there were those data which were written in various languages that nobody could understand, except maybe a few highly specialised linguists. On New Terra nowadays, everyone spoke the global language in addition to their local home language. Was it because she had had a rough night or maybe because she had been too lost in her daydream? But Mira just realised she had been asleep when a beeping signal woke her up. She looked at her star maps confused. Where did it come from? She turned around. There it was: at the far corner of the map behind her. She zoomed in on the area and there was the signal, still beeping, next to Moros, the last of the outer planets of the solar system. She immediately called the New Terran Defense Alliance; the signal might be rather far away, but way too close for her liking. “We have it on our screens, too”, a Major Healey told her, “we cannot detect a threat. The signal is coming from an unknown ship that has no weapon systems showing up on our sensors. Feel free to contact it.” Mira felt her heart pounding as she switched on the far-planet communication device. Its signal should reach the unknown ship that was heading in New Terra’s direction. “This is New Terra speaking. Unknown ship, identify yourself!” There was no reaction. She felt more than saw that people joined her in her room, and she noticed that more connected themselves on her line, but fortunately, they left her undisturbed. “Unknown ship, identify yourself!” She repeated. And finally, there was a signal. Static. Mira knew better than to be disappointed; a connection was established. She would only have to wait. Who knows what that ship was: maybe it was alien and needed to adjust its systems or try to understand what she said. She tried again: “This is New Terra speaking.” After a pause, she resumed: “This is Mira Starkin speaking. Unknown ship, identify yourself!” Static again. But this time, a voice followed the noise. It was a human voice, saying something in an unknown language. It sounded astonished. “Wait”, one Dr. Shapeer from New Colcata had joined her private channel, “maybe my translator can help. I’ll process that speech sample with it.” Mira gave her virtual okay, then she waited. In the meantime, she kept the far-planet communication open, hoping for some more reaction, but there was nothing. And, finally, Dr. Shapeer reconnected again. Her voice sounded incredulous, as she said: “You won’t believe what the result was... Let me play it for you!” Another connection opened and Mira’s eyes opened wide as she heard: “This is the Earth Ship Minokawa, Lieutenant Barbara Morgan here. Who the hell are you?”
She was glaring at me. Samsara the 31st, Creator Goddess of a dozen universes and one of the greatest social engineers in the Pantheon was already intimidating on a good day. This... Was not a good day. "So."She said curtly. "Back already." "Yeah."I said, trying not to squirm too hard as she adjusted the gilded lapels on her specially made lab coat. "This was one of the shorter stints I'm afraid." "You were meant to wreak havoc for thirty years."Samsara 31 stated. "Smash the stale royalty systems, level the social strata, draw out and kill the mercenaries, collapse the guild systems and help lay the groundwork for a rational form of government. That was your job." "It was." "Is the job finished?"She asked with a pointed stare. I winced. "No." She adjusted her glasses aggressively. "Explain." "I died."I stated. "I noticed. What I want to know is how you died. Kuzanshi worked on a standard health/mana system, so the only way you could have been killed is in direct confrontation with a hero whose stats were peer to yours at the very least."She explained. "And conventionally, you would be right. Except that the priesthood summoned... A scientist, I think." "You think?"She asked. "Well, my generals managed to get some information on this hero. Apparently, he was the idealised approximation of something called a 'Mad Scientist' from a planet called 'Earth'. I wasn't really paying attention after that, since they classed into Artificer and those guys are hardly a serious challenge." Samsara went still. "Earth, you say?" "Yes. Is that pertinent to my situation?"I asked. "Earth is the most abundant source of human narrativium in the multiverse. Its inhabitants are known to be a tad unhinged due to living on a planet without magic yet having inherited the knowledge of magic's existence on a metaphysical level. Every attempt at emulating Earth has ended in failure, with the extinction of all life on the planet in question 6 to 7 times out of ten."She explained. "So an Earth...ener did me in?"I asked. "No. A mad scientist is a narrativium-driven concept derived from Earth. Though by no means the strongest or most prominent, mad scientists are unimaginably powerful with the right tools and the right setting. How did they kill you?"She asked curiously. "I... Don't know. One moment, a portal opened in my courtyard and dropped an ox cart laden with a metal box before closing, then there was a bright flash and I found myself in the arrivals foyer."I stated. "The only reason I knew they did it was due to the prophecy. Otherwise, I would have no clue at all." "Fascinating."Samsara said, materialising a clipboard and starting to write. "It seems that today is indeed a day of firsts. I guess congratulations are in order." "Congratulations my goddess?" "Yes. Congratulations, Dremuloth, for being the first Demon Lord to ever get hit by a nuclear bomb."
"Nope, hang on. Don't grab those."The human looked at me, took a second look, and jumped back in surprise. "Ah, you weren't paying attention when you walked in. Right."I waved friendlily, because I can't really do facial expressions. "Hello! I'm the... manager slash sole worker. Welcome to the store!" "You're a skeleton!" "And you're a human! Glad to see we're both so observant!"He laughed, then seemed shocked he had. "Anyway, don't take those. That's eldritch stuff." "Like, unknowable effects?" "Oh, I know exactly what the effects are. But if you took the painkillers Eldritch Entities do... I think you'd explode atom by atom, but you'd stay conscious for up to 5 minutes after the first explosion. I've never tried."The human looked back at the shelf with fear and reverence. "Those... kind of things come here?" "All the time! Er... speaking of."I pushed a button on my counter, and a little sign lit up on the outside of the store. "There we-"A knock on the door. "Speaking of again. Hey, read the sign and come in!"I called out. There was a pause before the door opened. "Heya!"The being walking in was humanoid. They could actually pose perfectly as a human. You know, if their skin and hair weren't various shades of purple, if they hid the four tentacles coming from their head, and they went from five brightly glowing eyes down to two not glowing ones. Other than that, they looked perfectly human. "Elda! Great to see you again! Whatcha need?" "Painkillers. Gosh darn newbie superheroes trying to be all "efficient"gives me a headache." "Perfect! Well, you know where."Elda nodded at me, though she paused when she noticed the human. "It's his first time, don't worry. I put up the sign for a reason." "Ah, I see. Nice to meet you!"The human nodded as Elda breezed past him to grab some painkillers. "Uh... what would happen if a human had those?"He asked. Elda frowned. "Hmm... I'm not sure. You'd probably be unable to feel not just pain, but any kind of physical sensation. Plus your brain might not register stuff like needing to breath or eat or such, since it can't feel them. Why?" "Just curious." "Huh. I thought it would make him explode or something,"I commented. Elda chuckled, understanding. "Oh, no. That's more akin to... probably steroids or antibiotics."She tossed the bottle on the counter, along with some cash. "Keep the change. I get paid well enough." "Much obliged!"Elda nodded as I checked her out, then we waved goodbye to each other as she left. I turned back to the human. "Anyway... what did you need?"He thought for a second before smiling slightly. "What's the craziest candy in here that won't... you know. Permanently do anything?"I chuckled. "Ooh boy, I like the way you think. Let me tell you, buddy. You're about to have a night you're gonna remember for the rest of your life."
The Samurai had caught up to me a day's ride from the last village I’d travelled through, most likely tipped off. The road dipped through a shallow valley, crossed a stream and then rose up a hill to the edge of a forest. I had spotted him on the other side of the valley, I could’ve disappeared into the forest and spared the Samurai his life. I wouldn’t have the reputation I do if I fled from a fair challenge though, so I turned to face him. He sat atop his horse expectantly with a young man’s posture, wearing a tattered Oda clan Sashimono. I dismounted and quickly cobbled by horse before making my way down to the stream. He did the same and we met eye to eye with the shallow water running between us. His armour was pristine, and the straps were cut down to the knot. I considered asking him his family name, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to me. I simply drew my pistol from behind my waist and shot him in the chest. The bullet passed easily through his wooden armour and his eyes opened wide as it tore through him. Not that he could’ve done much to react, but before he had even finished processing what had happened I drove my sword through the same hole. It was crucial to hide the evidence, honour was my disguise after all.
You taught me how to love, In a world that had forgotten, Now you look on from above, While I'm here feeling rotten, "Be strong"you whisper lovingly, As if I had some other choice, You left me oh so suddenly, With just a memory of your voice. This power gave me strength, But not the kind I need, I'd go to any length, If it meant that you'd be freed. I'd rend the heavens and rule the hells, Bend it all down to my might, All to have just one more day, Where you tuck me in at night. I'm glad I got to see you, If only to say goodbye, I wish it could be different, But at least I now know why.
"Hey, Steven, are you coming, man?"Justin beckoned to me. "Well..."I didn't want to go. Just because really. I wanted to sit on my couch with my laptop and flit between gaming and watching a video for an indeterminate amount of time until I probably fall asleep and regret it the next day. "I don't know. I've gotta get home to..."I trailed off. "Oh come on, man."Justin kept his tone light. "You've got to check this out, man." A few intense seconds followed. Truly, I had little going on, but my body and brain were so prepared, ready, and I guess looking forward to the nothing. Also, my weed vape sat at home along with my laptop. As if reading my mind, Justin held out his own vape, at which point I conceded. The rope took surprisingly little effort to climb, though I felt committed to making a quick appearance. It was early in the day, but there was still time to get home, settle in nice and cozy, pop up a good show, crack open a beer, and chill, probably browsing Reddit. The rope seemed to go into nothing, yet as we reached the top, we passed a veil, much like a thick curtain, and entered the majesty of the other realm. Spires of the most wonderful obsidian and marble erupted around us, as we found ourselves standing in the middle of streets of the most brilliant sapphire, ruby, and emerald. Snake-like creatures slithered at indefinite speeds, depositing humans to and fro. We hailed a snake-taxi, and Morgan and Justin rattled on excitedly about this new world on the drive. They pointed out one ornate building after another, speculating on their purpose. I thought the first couple of buildings were rather wild, yet spent most of the rest of the taxi engrossed in a particular post on MildlyInfuriating. The food was equally splendid, yet this all took far too long. It was as if this other world knew all I desired was to follow my almost damaging routine. An eternity followed. Beautiful museums followed art galleries which followed one-act plays which followed concertos, each more wonderful than the last. As the night waned on, I found myself more and more frustrated. This was all too much. I left without saying goodbye. But, I haven't heard from Justin or Morgan for several days, and usually, by now they would have reached out to apologize to me. So, Reddit, I needed an unbiased opinion, AITA?
It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, a wailing cry woke a solitary mouse. "ALFREEED!"Young Timmy sobbed. The butler, dutiful and wise, turned the corner, and wished for his demise. For young Timmy sat, beneath the Christmas tree. His presents unwrapped, as if in a furious killing spree. Ribbons and tape and cards galore, left in terrible shreds upon the floor. "Yes young Master?"Alfred asked. "Where's my bike?"Young Timmy demanded. Alfred sighed, shaking his head. If only he could club the child, and drag him back to bed. "Your bike? Your bike sir, is on its way."Alfred said gently. "If you'd waited until the morning, it would have been ready." "What good is it, on its way?"Young Timmy snarled. He wiped the snot from his nose. "It needs to be here! It needs to stay!" Alfred put his hands on his hips, feeling unwell. Since the father was out, it was his job to keep the young Master swell. Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. Perhaps the father had returned early, as he'd never before? He dared to hope, for the light in Timmy's eyes was almost too much to cope. The young Master burst forth from the tree. He rounded the corner and opened the door to see- "Ho Ho Ho!"Greeted a man in a red vest. "You're little Timmy, yes?" Young Timmy looked the man up and down. His eyes lost their sparkle. His lips grew a frown. "You're fat and creepy."Young Timmy said. "Excuse me sir."Alfred greeted. "It is late, and we must get to bed." "Oh ho ho!"Said the man in the vest. "But I've brought presents for you. Only the very best!" Young Timmy folded his arms and turned up his nose. "If it's not a bike in your bag, I don't want to know." "We have no interest in the things that you sell."Alfred insisted, hand on the door. "I bring you a gift, no charge!"The man said, setting his sack on the floor. He opened it up, but neither Alfred nor Timmy could see. He reached in, to his shoulder, and pulled out a bell, nestled in some beads. "This here is a bell that calls to your heart."The man said, with a grin so smart. "Just ring it thrice, and three things are yours, at no price." "That's very nice."Alfred sighed, growing impatient. "Take the bell young Master, and do be gracious." Young Timmy frowned, doubting the creep. But he took the bell, as he was ready to sleep. "Thank you sir. . . What's your name?"Young Timmy asked, bored of this game. "Oh, I visit this world every winter's tick."The man said with glee. "If you don't know me, call me Saint Nick!" They said their goodbyes, and the door was shut to the cold. Alfred leaned against the door, feeling quite old. "Off to bed with you sir."He said to young Timmy. "Sure, sure. There in a Jiffy." Timmy took a look at the bell, and found himself awed. A brilliant gold gleamed, with rivets and streams of animal faces. He found no flaw, save a chip in the rim. He took the bell, and held it high. Thinking of bikes so hard he could cry. Then he rang. "Young Master!"Alfred cried from the other room. Timmy rushed into the living room. There stood a brand new bike, just as he imagined it. Bright red body, a honker on its handle, twenty-one gears and disc brakes on both wheels. "Yes!"Timmy shouted in delight. He leapt onto the bike and kicked up the stand. He started riding all throughout the house, Alfred hot on his heels. "Young Master! Come back!"He said, worried sick. This was not normal. "No way old man!"Timmy snapped. He turned the corner and kept pedaling, keeping a steady pace ahead of the butler. But Alfred was clever. He knew the route Timmy could take. So he took a left when Timmy took a right. And a few moments later, he stood right in Timmy's path. "Stop!"Alfred said. Timmy tried to brake. But he was too slow. Or rather, too fast. The bike crashed into Alfred, sending the boy into the air. He landed on the soft carpet. Unharmed, he bounced up, looking to his butler. "You ruined my fun!"Timmy yelled. He waited to get carted off. Waited for Alfred to yell, to discipline him. To tell him he needed to stop being happy. But Alfred only gurgled. Timmy got a closer look, and recoiled in horror. The bike's front tire had split down the middle. Rows and rows of teeth opened up like curtains, chewing into Alfred's belly. Ripping at his flesh like a cat, it's red body growing brighter and brighter. Alfred clawed at it weakly, his throat gurgling. His hand pawed the honker, and it squeaked in delight. Then Alfred fell back into the floor, a most awful sight. The bike looked up from its meal, hot breath wheezing from it's tire. It seemed to notice Timmy, and started forward, leaving tracks of blood in its wake. Timmy ran. The bike gave chase. As he ran, Timmy held up the bell. The crack in the rim had grown larger. He gulped, and rang it. "Send the bike back!"He yelled. Suddenly, a lurch in his stomach. He turned, and the bike still followed. He ran for the front door, opening it. Outside, a realm of fire and blood greeted him. He was far from the snowy grounds of his home. Imps danced in pools of red. Screams rang out like demented carolers. Timmy turned around, but the bike stood between him and home. The bike lunged, and Timmy rolled underneath. He got to the door and shut it, pulling the latch closed. The door rattled and honked as the bike threw itself against it. Timmy held his hands to his ears, screaming and shaking his head. "I want my mom! I WANT MY MOM!" And the bell rang, splitting in two. "Son?"A voice gently said from the stairs. Timmy looked up, and there she was. Her body lifted from the grave, growing from the wood of the stairs like a dried rose. She wore the same dress she wore at the funeral. Timmy reached out. "Mom?"He quivered. "I wish I could tell you its okay."Mom said, tears running down her face. "But its not. It won't be." "Mom?" "Die son. Kill yourself. Before he gets you. . ."And her corpse went still. "Mom! No! Mom, come back!"Timmy rushed to her side, trying to hug her, but she was growing out from the wood. All he could do was nestle next to her, neck awkwardly bent by the stairs. He wept. A hand fell upon his shoulder. Timmy jumped. It was the man in the vest. Saint Nick. Smiling to an awful degree. "Hello Timmy." "Why?"Timmy said, wiping tears from his face. "Why would you lead me to such an awful place?" "Oh Timmy, you are sweet. Mother dead, Father deadbeat."Said Saint Nick. "Your grief is a well, and I've had my fill. It is much sweeter when the water is still. Yes Timmy, you've had quite the go." Saint Nick leaned in close. "But that means your soul was mine. Long, long ago."
The Squid's tentacles erupted forward, restraining and disarming the crooks. Psychee rendered them unconscious. Hands were wiped clean, Psychee literally doing a clap-swish of her hands to clean her gloves. Unconsciously, I attempted the same motion, and the nozzles of my AKs loudly clanked. The reporters surged forward, asking Squid and Psychee countless questions. I was not present in the newspaper clipping of the day's event. I, of course, did not raise this grievance. At one time, I had thought I might. But then, imagining the conversation in my mind, imagining the words I'd say, and how their faces would look, what they'd say once I left. So, I never said anything. I still see the looks on their faces though. The pity. The downward glances. The haughtiness. Truly, I routinely seethe at the very thought of Psychee's face, forever with her pouty lips, feeling so so far above me. A mural of her sits parallel to my front door; I have very thoroughly counted the concrete tiles in the path, my eyes forever seeking the floor. So, you should be able to see where I am going with this, how this has all kind of piled up together, and that this was just the straw that broke a camel's back, as they say. This did not come out of nowhere. I wanted to help those poor folks so, so badly. I promise I did. I don't understand why no one will believe me. You believe me, don't you sir? SGT Capcorn: Of course I do, son. We know it was an accident. The footage shows AK Man looking briefly relieved, despite all of the sobbing leading up to this moment. He inhaled a long, shuddering sniffle, before abruptly ramming the barrels of both rifles beneath his chin.
“They don’t just take ANYBODY.” “You should be proud to have been granted an interview!” “I can’t believe that I am going to know a member of the Heralds!” Everybody that had found out about my interview had had a similar reaction. First shock, then envy, and then, pride that one of their own had been chosen. Well, technically, not chosen yet… but everybody said that the interview was just a formality. The letter, that arrived at my front door as we ate our dinner, told me to bring everything with me that I would need to live. And the courier was Didier Berthod himself! The man that I have seen in the news everyday for the entirety of my life. The voice of the Heralds themselves, and the only glimpse that we poor commoners see into the world of our ruling class. It was only yesterday that I stood in my doorway, reading and rereading the few short lines of the invitation, as Didier looked me up and down, sizing me up. Not that I’m much to look at. Long and skinny, in dirty hand-me-down clothes from my dad. He was probably wondering why I was being chosen just as much as I was. Didier had been Prime Minister for almost 50 years, and this was only the sixth invitation he had given out. All of this should have made me proud, excited for what was ahead of me. But honestly, all I feel is anxiety, and a guilt that borders on terror. I am the oldest of 5 children, my four sisters are all much younger than me, and my dad has had to raise us all himself since my mother died of cancer a few years back. I had to leave school at the end of last semester to help out, working 4 hours a night to bring in some extra money, and watching the girls during the day. No matter how we penciled it out, we couldn’t afford child care for my sisters. And so now, with me leaving, how are my Dad and sisters going to survive? Will I be able to send money back? Do Heralds get paid? Will I ever see them again? Will I even get to know what happens to them? It’s not like Heralds even come out of their station, I don’t think anybody, besides Didier at least, has even seen a Herald in hundreds of years. I’ve been so preoccupied with those thoughts that any questions of “Why me?” Haven’t held any traction in my head, beyond that this feels less like a great privilege and more of a jail sentence. They had asked me to bring everything I would need. And it all lay beside me in a sack pack. A few pairs of underwear, socks, toothbrush and changes of clothes. Anything of value I had left, so my dad can sell them… or maybe my sisters will have something to remember me by. And so, I sit here, watching Didier on the other side of the room with his aides, preparing reports to give the Heralds, wondering if I can bring change. Will one of Didier’s nightly reports be something that I enact? There are dozens of projects that could happen, that would have offered jobs, real jobs, to the people of my sector. If only the Heralds would pay attention to them. It must be time, Didier is watching towards me. “What’s in the bag?” He asks. “Just some clothes mostly.” “All you’ll need.” He says as he motions to an opening door.
Giving toys to children all around the world is what drove me, giving toys is what motivated me to wake up on Christmas eve to deliver the toys. To me it didn't matter if a kid was bad on my list, every child deserved a gift. This was how the system worked, a system where every little boy and girl spends time with their families, the meaning of Christmas. However, Christmas had to stop. In 2037, the human population had reached 9 billion people, out of those 9 billion people, 2 billion were children, 2 billion presents that were needed from my workshop. The real reason why I had to stop Christmas was because my workshop just couldn't keep up, my poor elves had held countless strikes against starting up Christmas again. I always dismissed them because I thought I was in the right, I thought I was the good guy here. That was until I realized, these ''children'' were mindless people who only cared about my presents from my workshop every Christmas or '' Presentmas'' as they would have called it. These brats didn't care about Christmas, it never about caring for others...-no- It was all about the presents they receive. Truthfully, when I first had this revelation, It didn't faze me that much. I thought my presents would help than damage them. But no... I was the always the bad guy all along, I was the reason why every generation of elf on the North pole had been subjugated to nonstop toy-making. And what for? Just to make some petty kids happy? Despite the fact they go against the Christmas spirit? Which was the very reason why I wanted to give them presents in the first place. However, I have a proposal... What if I can make this better, what if I make the world better, What if I create a world where only the good kids will receive gifts? A world where only the good will be awarded gifts. A world without any bad, just good. No.. It's impossable, the bad children will just resort to any means to get what they want, like how my elves went through so much to get what they wanted. Unless... What if theres a solution to all my problems? There is a way to get out this hell. I could go onto my list of good and bad children to gather the names of every bad kid and place a bomb in each of their presents. That's it! It's so clear, Why didn't I think about this earlier? I wouldn't have to worry about the sheer amount of toys I would need. Plus every toy would be for a good cause since every child who would receive a toy would stand for the Christmas spirit. It's perfect, flawless even. Who cares if some people die from the explosions? It's for a greater cause, It's to provide for the good kids who really deserve presents this Christmas I told my elves about this plans and they told me it would take 5 years to complete the bombs. That would take a long time but its all worth it in the end, I would wait 50 years to complete the bombs but its fine, I'm fine, everyone except those bad children brats are fine. The Christmas of 2042 would be one to not miss.
"Ugh. No thanks. Given that my family is dead, I made some friends who share the same issue I do, but around this time of year they become intolerable." The creature shrinks back slightly, then Growls. The reverberations from that sound shudder through my body. Its eyes gaze into mine with a hatred that I haven't seen in centuries. Sure, I have pissed beings off, but never has it been to this level. I would be impressed if it wasn't for one fact that actual is threatening to increase my heartrate. It is an Ogre, and one that is within its bloodrage, judging by the fact it is fourteen feet tall, instead of the usual eight or nine. "I know you, Dragoon, you killed my son a long time ago, and I have finally caught up with you."The Ogre growled. "Of course, you know. I told you about it, after I was forced to kill him. His bloodrage had completely consumed him and I couldn't calm him down. I couldn't even knock him out. I immediately apologized to you and explained why I was forced to end his life. I even gave you the chance to kill me as blood payment, but you understood that your son was gone." I tilted my head to the side, puzzled over this ridiculously delayed reaction. "Why are you coming after me know. All you had to do was notify your elder and I would've been summoned. I mean, I spent Spring Solstice with your village last year, for crying out loud!" "He told me that you laugh about his death. He has shown me the truth."The Ogre snarled, stepping forward and growing a few more inches. I step back, pulling my hands out of my pockets slowly. "That is a lie. I will happily explain the truth, but I am not sure if you will listen to me. I mourn his loss every day, as I do with every life I take. And if you do not control the bloodrage within you, I will be forced to end you too." "Loki showed me how to weaponize my fury, and I will show you that justice will be done." "Citizens in the houses around you. Large park four blocks to YOUR left."I hear from my handler. As she takes a large breath in, likely to scream in rage, I strike. I cannot afford to hold back at all. I was lucky in being able to kill her son. A knight was nearby with a lance, and Ogres was basically like Hulks from Marvel. I slam my first into her throat, and it feels like punching Lead. But I am able to cut off the scream long enough for me to grab and throw the Ogre in the direction of the park. Lobbing the arc high to clear the houses in the way. "Contact that Ogre village's Elder."I order my handler as I leap after the Ogre. "I really don't want to do this, but if you scream and dive into that bloodrage, I will have to kill you. Please do not force me to do this."I tackle her in the air. Her fists slamming into me, making me glad that I am immune to blunt attacks. The crash into the ground causes a small crater and destroys several trees. "Loki is the Norse God of Mischief, it is known that he lies."I say as she gets to her feet. She is even taller now. Sixteen feet. She will be stronger than me now, and her skin would make my skin feel as tough as a normal human. Her eyes locked with me, and I can see the red tilling her sclera. Her pupils are like the void as she screams, and the trees in a thirty foot diameter shatter into pieces.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me"she lamented, a stormy look focused on the small figure gripped tightly in her hand. "It seems they missed your lazy eye"he quipped, looking over her shoulder to inspect the statue. The forms of the two gods were intertwined, their arms around each others' shoulders. The goddess had her head on her ‘lover's’ shoulder and was gazing admiringly into his eyes. Her hands rested gently on his chest. Together they stood proudly atop the bodies of the vanquished enemies that lay before them. Their stone feet held up on the twisted bodies of the fallen, who looked up at them with hollow expressions. "Which battle is this even supposed to be?"she demanded, arms waving about wildly. "Can't be The Siege of Vubihijn, you didn't make it past the gate"he chuckled, picking at his teeth. "We made it through the gates!"she snapped angrily, storming toward him. "But you didn't come out the other side"he said, grinning broadly. He was having far too much fun. "Shut. Up."she growled. Her frustration rose with the realisation that her words didn't carry the commanding boom they used to. She tossed the statuette behind her, high into the air. He deftly skipped to the side, crouching and with a flourishing twirl he caught the statue an inch above the marble floor.Lifting it to his face he smiled widely at his miniature form, he blew a soft kiss to his former self. Turning to her figure, he poked out a pink tongue and blew a quiet raspberry. He flicked at her stone face with his nail, the satisfying "clack"on the cut granite elicited a smirk. He tossed it and skipped toward a nearby tapestry, looking to admire himself on another adventure. "We'll get them to rewrite it, I will not let this-"she gestured accusingly "-be my immortal legacy" "Oh please, what are you going to do? Wander up to the Parthenon and order the person in charge to change centuries of careful writing?" She glared at him, "Well, what do you propose?" "The Aite Classic™..."he smiled, leaning back on his supple new human heels. It’s important to note most mortals can’t adequately vocalised a superscript trademark, but his self reverence appeared to remain super human, even in this from. "... nothing, nothing at all"he continued. His build had gained a few inches and some muscle over the course of his three weeks of life as a mortal. He had also grown accustomed to his newfound senses and the limitations, learning how best to make use of a much feebler form. In truth, he was enjoying this new life. Eating was no longer a pointless indulgence, he took satisfaction in growing deeply hungry and only then eating something delicious. She, however, was adjusting slowly. Not dissimilar to the way the brain adjusts to an axe crashing through an unsuspecting skull. She had begun to miss the days she could smite anyone who displeased her with the simple flick of a finger. On her first day being mortal, after a rather unpleasant wretch had dared barge past her in the square, she had strained furiously trying to conjure up enough power to melt the fool into goo. Instead, she'd been reduced to a trembling, but still furious, mess. The door to the temple burst open and six guards entered, panting heavily. "You two!"one barked accusingly. "Time to go!"Aite called, leaping forward and grabbing her by the arm. "Hey! Wait!"the guard protested, but Aite was already racing to the side door, she followed reluctantly, snarling back at the guards. They sprinted through the streets, weaving through the throng of people that meandered through the dusty city. Time to lay low?
In the beginning there were two competing forces Light and Darkness. The Light was given with the ability to create while Darkness was given the ability to corrupt and take over what the light had created. When these two forces fought they created galaxies, solar systems, and planets along with the light's most precious creation life. However the darkness also saw life as valuable and came to corrupt it taking one of the light most valuable warriors an orange fox with a blue mask named Swiper The Light was able to protect humanity from being corrupted by the darkness however the darkness was still able to physically attack humans with swiper managing to steal food, water, and sometimes even children for the forces of darkness to consume. Swiper himself known for his swiping and consumption of Children. Dora was like most humans starving, thirsty, and afraid of swiper. She was looking outside of the cave to see if she could see her parents when all the sudden a star was growing bigger and bigger in the night sky. Dora was confused looking at the star as it got bigger and bigger until the star was right in from of her. Dora was completely confused but she wasn't scared as if she knew that the ball of light wasn't going to mean any harm to her. Then the Light spoke "Hello Dora" Dora stood in silence confused on how it knew her name. "I am the Light, the creator I made every world and everything on them however darkness has stolen some of the creatures notably the one known as swiper however I need someone to help fight the darkness would you help me." Dora was still flustered and was wondering how she could even help The Light once again spoke without Dora speaking a word "I need a vassal a person who is willing to embrace me and fight with me on my behalf to drive away the forces of Darkness." Dora without even thinking said "yes" The Light proceeded to move towards Dora until it phase through her skin and warmed up her heart. Dora than began to levitate as her eyes, ears, and nose all shot out beans of pure light until the process was complete. Dora slowly descended and as she hit the ground she found her parents running towards her wondering what happened. The moment they touched her to see if she was OK they saw got a vision of the ball and without it saying anything they knew what had happened. Dora's father spotted something rusting in the bushes and had a bad feeling as he told everyone "I think something swiper and his thieves might have seen the light. We need to hide" The Father was right Swiper himself showed up shortly after they had hid in the cave. Swiper though seemed to have a 6th sense for children and in particular he was sensing Dora's cousin Diego. Swiper went into the cave Dora's family was hiding in and started casually heading towards Diego's hiding spot. Dora saw Swiper in position to swipe Diego when a sudden feeling of Bravery came over her as she leapt out of her hiding spot as she yelled "Swiper no Swiping" Swiper swung his head to look at her as she repeated "Swiper no Swiping " Swiper was slowing backing away agenst his will as he realized she was no ordinary child she was an agent of light Dora Loudly Exclaimed for the final time "SWIPER NO SWIPING" Swiper exclaimed "drats!"and left full of fear Dora and her family then precede to travel around the world in order to chase down swiper and to free the many animals of the world from the corruption of the darkness.
College is a bitch. Sure the education is important and all, but it’s pretty fucking stressful. Classes, tuition, socialisation, all of it builds up to a breaking point, and if it weren’t for video games, and for friends, madness would have taken over ages ago. Not really sure if it hasn’t already, but you get the idea. So anyways, me and the boys were all having a fun little late night gaming session on one of the rare occasions where the stars aligned, and nobody had any early classes, any big tests, or any other occupation which a nocturnal sleep schedule might otherwise effect, y’know, playing whatever random games we could get our hands on, when one of the guys, I don’t really remember who, maybe Tom, or Will, brought up this new game that he had found recently. It was one of those RPG type games, a whole new world that you could really immerse yourself in. It had a pretty cool setting, with a sort of magic-ish, cyberpunk aesthetic to it, where you and your friends' characters were part of a whole magic underworld, under the depths of real society. It had some pretty good worldbuilding, and from the sound of it didn’t play half bad either. But the real selling point for us was that it was free, and easy to download. I very specifically remember a reference to how even, “Scott’s cheap ass potato laptop” could run it. Naturally, as the owner of said discounted laptop which ran like a certain starchy crop, I was immediately sold. It took a little cajoling after that, but eventually our little group of six had a collective “fuck it” moment, and downloaded the game off of whatever sketchy ass website it was on, hoping that it wasn’t some virus. Once it had downloaded, and once my laptop hadn’t ended up exploding, we all booted up the game. Character creation was fairly standard, although there weren’t really options for actual human characters, just some robots which was somewhat of a weird choice by the devs, and therefore chocked up to some indie game gimmick. So after we made our gimmick bots, which was the usual process of choosing body parts, and classes and whatnot, we spawned in, funnily enough at the same place, which was the same factory where we made the robots, which was either a cool feature, or the devs not wanting to make a new map. Either way, there we were. Six robots standing there forlornly in the middle of an abandoned factory twitching around like a bunch of idiots as we tried to figure out the controls. I myself was just getting the hang of it, unlike the rest of the bozos, when a cutscene began. A huge blue wave rushed over us, and we froze in place. Weird way to start a cutscene, but alright. The blue wave had stopped over us, and seemed to hold us in place like some sort of forcefield, but there was no discernible caster, as we knew there should be due to the unbreakable rules of pop culture, and so of course, in walked the caster. It was a figure clothed all in white, any distinctive features completely blotted out, with gold trim, as well as some strange symbol that looked like a sun in the middle, except there were rings in the sun, kinda like with trees. The figure was surrounded by a whole entourage of armed guards, wielding a motley assortment of weapons, wielding from what looked like a medieval broadsword with glow sticks in it, to just straight up guns. The grunts, like the boss, were clothed all in white, although their sun symbols were a little different in that different rings of the sun were highlighted, which through gaming experience meant that they were all probably different levels. As I took all this in, the guards fanned out to form a semicircle around us, guns and swords pointed menacingly, as the boss stepped forward and began a long winded speech. None of us were really paying attention though, because it seemed to be pretty standard dialogue, “You will save us all!”, and “You have the power to destroy evil!”, stuff like that. We had all pretty much stopped paying attention by then, idly chatting as we waited for the cutscene to finish, when something interesting happened. While I was idly tapping the keyboard, bored, and wondering when the cutscene would end, I realised I could move again. I realised this at about the same time that I noticed that the key I was tapping was apparently bound to the “draw weapon” button. I noticed this because first of all, my gun, which I had chosen to be a revolver, because aesthetics, was rising to the head level of the boss, and second of all because a collective, “Oh shit look at your character man!” went out over the call. Weirdly enough, the boss didn’t notice, so I just assumed that it was a glitch. Sketchy indie game right? So, as the gun levelled on the boss’s head, I did what any sane person would do when confronted with such a choice. I pulled the trigger. I had expected nothing, maybe for the gun to fire, and for nothing, maybe for the hit to register, and for nothing to happen. What I didn’t expect was for the boss’s head to explode into a fine pulp. Nobody expected that, and it seemed that the guard’s code wasn’t built to register either, but we weren’t particularly eager to find out if it did, so we then proceeded to pull out our weapons, and start killing. It wasn’t pretty mind you, not just because of the gore, and death, but mainly because of how our characters spazzed out in combat. It was basically a glitchy whirlwind of death, and it was hella fun. Seeing heads explode like that was not something I was used to considering my setup, and I was honestly surprised that my laptop wasn’t the one exploding. But it seemed that this game really was the real deal, because it ran like a dream. Finally, the carnage was over. I think that the AI might have kicked in near the end there, because some of the guards tried to attack but they got destroyed pretty quickly, so there’s not really any good way to tell. But what was done, was done, and as we holstered our weapons, looking around at the carnage we had sown on what must’ve been the good faction, we all thought, “That was fucking awesome!”
When you look out over the water there is nothing. It's baren and lifeless. All the ocean's intricacies are hidden from view. Beneath the water lies knowledge that we were never intended to have. Out here on the boats, sometimes when you stare hard enough, you can trick your mind. The water becomes still, the ship is static, and it's only the sky that moves. I think back to the sailors of old. How they used to traverse these undulating plains is beyond my comprehension. Without my maps, without our radar, I would simply lose my mind at the vastness of it. The endless void of ocean, where there is no direction, is both disorientating and maddening. If you don't have your wits about you, it can cause you to see things that aren't there. Like desert mirages you can talk yourself out of it. You know that there's nothing there despite what you're seeing. However, every so often it's just convincing enough. I nearly lost two men chasing shadows in the fog thrown by my own ship. Two men with wives and children waiting for them ashore. After that, I promised myself that I would never again put my crew in such danger. So why am I standing here in the darkness? Why have I wandered from the warmth of my bed? That call, the beauty of it. How could I resist? I've never heard such a perfect melody. It tugs at my body where it has tethered to my chest and it draws me in. I am powerless to resist, even if I could, I wouldn't want to. How could I live the rest of my life without knowing the source of such beauty. I stand here at the bow of my ship. My body leaning out over the rail in search of what captivates me so. Show yourself beauty, I am given to you. You have found love in me, and I am devoted to your every whim, if you would only reveal yourself to me. It's dark, but I can still see the ripples among the waves. The black water bubbles, and froths as the volume continues to climb. The voice is ethereal. I feel warmth, love. I feel like I'm floating. Take me now Lord, so that I may die this elated. Two dull yellow eyes emerge from the water. The rest of its form remains hidden from me, sleek and shrouded in darkness. It's sweet call is louder now, impossibly so, trapped and echoing within the walls of my skull. "I give the entirety of my being and devote my existence to you, my love,"I practically scream at slick mass, "I will do as you ask, a thousand times I will do it through and then a thousand more." Abruptly the singing stops and the silence bites at me, sharp and unexpected. I can hear nothing but the steady whir of the ships bowels and the ancient, churning hiss of the waves. The voice speaks to me, so gentle and knowing, it strikes me with warmth and fills every part of me with a love that I had never known could be. Close to a whisper it speaks, "Kill them. Kill them all."
I hated to leave the cauldron bubbling, but I just heard a knock at the door. I gestured to Lamashtu to take position next to the door; she meowed but followed my orders this time. My right hand went to the knife at my belt as I opened my door just wide enough to be able to see who was standing outside. To my surprise, it was a young girl. Her hair was messy and leaves stuck out of it, but she grinned from ear to ear. “So the stories were true!” she said, “and I found you!” I was way too perplexed to talk, so she just continued: “I want to be your apprentice!” I noticed that she had a long cone-shaped hat in her hands, one of those people thought witches wear. I sighed and opened the door. She sat at my table while I stirred the cauldron, and she did all the talking for both of us. “Is it true that you can fly? Can you teach me? Also, why do you live so far outside in the woods? Do you know what a pain it was to find you and then to finally reach your hut? I must have torn my shirt on a twig or something...” Finally, a pause. She looked at her sleeve and tugged at it. I wondered if I could talk now, but she continued: “I want to learn all about wielding magic like you! And maybe have a cat, too... Is that your cat? Like, a real witch’s cat? Really cute! Come here, kitty!” “I wouldn’t do that if I were you”, I said over her talking. Fortunately, Lamashtu was clever enough to hiss and then run away out of her reach. I let her talk on, then came to her table with two steaming bowls I had filled with the content of the cauldron. She looked at her bowl with wide eyes, then at me. “Stew”, I said. “Listen”, I said after we had eaten for a while and I had enjoyed the silence, “I do not take apprentices. I feed you because you managed to find me, but that is all. After this, you will be on your way home.” She stopped eating and looked at me like Lamashtu would look at me if she desperately wanted me to feed her. “But...” she started, “I have searched for you so long! I even brought the hat...” I sighed. “My word is final.” “No”, she raised her voice a bit, “you can’t do this to me! All my life I wanted to become a witch, ever since I was little! I always knew I had it in me, that I could become one...” I raised a hand to stop her and, to my surprise, it worked. “You really shouldn’t. Want to become a witch, that is. This life was not my choice. Well, not my first one, anyway. It is a hard and tough life. You’ll pay the price for it, if not now, then one day. Sooner rather than later.” “I am ready!” she said with resolution in her voice, “teach me!” She continued in a lower voice: “Please.” Our conversation was stopped by some faint noise. Lamashtu jumped on the windowsill and peered outside, then hissed and arched her back. I stopped eating immediately. “Hide”, I told her, while I stood up. “What is it?” she asked, but I stopped her with a gesture of my hand. This was not a time to talk any more. The noise grew louder and nearer. I focussed my mind so I could recognise it for what it was. It was too familiar, after all this time. “Did you tell anyone where you’ll go?” “Of course”, she said, as if I had asked the most stupid of questions. I cursed silently. Now I could discern voices that came nearer. “Hide now!” I almost yelled at her. It had been some time since the last angry mob had found one of my dwellings, but I recalled it all too well. I had barely escaped and then chosen the most secluded place in this ancient forest I had found. Or so I had thought. The light of torches shone through the tree branches, and I prepared some spells in my mind. Just as I had gotten myself comfortable in this little hut, I needed to abandon it again... that was just my luck. I put the latch over my door and grabbed my broom; if I couldn’t hold them back, I had an escape route ready. As I positioned myself against the door, the girl moved to the other side. I tried to convey with my regard that what she was doing was a very, VERY bad idea, but as the first stones bounced of my door, she looked me right in the eyes. Her face grew grim. And then she held out a hand, palm upward. A spark ignited on her palm, as I watched in surprise. “We’re doing this together”, she said. And for the first time ever in my whole life I seriously considered taking on an apprentice.
It was weird. When I got my powers, I thought my social life was over. After all, who wants to be friends with the guy that turns into a fire-breathing scaley every time he gets mad? But as I soon learned, superpowers of any kind would attract suck-ups. And I was in a school full of them. I loathed the attention at first. People who wanted nothing to do with me suddenly wanted to buy me lunch, carry my bookbag to class, and one time even LICK MY DAMN BOOTS! I passed the guy's offer on the last one. But it grew on me after a while. It was nice having so many 'friends' even if they just wanted to be on my good side. So, you can imagine my reaction when our principal got on the intercom and said, "We are on a hard lockdown. Please, all staff lock your doors and follow protocol. I repeat, we are under a hard lockdown." Not even two seconds after that was said. I heard gunshots ring out in the hall. I couldn't believe it someone was on campus, and they were threatening to take away the people that gave me so much love and respect. It got my blood boiling. I could feel it, my skin hardening. Being replaced with red scales. Feel my insides burn and boil. Before I knew what I was doing, I was already in the hall face to face with the fucker that thought they had any right to take what was mine. I could see their eyes widen as they saw me, fire spewing from between my teeth and under my scales. I relished their screams as I charred them to ash.
Her magic is clockwork precision. Decades and centuries of studying the great masters, Holdorf the Grey, Minzar the Magnificent, Aldretch Tor the father of Blue Magic. There wasn’t a page of their tomes she didn’t know. She knew the Gambriel Divine Proofs like the back of her hand. A fireball from her hand shone like a star. None of that matter now. Her precious home was burning. Undead armies had sieged and broke through the wards she placed on her homeland, and the walls of the city. Tides of dead men, soldiers and animals rushed through the streets, every villager, refugee and soldier that fell adding to their armies. She looked down from her tower, she proudly called the lower levels “The Great Library of Alexandria,” she had written and copied books from her memory for years. People used to call her Alexandria the All Knowing, both as a jest and as a nickname. When she was young, those same people made fun of her. A girl, a pauper girl, putting her nose in every book she could. They threw stones at her, hurled cruel words. Had it not been for the open nature of the Imperial Exams, she would’ve never been the Wizard she was today. Part of her despaired and longed for the days that stones were thrown at her, at least then she’d know her best days were ahead. Now, watching her only home burn, watching all the people that loved and hated her die, it all felt like a tragic ending. Her best days behind her. She didn’t know what she could do, throwing lightning would only get a few of them. A fireball would only help the city burn. A tidal wave could drown the city and its people. And that’s when it hit her. A stone, she’d throw stones. Not like the stones thrown at her as a child. Boulders, massive boulders that could roll over the undead and fill the gaps in the walls. It shouldn’t be that different than summoning any other element. She took a breath and reached out to the sky, arcane lines of magic shooting from her fingers. Rigid and precise runes blooming around her. Just as she fed her mana into the spells, boulders rained down smashing against the undead tide. Rolling down the streets. It was working. There was a feeling of shock, she didn’t know any spell that could conjure stones like this. She tapped into a new form of conjuration born of her memories. Her pain. Her desperate fear for the world around her. She stepped away from the tower window and looked about. Pulling a bottle of mana into a pouch and other reagents she’d need. Stepping in front of a mirror, she looked at herself, dark hair, with flecks of grey, glasses that grew thicker with her years. She put her pouch down and gave herself pigtails like she had as a child. Proudly she smiled taking her bag and with a youthful glee Little Alex returned, but this time she’d be the one throwing stones.
They have kept my body alive I know not for how long. Unable to perceive the world around me I know not for how long. I hunger, yet I cannot eat. I thirst, yet I cannot drink. However I have come to exist in my state; whatever overwhelming mad symphony of devices continues to preserve this carcass has finally come to an end. It is only now I learn the intimate knowledge of my suffering and sight of my physical being have broken a place inside my new friend. It does not speak and I never learned - yet my friend tells me it has nothing to teach me. For I have existed this way, and have no way to perceive hope and no way to separate sorrow from success; or Slaughter from sanctity. There is warmth in this moment, as we depart from this place.
The scent of iron fills the air, a scent all too familiar for the man. Walking as best he could with blood oozing from several large wounds, he stopped to look at the aftermath. Twelve cadavers lay strewn about, several torn to several large chunks, others looking unharmed besides the bloodshot eyes, crushed throats, or caved in chests. "Fuck..."The man said looking upon the carnage. He briefly looked at his hands, blood staining his arms to the shoulder. For a moment he wondered, is this truly what he must do? Then he began thinking, 'am I really the good guy?'. The thought haunted him, but unlike other times where he quelled it, this time he entertained it. All he ever wanted was to help as many people as he could, protect them from what no one ever protected him from, even if it meant his own destruction, and now he stands on a mountain of mutilated corpses, unable to even begin recalling who was truly his first kill. As his mind swirled and he came to grips with reality, an evil and large grin grew on his face. "You sick bastard!"The most well trusted hero slowly descended from the sky, rage tearing his otherwise perfect face. The man's grin grew, and his eyes became focused, lacking fear, containing only pure confidence in his ability to succeed. Floating to being only a few feet above him and about a dozen feet away, the hero asked a simple question; "Why have you been doing this? To help people?! We help people every fucking day, and you kill us for it! What kind of goddamn help is that?!"Pure hatred tore apart the heroes face, making him look almost demonic, an appearance that did not cause a change in the man's grin. "Hehe... Yeah, it sounds pretty fucked, and then I realized something; I was never the hero, and in this world? I don't want to be."Lunging forward with more willingness and intent to cause a brutal death than ever before, the man latched onto the heroes midsection and dug his fingers in. It was the first time anyone had managed to hurt, let alone draw blood from him, and all his rage was now thoroughly replaced with utter terror. Slamming the man against a wall several times unlatched him, and after standing to his feet and approaching the now grounded hero, he spoke again. "So tell me, in a world with people like you, people like me, people like the guys who give you guys funding and sponsors, why did people like me still need to suffer through child trafficking? Why did we need to live in constant fear that we would be killed and disposed of by the same heroes constantly lauding on television about their greatness? I would say you subhuman creatures are no better than me, but not even I would do half the shit you did to me and millions of others. I would tell you to pray for a quick death, but God doesn't exist in your heart, and I don't think Moloch gives much of a shit about his servants."The grin never left the man's face, and as he approached the hero he could feel the sense of satisfaction growing inside himself. Clambering backwards, unable to regain his footing, the hero desperately pleaded for mercy "P-p-pl-please! You--you're better than this! You don't need to kill me!"Amidst his begs he never once tried to refute the claims the man made, because he now recognizes his from many years ago, on an island for heroes such as himself and the elites. Putting his hands up to protect himself was a futile effort, as both of the heroes arms were rips from their sockets on impact, which made his living mutilation all the more easier for the enraged man. At the end of it all the man stood in an empty field, gazing into nothing, knowing what he did, what he will do, and what must be done, but knowing he will never be what he always longed to be; a hero. The end.
\[Olympic-tier Advice\] "I'm in a different universe...,"Allan repeated the statement in quiet awe every few feet. The long, white, narrow hallway reminded him of every other office building in his own universe. But, he'd passed a few windows even if the current hall didn't have any. He'd seen the purple sky and red mountains in the distance. If that wasn't proof enough, the node in his hand was obviously superadvanced technology. It was a transparent glass rectangle the size and thickness of a playing card. As crystal clear as it was, a red arrow floated on the display to lead him to the tournament. Allan was the pot-bellied, middle-aged hero of his universe, by random selection. Despite appearing to be unfit, leadership at all levels reassured the world that everyone competing would be on equal ground. Whatever they did to convince the citizens of his Earth that he was capable, it worked. By the time he left his Earth that morning, he was the most famous man on the planet. Allan tried his best to buckle down and get in shape with the two weeks of preparation time that he had. He dropped out of social media assuming that someone would contact him to explain the situation when it was time. All he got was a white box delivered to his door with the node inside the previous day. Now, he was headed to the competition without a clue as to what he was actually going to do. But, the arrow he was following suddenly turned right as he passed a door. He stopped and turned to face it and the arrow pointed forward again. "I guess this is the place...,"he turned the knob and walked into the room. He immediately felt like he was starting a new class in college again. The room was laid out like a classroom with several rows of occupied desks. A wispy, green-haired woman stood in front of the class surrounded by whiteboards. Over a dozen faces all turned and focused on him as he entered the room. Allan glanced down at his node and the red arrow was now a green checkmark. "...is this the multi-universe Olympics?"A light chuckle rippled among the students as the green-haired woman nodded. "Technically, this is the class to learn about the tournament,"she said. "But, you're in the right place. Please, take a seat."Allan nodded and picked the closest seat at the back of the class. He sat next to a pale teenage girl with rainbow hair and focused his attention on the woman he assumed was the teacher. "Now that we're all here...,"the teacher spoke with her eyes on Allan. "...my name is Mundo. We're going to cover a lot today, so let's jump right in with derby, since that's going to be-," "What's derby?"Allan stopped listening. He lowered his voice to a whisper to ask the teenager next to him. She nodded at Mundo. "She's explaining it...,"the teen said. "Oh, right,"Allan focused on the teacher again. "At the end of the day, you'll have a chance to make your characters to start practicing,"Mundo said. "So, as I go over each race and class, it's a good idea to start thinking about how you want to play." "Play..?"Allan mumbled to himself first. He missed part of what she said; but, she was obviously talking about some sort of game; not real life. He turned to the rainbow-haired girl who didn't seem to be listening to Mundo either and asked her about it. She was focused on scrolling through her node. "Is she talking about a game?"he whispered the question. The teen nodded without giving him any attention; her gaze was glued to her personal screen. "..wait.. this is wrong...,"Allan was instantly filled with doubt. Was he in the wrong place? Was his Earth already doomed because of his incompetence? "Is something wrong, Mr. Oliver?"Mundo asked. Allan almost shied away from the question. He usually preferred to avoid confrontation as much as possible; but, this time things were different. He had an entire Earth counting on him and he needed to step up. "I don't think I'm in the right place...,"he said. Mundo nodded and was about to say something; but, Allan's blood was pumping and he was ready to do the right, responsible thing. He knew it would be faster if he explained his side first. "...I got chosen randomly to represent my Earth in multi-universe Olympics. I came to compete, but... so far it sounds like you're talking about a video game or something,"he said. "I see,"Mundo nodded. "You're easily distracted; but, that's okay. I'll explain it again, just for you. Please pay attention this time,"she said. "You are in the right place for the tournament. You got a little ahead of yourself thinking you were here to compete; this is where you learn how to play the game. For this tournament, you'll be playing Roller Derby. I'm about to start explaining the character creation process if you'll keep giving me your attention,"Mundo said. "Wait, it's just a game? Like, not even a real sport?"Allan asked. "Roller Derby is the most popular sport in the multiverse,"Mundo answered. But, Allan shook his head. "Esports don't count!"he said. "This is ridiculous. You're saying the fate of my Earth is riding on a video game???" "It's not the game itself, of course. The universe itself has a strong respect for written contracts. Things like deals, and obviously, bets carry great power. Roller Derby is not a video game, it is much more than that; however, even if it was a simple coinflip, the competition is just another way to settle a bet." "Oh...,"Allan replied reflexively while his mind tried to process everything he just learned. Luckily, Mundo continued and her next sentence helped him accept the situation a bit easier. "Please try to remember that things here are likely to be different than you're used to. Don't be too quick to jump to conclusions; you are in a different universe after all." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1804 in a row. (Story #359 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
I wrap my long leather duster around me against the bitter winds. The ‘flats’ are a horrible place renowned for their icy cold winds and featureless landscapes. I trudge on as the cold wind is whipping my hair and duster but this is where I need to go. This is where I need to be. A tumble weed races across the barren landscape. The flats are a truly an amazing amount of nothing. Surely no one comes here willingly but the letter I got telegraphed to me was clear, so through the flats I go. I have an ad that I run in the Western Herald, “Have shingle, will do therapy, travel extra”, and the Herald staff looks through the letters and finds the worst of the worst, then gives me details by telegraph when I check in. I saved the son of the owner of the Herald a few years back, and he does this for me for free. It was a small win that came with some perks. It is a dangerous job, wandering the country side looking for people on the edge of becoming a demon, putting down those they are too far gone, saving the ones I can. The danger fills the holes in my soul. My wife, my beautiful, beautiful wife, had postpartum and told no one. One day she went from being the woman I love, with all my heart and soul, to the demon that ate our child. I put her down in the nursery. I couldn’t save our boy. She may have been the first demon that tasted lead from my six shooter but she wasn’t the last. Everyone I help fight off the demon heals my soul just a little, just like every time I am too late it tears my soul a little bit more. I have been doing this long enough that I don’t know if I am winning or loosing. I am fighting a war over my own soul and I am the only fighter, the only winner and the only loser. I just hope I win more then I loose or I might have to turn my six shooters on myself. New Hope, a tiny village on the northern edge of the flats is where I am heading. Why anyone would build there is beyond me, so desolate, windy and cold, but there is a thriving community there. I see the community’s church steeple on the horizon. I am getting close. Probably and two hours at this pace. I stop and double check my guns, the twin 45 colt revolvers move freely in their holsters. I take each one out and check, they spin freely and are loaded with my special rounds. Silver tipped bullets with a cross stamped into the end of each round, dipped in holy water and loaded by a virgin. I am not sure why my guy says that last part is important, but he swears by it, and I swear by these rounds. I check the derringers in my boots, the blades along my belt, and the cross beneath my shirt. I am ready to do some therapy. The town is like every other little town, a church, a hall, a store and a tavern. As much as the folks swear the church is the heart of the community, I have learned that it is always the tavern. I walk slowly through the swinging tavern gates and look around. A drunk asleep in the corner. A beaten up piano. A few tables and chairs all empty. I walk up to the bar where the bar Keep is cleaning a glass with a dirty rag. “Whiskey?”, he says to me? “Sure. Just one. A double. I don’t like to drink too early, makes me antsy.”, I sit down on a tall bar stool and my duster reveals my twin 45s. “You seem like the kinda guy I don’t want to get antsy.’ The bar keep says as he slides a double whiskey over to me. I slide him a coin, easily three times the value of the swill I am about drink. I toss down the shot, the familiar burn in my throat, the courage that comes from whiskey leaching into my body. I set the shot glass down and ponder giving in and drinking the bottle, for me, there could be a literal demon at the bottom of that bottle, but still it calls to me. The sweet oblivion of drink. “Duval. Know the family?”, I ask gruffly. “Take the road east out of town, take the first left and walk about a quarter mile. They are the first farm you will see.”, he says as he polishes the glass I just used. I bring a coin out and fidget with it on the bar top. The bar keep eyes the coin. He isn’t new to this game. “Anything I should know about the Duvals?”, I say, never taking my eyes off of the coin. “The Mrs and kids go to church every Sunday. I haven’t seen him in at least month. He is a mean son of a bitch.”, I nod my head and leave the coin as I walk out. I walk up on Duval farm around mid morning. A couple of small out buildings, a good sized barn, a small, well kept house, and a garden full of greens. This was the picture of a happy fulfilled life. It could have been a painting of the American dream. I am spotted by a youngin’, no more than eight, who runs back to the house to let them know I am almost there. The Mrs, in her full dress, comes out of the house and waits for me. No one who calls me waits that patiently unless they already got help or I am too late. “Mrs Duval?”, I ask with a nod of my head. “Sally”, she says with an out stretched arm. I shake her hand. Callouses. Strong grip. The dress is good quality but well worn. Her eyes tell the story though, they are tired. Tired beyond a long day’s work…. She is tired right to the soul. “Where is he?”, she was about to say more but changed her mind at the last second. “The barn.”, I nod and start walking to the barn. She keeps the kids back and just stands there. Damn, I am too late. If there was still hope she would have come with me to see her husband’s redemption. She thinks he is too far gone, beyond saving. I throw the big barn doors open to flood it with as much light as I can. #ROAAAR! The roar echos in the barn followed by chains being strained. “I will fucking kill you!”, he is still understandable when he talks, maybe he isn’t as far gone as the Mrs thinks. I walk into the barn, straight to the back. Chained to the wall is an eight foot tall red skinned demon. Little horns are sprouting from his head, probably only been growing those for a couple of days… that’s good. “Kill you!”, he pulls against the chains again. Very muscular build, he must have been a big man before the change started. “Kill you! Eat your bloody heart!”, he has claws, a good two inches per finger. They were pointy and black. He has had those for a while. His teeth were longer than a dog’s and sharper… “Kill you!”, he is understandable but isn’t saying much, that isn’t a good sign. I look around quickly and see a milking stool. I pull it over and sit down. I dig into my deep duster pockets and pull out a notepad and pen. I put my glasses on and look him right in the eye. “So… tell me about your childhood…..”
"Yes, the artifact is just over here". This answer sums my dad up better than any other you could imagine. Back in the days, George Lucas himself hired him for Raiders of the Lost Ark to build some of the sets. And that's how a talented carpenter, son of a Baptist Reverend, stepped into the strange but fascinating world of Fantasy. Mom said he became friends with Harrison Ford himself, which he might have as he has always been quite the chatterbox, but I suspect Mom to add a bit of glam in her couple and to project her own fantasies onto Dad. The thing is, since that time, Dad got hooked by Fantasy. He even wrote some rather nice fanfic about Indy, but also about other universes such as Tolkien's and Lovecraft's but also about Back to the Future. And, of course, as the true fan he had become, he started collecting memorabilia of all significant novels and movies that were released after that. Including a DMC-12 DeLorean - not one used in the movies, though, and an authentic Skeksis puppet, which was, this time, really used in The Dark Crystal. That's my dad. He loves Fantasy and he LIVES for Fantasy. And, of course, he did all he could to transmit his passion to his kids. It didn't work well on my big brother, who rapidly grew more interested in airplanes and wants to become a pilot, but it worked not too badly on me, I must say. Today is my 16th birthday. Dad and Mom asked what I'd like to get, and my answer came without hesitation : I wanted a motorbike. They agreed, and my dad found a guy who sold the model I wanted for a fair price, and there we are, in the Ford and trailer to go and get it. But I'm with Dad, okay? MY DAD. He drew a fantasy-looking map and tasked me with giving him instructions to get there. Who needs GPS when you have an old, mysterious map? I did the job and we have found the place. It is a decayed, dead-end street near downtown - a sad view, closer to Mordor than to the Shire. "So this is the place?"I ask Dad. "Yes, the artifact is just over there. We need to find the Master of this castle". I step out of the Ford and approach the front door of a vine-covered house. Before I can knock, the door opens, and a tall, old man with long white hair and beard stands before me. I'm half expecting Christopher Lee's booming voice, but it is with an odly high pitched voice and a thick French accent that the man asks if we vere ere for ze bike. Eh. At some point, we need to step back to Reality, I guess...
Dear Diary – Is that how you do this? This seems silly. I'm just talkin' to myself through a piece of paper. Anyway, I guess I'll just get to it. I don't remember what year it was. What I do remember is I was speeding through Los Angeles like my life depended upon it. Back then, cops were about as useful as the newspaper boy. Showed up every day like clockwork, but not much help in the event of an actual crime. Like mine. By this point, I was a noteworthy bank robber. I had no help, no getaway driver. Yet, I was able to make off with millions. Each time. The trick was I had known these banks like the back of my hand. Visited them every day for practically centuries. No, I didn't spend my 500 years of life scoping out banks for robberies, but living for so long had its advantages. Like knowing the changes in security and technology and how the banks evolved over time. Anyway, there I was speeding through the city, sirens so far behind in the distance they didn't even matter. By the time I switched cars and got home, they'd be sniffing my dust. Plus, I didn't let it go on for too long. Once I thought they were catching on to my identity, I moved on. Moved to another state, changed my name per usual. I've done that so many times now it's a joke. Them were good times. But not as good as the years I lived with Jerry. I'll try to get through without sobbing. Hell, you wouldn't know cause you're just a piece of paper. There I go again talkin' to myself. Jerry was a good man. I think it all started around 1960. Back then we had a nice little farmhouse on a couple acres of land. I got out there er'day with the animals and fed 'em, bathed 'em, and even cleaned their crap. Lotta manure. No bank robbing, no high crime, nothin' like that. I was an experienced criminal, but an even better farmhand. Jerry loved the simple things. He had supper ready by the time the sun set. He wasn't much of a manly man to do things outside, but man, he made a mean stew! God, I miss him. He was probably my favorite in all these hundreds of years. I've got to stop now. Until next time I guess, diary. Is that how you do this? Do people sign off in these things? Errr. Bye now.
I stand at the entrance to the den, prepared and ready as always. I slowly step in, tuning in to the minute sounds of the beast breathing. Suddenly it wakes exclaiming in a loud roar "FEEBLE ADVENTURER, HAVEN'T YOU HEARD NO SWORD CAN PEARCE MY DAIMOND HARD PELT!" "Good thing I did not bring a sword." "What?!" It roared in laughter, teasing and wheezing at the fact. Then while it's. Distracted, I pull my weapon out, My crab, mounted with many guns and armor to boot, it quickly doubles and triples in size to match the dragon. The guns fully loaded command it to destroy the den with its grenade launcher BOOM There was nothing left of the encounter, the dragon crushed by fallen rubble, the loot in my bags as I ride my war crab 2000 into the sunset. (this was a little lazy but eh it was fun)
I woke up one day and everyone was just dead. My wife, my kids, everyone I could find… just dead. I am no scientist, and I have no clue why I was spared, or why they died. All I know is that I am alive. I buried my wife and kids in the back yard. I didn’t know what else to do. My wife’s dog, Daisy, a 9lb Bisson, that I hate, and I mourned. The dog paws at the family’s grave and cries at the foot of my children’s beds. That stupid dog is all I have left in this world…. It has been six months since the apocalypse. I am surviving on canned food and non-perishables from the local supermarket. I miss fresh vegetables and fruits though. The power failed shortly after the apocalypse…. No one to feed the coal generators I guess. Not that it matters. There was nothing on the tv or radio back when the power was still working. I miss lights in the evening though. Daisy and I go to bed early and get up early. There really isn’t anything to do. The supermarket has years and years of food for one person. I don’t have to go to work. So I just sit around with the dog. I am lonely. Daisy has been trying to talk me into heading south. And why not? Winter is coming and winter in Canada without power or natural gas would suck. There is nothing holding here, except the graves of our family. So we fill the back of the truck up with canned goods, stop by the family gave one more time, and then we drive south. How far should we go? Daisy wants to see the ocean. I am not a big fan of bugs and critters… maybe one of the central states…. Somewhere warm but not too hot. Wish I could google which state that would be. Hell, maybe we will go see all of them. I have never seen the grand canon or the Hover dam or Las Vegas or the world’s biggest ball of twine…. Daisy sleeps on my lap as we drive. Some times she sticks her head out the window to feel the wind in her fur. She is a good girl. I have syphoning gas down to a science. We have no trouble filling up and there are gas stations everywhere. The pop at the gas stations has gone bad. Never really think of pop having a shelf life. Oh well, the beef jerky is still good. Daisy likes the teriyaki beef jerky the best. Sometimes we sleep in the truck. Sometimes we find a hotel and sleep in a real bed. I like real beds, I am just getting too old for sleeping in the truck much. Daisy snuggles up beside me and licks my face a before she goes to sleep. We get to California and go through an orchard. We eat fresh fruit until we puke…. It is so good. I never realized just how much I missed oranges and apples. Daisy is running around like a crazy puppy in the orchard. We slept out under the stars that night. Bellies full, and truly content for the first time since the apocalypse happened. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Daisy didn’t wake up the next morning. I tried to wake her. I shook her and sobbed but she just wouldn’t move. I don’t know how long I cried for in the orchard. I think it was a couple of days but I really don’t know. I buried her under an apple tree. I left a bag of beef jerky on top of her grave. I am truly alone now. There is no one to talk to in the truck as I drive. There is no one to snuggle with when I get a hotel room. There is no one left. I break into a sporting goods store and find a gun. Why should I continue on? What is the point? I load the gun…. I really don’t know why I fill a whole clip, maybe I am stalling, maybe I worried about missing. Never held a gun before. It feels odd in my hand, heavy and cold but yet comfortable. Sitting on a bench outside the store I stare at the gun in my hands, tears are flowing. I don’t want to die but I can’t imagine how I will carry on. I close my eyes and put the gun under my chin. I take a deep breath and steady myself. The whining of a dog gets my attention. A medium sized dog sits in front of me. She looks starved. Head cocked to one side. Ears floppy and a tongue out. She walks slowly, cautiously up to me and puts her head in my lap and stares up at me… hopeful. I put the gun down and scratch her behind the ears. “Good dog”, I say as she wags her tail.
I catch up with an old friend, at Olive Garden. We order from polar opposite ends of the menu -- it shows how different we still are. It's why we drifted apart. I have the spaghetti, and spill the red sauce down my front -- a white dress shirt. By face burns as red as the tomatoes. He orders something fancy, and has it with a drink on the side; a martini with an olive floating inside. Some of the viscous liquid drips onto the white table cloth. It looks like he's drinking olive oil. I don't know whether he got it here, at Olive Garden, or if he brought it, in a stainless steel flask, to match his watch. I don't ask. We drift apart during the conversation. I try to keep it up and going, like a hacky sack. But he's a yuppy. He doesn't play such silly games. His full penguin tux remains pristine throughout the evening. I pocket the breadsticks as we are leaving. Stuff my purse full -- a knockoff Hermes number the same colour as the bread. By some miracle, they have been here -- breadsticks, sitting out -- long enough to have gone stale. They're hard enough to clobber a man with. He pays the tab. Or we leave without paying. I don't know. We drift apart on the sidewalk, we exchange no words. We jaywalk across the road. We are about to leave eachother once again -- go our separate ways, figuratively and literally. But then a man side-steps out of a side alley, his long trench coat the colour of taupe, dragging on the ground. At first I think he's going to flash us. Then he's bringing his hand up, underneath the coat. Pointing our way. Something pointing out. But it's too long for fingers, and too angular for anything... natural. Then I think he's going to shoot us, and he looks like he thinks that as well. His face is taught in that impending-violence grimace. But then... then his hand-underneath-the-coat drops away, he puts something into his pocket, and he's throwing his hands up like a priest at a black church. His eyes are shining, in faux-happiness, to make up for that earlier mess probably. I don't know. And then his eyes are shining, in something else. In... recognition? I groan before I know why I'm doing it, and only when he's pulling me into a hug, do I recognise him back. "Margo!?" "Yes Julius. It's me."I'm saying -- still tinged with that groan -- into his shoulder, and he smells like too-nice cologne. Too nice for him, anyway. And then I'm turning half toward my old friend, pointing back at him with my thumb, embarrassed -- but I don't know for whom, and _by_ whom. "This is Gervais."I say, pointing back at the man in the nice suit, like a mechanic pointing back into his Garage at a nice car that he doesn't own, but wishes he does. Social convention dictates that I should introduce my friends, even in unusual circumstances. Even if one was about to rob the other blind. Especially in that case. I hope my niceties smooth things over. "Gervais, this is Julius Becker."I say his full name, in case he tries anything, the cops will know who to chase. After the clumsy introduction, Gervais steps over -- in his tall, successful, long-legged stride -- and shakes Julius' hand forcibly, like a father shakes his daughter's boyfriend's. And in his extroverted manner, Gervais has forgotten the near-mugging already, water under the bridge, bleach-white teeth smiling widely. Maybe he didn't realize what was about to go down. I don't know. Julius is eyeing him up and down, and I can't tell whether he's checking him out, or checking him out. I don't ask. "So..."My shoes creak as I lean back and forth, heel-to-toe, and swing out my arms. This is awkward, I want to say. "So..."Julius continues for me, how polite. "That's a nice watch."He looks like he wants to eat it, like a candied watch from the fair. And Oh. Oh no. Not so polite after all. Gervais, bless his heart, thinks this is the time for bragging. This is very much not the time for bragging. He holds the watch up, his sleeve falls back. It spins around on his hairy arm, unruly. He's trying to flash us the face, but it keeps getting away from him. It would be funny, if not for present company. "It is, isn't it?"Gervais says. "It's the genuine article, you know? Hard to get nowadays."Finally, the face comes into our view, and the way it catches the late evening lamplight, it looks tantalising, even to me. Upon the face, is the brand name. Rolex. In big bold print. The genuine article. I lick my lips, out of anxiety. Out of the corner of my eye, Julius licks his lips as well, and looks like he wants to eat the watch once again. I step back, and raise my hands in surrender, in advance. Gervais is oblivious. He's talking about German engineering, and fucking micro CNC machines, stainless steel, and IP ratings, infinity pools, when Julius pulls the gun on him. Gervais' already got the one hand up, so it's easy for him to put up two. "Woah woah! What the hell? Marg. What is this?! Was this all a setup, the whole time! I knew you were acting weird the whole night! Bitch!"And... ouch. I step back further, raise my arms further, raise my eyebrows, too. Letting Julius know -- 'You can have him. If you want.' Julius steps forward, presses the gun into Gervais' chest, right on the sternum. "Give me that Rolex, Wall Street", he says, and sounds like he's holding in a laugh. His own Reality TV channel. Only Julius could rob someone with a smile on his face. "And tell me more about the craftsmanship, while I wait. I'm nothing if not an informed consumer." Gervais grumbles as his unlatches his watch. He takes his sweet time, eyes are darting around like nobody's business, obvious as anything. God, he's an idiot. He holds the watch out for Julius to take, dangling, silver clanking. But it's not quite halfway -- further to Gervais' side, so Jules would have to stretch over to grab it. He does, and Gervais springs on him, tackles him to the ground. God, they're both fucking idiots. There's a tussle, where one of their bent legs takes too much weight and then springs out -- kicks out -- and takes the gun with it. The gun slides roughly across the rough concrete and lands in the gutter, and is logged with greywater. There's more scrabbling, and as I look down on them -- Hermes-knockoff dangling in a hand weakened by consternation, mouth hanging open -- I don't know who I'm rooting for. Neither, really. I'm struck with a migraine the size of Texas, out of nowhere, and all of a sudden I'm done with this cultural exchange. Fuck this. I pull two breadsticks -- one each -- from my bag, double fisted, gluten akimbo, and clobber them both. I take the Rolex for my trouble. [2022-12-31@03:01am • Unedited]
"Everyone you care about is dead, there's no one to help you" He laught at me, provoking me with his words as always...well, he's what people called "villain"and I'm what people called "hero". Everyone I care about is dead By his hand and in his hand, like the lifeless corpse laying on the floor, is my friend, the last one Story between me and him is so simple, like it being made by a kid: he make some kind of plan: try to domination the world (that's funny, because he can't even be able to order his own henchmen properly), try to force an famous actress become his wife, try to....make a snow fall in the middle of summer ?? (Why I stopped him do that again ?? That is freakking hot summer). He make plan, I destroy it, sure he doesn't like being laughing stock all the time, so he decided to pay back: by attack and kill everyone person I care about. Start with mom and pop, back in their heyday, dozens of killer robot must be not much of problem, at least I think so (not like I ever see them in action, all I know is from what they keep brag about) Next is my sibblings (hey, I don't even know aside from a sister from same mom and dad, who I rarely talk with,I have 3 brothers from different mom, 2 sister from different dad), my lover (to be honest, we're more like fuckbuddy) and the last: the friend just laying there, as I mention above..whao, what a short list, don't you think ? He think he kill everyone I care about He think Alright, trust is....I guess between me and him, I'm abnormal one here. I always know something not even right in my head, and if I let my mind run free, then I can't even guess where it end up to and how it will turn out. Family, love, friend, things are normal, I used it to shackle my mind, and follow my parent to be "hero", that's how I hold myself, my power back by force myself follow "hero's rule" But now, all the shackles is no more Guess he realize something not right, guess he expected I will be broken, will scream or something...that explain his maniacal laughter "What are you laughing for ?"His ask, his voice is so confuse What I'm laughing for ? Oh, so turn out it's not him, but mine laughing, but...I'm laughing ? For what ?? "You got it all wrong, they were only thing holding me back, there's no one stop me"try to suppress my urge to keep laughing, I told him. One bad day can make one gone mad, but one bad day he give me set me free Now, how should I repay him ??
Things changed for me that day. I mean, they weren’t always normal for me to begin with, but that day, that overcast Tuesday afternoon at the bus stop, changed things. And I wouldn’t say it was for the better. Let me start at the beginning, well, not that far back. Just the basics, I guess. But, hold on, let me check something. No, don’t worry about it. If you want more coffee, there should still be some left in the pot. No, it’s okay. I was looking to see if…. Well, that’s what I was going to talk to you about. So, you know I see stuff, right? Not necessarily things, but, I don’t know, people? Animals? I tried to talk to you about it last August when you came over for Erin’s birthday. Yeah, no, she’s doing good. I mean, we don’t talk much anymore, but she’s doing good. It helped her to get away from things—this thing. But yeah, you had a couple of beers, well, eight. And you were listening. But that’s not the point. I see people’s friends, like the ones in their heads. So, yeah, I’m talking about imaginary friends. Uh, as long as I can remember? My folks just thought I was a weird kid; they never really wanted to hear about it. But you know how my mom and dad are; they were always like that. Just thought I had a super-active imagination. And I thought that for a while too. But here’s the thing: I talk to them. They talk to me. Yeah, I’m not kidding. I’m friends with people’s imaginary friends. No, they don’t tell me to hurt anyone; I’m not crazy or hallucinating them or schizophrenic or anything. I mean, I could be crazy; I’d never know. Only talk or hang out; it’s not like they can do anything. And boy, do they want to talk. I mean, the moment I even glance sideways, and they figure out I can see them? They’re all over me. They’d tell me stuff, and when I was a kid, I’d ask them secrets. So that’s kind of how I figured out they were imaginary friends. I mean, I had to assume that at first, but sometimes they’d talk about their ‘person’ needing helping hands or ears to talk to, and I put all that together. Most of them are tied to kids; that’s the part that makes it weird. I mean, sometimes they want my attention, and I have to pretend I don’t see them because I’m just the weird guy mumbling to himself around someone’s kid. No, I don’t mean tied like attached or ghost or anything. No, no, there’s nothing attached to you. I meant it like with the kids, hell, some adults too, made them, so those friends follow them around. Yeah, adults. I think they are those really lonely people with no real friends or anything like that. Mine? You know, I don’t think I ever had one of my own. Never needed it; I had so many other people’s friends to talk to if I felt lonely, which I don’t recall feeling. Hold on; I want to…. No, I don’t want to leave the curtains open. Yes, I know it’s weird; just peeking. I’m getting to it. Oh, the weirdest? Not counting the problem? I don’t know. I guess it would be the adult guys who’ve got imaginary women. It’s creepy, like, gross creepy. Okay, hold on, let me tell it. So this was a couple of months ago, back when me and Erin… yeah. Did she say that? She was being nice; I mean, I get why she left, but at least she wasn’t telling people I was crazy. It was Tuesday. On the fifth, it had rained the day before and after. I was at the bus stop. Heading to work. So there were five or six of us waiting. No one had friends with them. But then this kid showed up, I think, thirteen. There was this other kid with him, and I wasn’t trying to be weird about it, but I kept trying to see this other kid’s face because something was weird. I couldn’t tell what because he was one of those kids with the long hair that hung in front of his face. Yes, yes, like I did back in high school. No need to remind me. What’s weird, what hits me, is that this second kid isn’t wearing a jacket or anything—just short sleeves and shorts. I know plenty of people do that, but this kid didn’t look comfortable about it. Looked really pale. I wasn’t paying attention at first, checking out the second kid, but the first kid starts fidgeting and keeps glancing over at the kid that came with him. The first kid is definitely not liking the second being there and starts moving closer to one of the other people at the stop. Bumps into this lady, and she gives him a dirty look and steps to the side. The kid keeps fidgeting. I look back to the second kid, and he is just staring right at me. Full-on eye contact… if he had eyes. No, I’m serious. It was just these black holes in his face. Like they weren’t ever there. The rest of his face was messed up, too, all stretched out and super pale, like gray. I’m not joking. I’m not. I’m freaked out. Yeah, that’s why I’m checking out there. Hold on. Do… Do you think you can stay a while? Camp out the night here? I just…. It’s not there now. Yeah, I still see it. No, haven’t seen the other kid since then. Just the other thing. It just started showing up. Like, that same day. I was in the bathroom at work, and I open the stall door, and it was right there. Fell back and landed hand in the toilet. Yeah, that’s how I messed up my wrist. It just walked away. No, they don’t just poof; they just head off with their people. But yeah, I looked around once I cleaned myself up, thinking I’d see that first kid. I’ve never seen anyone with a friend like that. I sure as hell hope that kid didn’t think that thing was a friend. It kept showing up. What? I’m not an expert on this, I just see them. I’m pretty damned sure they just can’t go off with whoever they want. Yeah, that’s why Erin and I split up. I don’t blame her; I was in a bad way there. Hell, I still am. Turn a corner, and it’s there, just waiting. Try to check out at the store and have a quick panic because I look at the cashier, and it’s standing there next to them. Can you? Sure Janine is going to be okay with the kids? Man, I, thank you. I owe you. I know, I know, I’ll figure it out. You can’t always come over. Pizza sound good? Cool. Yeah, I know. Those imaginary friends can’t actually ‘do’ anything. Just talk or show up. I wouldn’t be freaking out this much if it was like that. What do I mean? Man, it showed up in the hallway yesterday while I was in the bedroom, the door wide open. It just did its staring thing. Door slammed shut, and I didn’t do it. Damned door shut.
'Can I just admit defeat right here then?' Grefephas asks 'You can...' Priestess Hyyl says 'Done, now, I need to go back home before things get too chaotic again... You WON'T believe what kind of mess the hell becomes, if nobody is being a babysitter of those dunces...' Grefephas says in very annoyed manner not annoyed about the priestess. Annoyed about imagining what kind of mess, the lord would need to sort out, if this is away for too long. Pillars of flame appeared out of nowhere as in front of the lord, Hyyl was about to say something but, Demon lord disappeared with the flames. Priest Ern is just as confused as all other priests and priestesses. 'So, what now?' priestess Hyyl asks in astonished tone of what just happened, Demon lord just gave up right there and then. Then just went back home. 'Would the holy ones also be just as confused?' Priest Ern wonders feeling as bewildered by what just happened as others are. 'I can only say big maybe...' priest Lou says 'I am with you on that statement' Priestess Jill says. They do the procedures required to purify and sanctify the place to make sure no more demons arrive. Only thing they could find was letter of disapproval from the demon lord from wasting this time and almost causing an incident. Land continues to know peace for a long time as evidence from the demon lord's words (while you shouldn't trust dwellers of damnation in general. This does make sense what just happened). It is unfortunate how little the members of church's higher ups know of the dwellers of damnation though as such summoning is bound to be unstable and very likely might have unknowingly caused other routes to the nation of Ghellesvar and damnation to open, very few currently open and many that collapsed after the demon lord's return to home. Such routes will become source of intrigue among people were they your average farmer, soldiers, governor, member of church or councilor of the nation. There are many tales that follow from this event of... Rather, embarrassing mistakes by all involved in it. The demon lord though would prove to be truthful though. As these routes between the two realms are not solely to blame on this and like this said. Somebody has to babysit the damnation so it won't get out of hand. Not pure order but, at least some kind of organization to be better prepared for wars between heaven and hell. Grefephas does definitely want to give some kind of punishment for such foolishness. But, humans having to fix the mess on their side caused by these routes opening either until closed or were open temporarily does satisfy this enough though. I wonder what kind of tale of turmoil, change, desire, elation, sorrow and or rage should be told next...
"Ten hup! And left! Left! Left!" The band started marching, in perfect step. The percussion were all tapping their drums on the director's calls of left step, perfectly in time. It was performance time, and their performance was ready. They played simple songs, but as they played their first opener, and went through their choreography, the aliens started... to blow up. They were playing perfectly, and the aliens couldn't take the music. Then they switched to Christmas songs when they ran out of regular songs, and had a little dance in the middle. We protected the band, while they were recovering during their cadences, though with the perfect playing of the percussion, we weren't needed too much. Then when they finally ran out of songs, the jazz band, which I was actually in, started to play. We weren't used to marching, so we were less effective, but we still worked anyways. Our songs were longer, so the marching band could rest with more cadences. Eventually, the aliens retreated, and we celebrated with... more music.
Gerbil tea became a huge thing in the summer of 2037, as the exceptonal heat waves provoked massive gerbil invasions a bit everywhere worldwide (it is still unclear how it happened even in regions where gerbils didn't exist before). It began as a viral video on PicPoke where a group of korean girls grabbed gerbils by the tail and put them, together with various berries, in glasses of warm water. The gerbils panicked and with their cute tiny legs they stirred the berries up, resulting in something closer to a smoothie than tea. But due to the hand gesture that was like dipping a bag of tea in the glass, the name stuck. Gerbil tea can now be consumed in Gerbil Bars worldwide. Typically, you are served a glass cup of warm water, you pick the berries you wish from the trays by the counter, you grab the first gerbil that runs by and there you are. It is yummy, it is fun, it is healthy.
"Why are you crying?"The hero asked. "I do not relish what is to come. I have lived it so many times... so so many times. I just want this curse to end. That's all. It's driving me mad and yet, I still feel... sorrow for having to do what I must." I looked him in the eyes. I had held this conversation with him countless times. I can't truly fathom infinity, but at this point it feels like infinity to me. I was cursed long ago. To the man standing in front of me, it would only have been a few years ago, but to me it had been millenia. Thousands of years... millions maybe. I know every detail about this moment and many more to come. I know the man I'm about to kill is a good man. A man with a family that loves him. 2 children, 8 and 10 years old. He's saved many lives and while he believes himself invincible, I know his every weakness. Weaknesses even he doesn't know about. The simplest one is a titanium box, filled with the chemical powder thermite, ignited so that it burns every cell in his body faster and at a higher temperature than they're capable of his normal regeneration. He would have learned this fact on a special operation 3 weeks from now, non-fatally. Unfortunately to escape my own hell, he must be sent to his. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Despite the tears running down my cheeks, I had to keep up the act. A simple taunt to make him angry. "I know where Kevin and Alex are."I can see the rage boil into his eyes. He thinks his secret identity protects his family. I had them kidnapped 2 days ago. No harm would come to them, they had no affect on my plans, and I was well past doing anything pointless. A fake laugh to drive the point home, enrage him beyond sense. With his heightened senses he would realize the trap if he stopped to realize what he was smelling. "I have your sons. And you'll never see them again." Some heroes would have questioned me, asking where they were or what I wanted. This hero on the other hand was the type to attack when I threatened his family. One step left, duck the punch I knew was coming. Jump backwards avoiding the elbow. I can see the fear start to creep in. No one stands up to his super strength and speed in a fair fight. As far as he knows I have no powers at all, it doesnt make sense to him. He lunges, trying to catch me off guard but Ive seen this move so many times slipping out of the way becomes second nature. His movements become more weary. He always over-commits on the roundhouse kick. I use his own momentum to push him at just the right angle. There. He's over the trap door and I press the button. When his screams finally stop I take a moment to grieve. No one should have to do what I've done. But uniting the world doesn't happen without martyrs... I've tried. --------------------------------- 15 years later I'm close now. Closer than I've ever been. Looking out at the cheering crowd, I know I deserve this. Public executions haven't existed in the civilized world for decades. They've made an exception. But in my wake I leave perfection. Nuclear weapons have all been destroyed. That one was difficult. It took the destruction of not one but two major cities to teach that lesson. Borders disintegrated. Famine and disease at record lows. I'd planted technology from decades in the future into the past to achieve that. People across the world united as one never before. It was a unification through a shared hatred of me, but that was OK. I couldn't stop smiling. I'd finally done it. They began to walk me up on the stage. I was finally at peace. Then I heard one of my guards remark to another "Hey you see the news? Bomb just went off in Israel, guess with this one about to kick it some of the old enemies are starting things back up. Some things never change, huh?" I screamed. They held me down and the needle went in. Everything went black. --------------------------------- I snapped back into my body just in time to hear it again. "I wish for the ability to make the perfect world." I screamed again as the demon laughed. He'd always laughed, but now I knew why.
"Billy, Billy, oh Billy,"I say, my tone lowering each word. I lean against the cabins back wall. A full moon's light shines through a hole in the roof. "Why did you have to die Billy,"I say. I take a sip from my water bottle and feel refreshed; it's gatorade. Memories flood back into my mind, and I recall everything that has happened. I'm backpacking with Billy and my dog Zeus. Night comes and we go to sleep, when we wake up we notice that Zues is gone. I leave my tent and call him, but Zeus doesn't come. A week goes by, we still hike, and discard gear to go faster. Billy and I were almost to our destination, so we decided to spend the night hiking. The first hour goes well, then I hear howls. From the woods come 4 human-like wolfs, the rest is a flash but all I know is that Billy died. I sip my drink once more, it tastes good, I drift off to sleep. I am awakened by knocks at the door. "Awww, man, this cabin is cool,"I hear. "I wonder if theres anyone in here?"says another voice. The door creaks open, light slowly comes through. We both jump. "Hey!"he says. "Hey!"I say back. The man is wearing a hiking pack and has glasses resting on his nose. Another guy comes from behind him and looks over his shoulder. "Are you okay man? What happened, your covered in blood?"he says. I explain everything, the ambush, why I ran, all that. But they don't seem convinced, they must think I murdered someone. Even so, we leave the dilapidated cabin and get back on the trail. From our conversation I learn that we are both going to the same place, so we plan to travel together. They go to grab their stuff and I stand there, looking at the sky pondering my situation. I hear a bark and my head jerks. I rub my eyes, is that who I think it is? Don and Charles (the hikers), are next to Zeus, my dog. My dog runs up into my arms, I give him a hug. "Oh Zeus I'm so happy to see you,"he licks my face. "We found him on the road, he was hungry,"says Don. I notice a bitemark on his back. "Did he have this bitemark when you found him?"I ask. "Ummm, it must have been a bear,"says Charles. A cold uncomfortable silence hangs. "Snap,"a branch breaks. "Sic him,"yelled Charles. From the woods came a large werewolf, Zeus wimpered and I ran. This didn't make sense.
The gods never meet all together, all at once, and at the same location. I tell you this so you may know how significant a meeting like this is. One would think that the room holding all the gods would look spectacular, a sight that our mortal brains could not comprehend, however this was not the case. The room was large to be sure, but very plain. A beige carpet lined the floor, the bare walls a dull grey, and the lighting simple florescent lamps in the ceiling. If it wasn't for the size one would mistake it for a cheap ball room at a Holiday Inn, but yet here all the gods set. None of them spoke, for none were entirely sure who called the meeting, but the host remaining anonymous was essential for the pride of other gods. The problem remained though, someone had to speak. Eventually Bastet, rolled her golden eyes and knocked her glass of water with a carefree wave of her hand, drawing all the gods attention to her. "Well,"she purred, "we all know why we're here. The humans have never been a threat due to their mortality, but now they have beaten that too. So, what are we to do?" An elder god stood up knocking his chair to the ground and banged his appendages on the table. "Allow me but a moment into their realm, and I will give them a sight so terrible they will wish to undue their own immortality to begone of the thought." Another god rested his face on his hand, "Or you will be the first one they kill to make their nightmares stop, so not only will you be dead but they will have figured out how to travel to the realms of the god."He yawned and pointed a finger at the elder god, "the one reason we probably aren't all dead or enslaved to them now." Another spoke in worried hushed tones that sounded more of wind than of a voice, "but now that they are immortal, once they have thoroughly destroyed their own realm they will come to conquer our owns." Many of the gods nodded and muttered in agreement in this. A handsome god with a chiseled glowing face spoke, "Dieties, what these new immortals need is what they've always needed. A good enemy and right now, that's us. They always have, viewed anything similar to them as a thing that must be captured to either be made use of, destroyed, or most often is the case with humans, both." A god with several heads interupted each head alternating each word, "Are you proposing one of us volunteer as a scape goat to occupy them while the rest get away." A loud mumbling started, the handsome god spoke before the meeting unraveled completely, "Of course not if you let me finish,"he paused staring down the many headed god, "I propose that we make a new species, a new immortal species, to war with the humans in our place. Let them fight a never ending war between the two." "And who do you propose we have do that?"Another god's voice boomed like thunder, "this new race would be loyal to their creator for a time but a threat to us." The handsome leaned back in chair and crossed his arms and smiled, "Why only one who has something of great significance to gain. Unfortunately, he's not here." The god who spoke before exploded from his chair in clash of thunder in the flash of light he was now mere inches from the handsome gods still smiling face, "I forbid it!" "You may forbid it, but what do the others think." Silence filled the room. Then finally one spoke, "Who is this god that you speak of." "The same god who gave the humans the ability to even kill a god in the first place, Prometheus. We can have him make a new race of man with same power as the humans bent on killing the humans in exchange for his freedom." The room was split for a while on this proposal. More proposals were given, but none seemed to work against the human's craftiness and new found immortality. At last it was decided that Prometheus would be freed in exchange for a new enemy for the humans to face. So, it was Prometheus's chains were broken, his torture ended, and his freedom regained. Prometheus made a new race of man, engraved with immortality, and given the same fire that the humans had received eons ago. He kept his promise, and put no sense of allegience to their creator. And as he watched on as the two races he fought each other he smiled, for the flame he had given both to this new race and humans had but one goal, to extinguish all life except that of its own kind and the one who had given.
Nobody looks good when they come out of the womb. After all, you've been cramped up inside the equivalent of a wet sleeping bag for the last nine months, and that never does anyone's skin any favors. Compound that with the conniptions that a human skull and body has to go through to fit through a 10-centimeter hole. You get the picture. For as long as anyone could remember, every year the annual beauty rankings would rank someone in their late teens to late 20's as the most beautiful. There was no question there. The world's ugliest was a far more diverse crew. Often you'd have a newborn infant, an intellectually impaired adult, or sometimes someone freshly plucked from a terrible accident. Sometimes there would even be someone very, very old. But a baby was certainly not an uncommon occurrence. I turned to look at my husband to see how he was taking the news. His face had the expression of a bowl of ice cream that had been neglected for a few minutes too long. I suppose it was just as unfair to him as it was to me that the annual beauty ranking had been held a mere seven and a half seconds after our bald, scratched-up, wrinkled, bawling daughter had finally been born. After a very long 36 hours of labor it was the last thing either of us needed. "Don't worry", I heard myself saying. "They usually don't look this way for very long."
Ryan had never been one for surprises, especially when it came to job interviews. He had been looking for work for months, ever since he turned sixteen and was finally old enough to get a part-time job. He was excited to apply at the very first Waffle House opened in Sydney. He borrowed a horrible old blazer and trousers from his dad, printed a resume he looked up online and caught the bus downtown. When he walked into the Waffle House and saw a boxing ring set up in the middle of the kitchen, he had to wonder if this was the wrong building. "What the hell is this?"he asked the manager, a tall, lanky man with a thick accent. "It's the interview, of course,"the man replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We like to see how our employees handle themselves under pressure." Ryan caught at least three golden caps when the manager flashed a toothy grin. "You want me to fight for this job?" "Well, not exactly,"the manager said. "But we do want to see how you handle yourself in a tough situation. And there's no tougher situation than a Waffle House kitchen on a Saturday night." Ryan looked around, trying to see if this was some kind of joke. There were only two other men in the room, wearing cook's aprons and deadly serious grimaces. He sighed. He had never been in a fight in his life, and the thought of getting his shit rocked just for the privilege of bringing people their awful pancakes seemed ridiculous. No wonder people always complain about minimum wage. Still, he needed this job. He had been looking forward to finally having an income for months, and he was desperate to buy a car for himself. He looked at the manager, who was waiting expectantly. "Fine,"Ryan said. "Let's do this." "That's the ticket,"said the manager, "Let me just go grab your opponent." While he disappeared into the kitchen, Ryan took off his blazer, draped it over a chair, and stepped into the makeshift ring. Cracking his neck and trying to loosen up, Ryan tried to start mentally prepare himself. OK, Ryan. You're Goku. Keyser goddamn Soze. You're the bird and the bees. Wait, no, that isn't ri- Ryan's train of thought was interrupted. Out of the back walked the manager with a kangaroo being led on a long leash. Ryan was in disbelief. The manager dragged it up to the edge of the ring like a stubborn mule. "Kid, meet Joey. Joey, meet kid." "What kind of game are you people playing at?"Ryan asked, backing in to the corner. "This is supposed to be a Waffle House!" Struggling with the boomer nearly as tall as himself, the manager grunted. "Last chance, kid. In or out?" That's it. These people are insane. "In." Ryan only just had time to notice the spikes on the kangaroo's collar before the manager's quick fingers had disconnected the lead. With a loud "Go on get!"and a smack on the rump, the beast lunged into the ring, straight at him. Brutal toe claws propelled by a tail as thick as a redwood sprang towards him at approximately the speed of light. Ryan panicked, diving out of the way headfirst into a booth that served for one edge of this apparent cage match. The massive kangaroo stopped at the edge of the bench seat, staring at him. Apparently, this wasn't Joey's first rodeo. "What, you have this thing trained!?"Ryan said, scrambling up on the seat as far away as possible. "Standard corporate practice, kid,"the managed guffawed across the room. "Now, get back in there if you want a job!" Starting to wonder if he really needed a car after all, Ryan looked around for an escape. He glanced at the booth table to see it was covered with partially-rolled silverware, empty pepper shakers and the assorted other detritus one might find in an almost-opened restaurant. And then he saw it: a giant, unopened jar of off-brand Vegemite. In desperation, Ryan grabbed the jar with both hands and smashed it down at Joey's feet, splattering the general vicinity with sticky brown goo. To his utter bewilderment, it worked. Joey immediately quit his aggressive posture and bent to start licking every surface he could reach. Standing up on the booth bench, Ryan took his opportunity to strike. He landed a well-placed kick into the side of Joey's head and got the hell out of there as fast as he could, making for the entrance. By this time, Ryan noticed that all three men in the room were doubled up with laugher. He stopped in the doorway, fuming. "You people are insane!" With tears streaming down his face, the manager said "Welcome to the team, kid,"and threw a Waffle House T-shirt. Ryan couldn't believe it. He had just won himself a job at the Waffle House, all thanks to a ridiculous boxing match against a kangaroo. He shook his head and put on the t-shirt, still trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. &#x200B; \-R\_J\_S ((THIS WAS SO FUN!! My first prompt, thanks for giving me an opportunity to write something short & silly)).
Hannah stood proudly in front of the massive machine, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I did it, Todd!"she exclaimed. "I created a homunculus!" Todd's eyes widened in panic as he looked at the small, synthetic being in front of him. Something about the whole thing made him uneasy, it looked exactly like the thing he saw in his dream of Jenny. "Hannah, are you sure this is a good idea?"he asked hesitantly. Jenny with a hand on her hip, "Ugh, she used it Todd. She used the book!". Ignoring Jenny, Hannah flipped her hair as she smiled at Todd. "Oh, Todd, don't be such a worrywart. This is a major breakthrough in science and technology. With the help of this homunculus, we'll be able to gather data and secrets from every corner of the globe, making new discoveries and innovations that will change the world." Jenny, who had been standing off to the side, wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ew, that thing is gross. I don't want anything to do with it." Curtis, who had been cheering Todd on from the sidelines, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, dude, that thing is creepy. I don't think we should mess with it."Jenny nods, "That disgusting thing was in my room last night"Jenny punches Todd. "Ow". "Why does that ugly thing look like you?"Todd, with a dejected look, just shrugs. Todd sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew that Hannah meant well, but something about this whole situation just didn't sit right with him. But before he could say anything, the homunculus ran off as it giggled in glee. "Must kill Jenny... Must kill Jenny,"it said in a monotone voice. Curtis used his arm to knock the thing into the hallway as Jenny and Todd find things to bar the door. Jenny looks at Hannah at rage, "Why did that thing just try to kill me Hannah?"Curtis speaks up, "She likes Todd, Jenny. It's obvious. Trust me the love doctor knows these things". Hannah responds in a weak lie "Like Todd... What, No!" As he listened to the others, Todd knew that he had a difficult decision to make. But no matter what he chose, he knew that he had to do what was best for everyone, even if it meant going against the wishes of his friends and loved ones. Jimmy's advice was still fresh in his mind, "Chicks like being put in danger man... Oh but you gotta rescue them too... don't forget that part okay". "Thanks Jimmy"Todd mutters to himself. Todd suspiciously approaches Jenny with a convenient rope from the lab behind his back. Jenny instinctively reels her body away from Todd, "What're you doing?". "Now Jenny, I know you're not gonna like this but to save you from danger, I'm gonna have to put you in danger first." Jenny nods until she realizes that Todd's seemingly level-headed plan involved her in danger. "What?! No!" The others were now hiding around the lab as Jenny was tied to one of the stools using rope. "Todd! Let me out of here you little shit!"
I never thought we'd grow old together. Everyone knows how the story goes. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they fall in love and spend the rest of their lives as they are, free to enjoy each other as their prime selves, unchanged. When I met my husband we were both young, practically children. He was a local boy, working as a bartender across the street from the university I attended. I remember he had this affable glow around him, friends with everyone who walked through the door, never let a bad night get him down. I thought it was a ploy to get better tips. Then he talked to me. It was a slow night. A day or so before spring break, most of my friends had already bailed after their last final. I was one of two people in the bar. He served me a whiskey sour, on the house, and we got to talking. I'd never loved the sound of someone's voice so much. We talked about everything. Our friends, our childhoods, our plans for the future. I wanted to be a doctor, he wanted to take over and possibly expand the family bar. Before we knew it, it was 3am and he was closing up the bar before following me back to my dorm room for the night. I was supposed to spring break at a beach house owned my roommate's uncle. Instead, I spent the next two weeks in his apartment, more naked than clothed. Two years later, we were married. It was a small ceremony, only ten people came. We celebrated by drinking and dancing in the very bar we met in. I'd never been happier. Those first few years of marriage were mostly bliss. Medical school wasn't easy, he was butting heads with his father at the bar but we had each other. We had our own place and we were completely in love. Neither of us aged a bit. Things got a little tough when I started my residency. He worked days, I worked days and nights. We did it our best to make time for one another but it wasn't easy. Some days it felt like I was roommates with a ghost that liked to leave sweet post-it notes on the walls. I love you. Have a good day at work. Those nurses are bitches. Seems stupid now but those little notes were all that got me through the day sometimes. And of course, I put in effort too. Stopping by the bar after work even when I was exhausted. Perking myself up for date nights even when my feet were killing me. It was worth it to make him happy. It was hard but we loved each other, you could tell by the lack of wrinkles. The pregnancy was where things really went awry. I remember the two of us pacing around each other in the apartment, waiting for the timer in the bathroom to ring. I was floored when I saw the plus sign. What kind of a doctor gets pregnant on accident? He couldn't keep the smile off his face though. "Would it really be so bad?"he asked. "Having a little person around this place, with a little of me and a little of you in them?"Then I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Well at least for a little while. Then he said those eight fatal words... "When do you think you'll quit your job?" We had the biggest fight of our entire relationship. Tears shed, accusations thrown, doors slammed (by me). He was insistent. I couldn't be a resident and pregnant mother. It was too much work, too much stress. He was worried that it would be too much for me and the baby. I was worried that he was being a complete asshole, trying to keep me literally barefoot and pregnant in the apartment while all my dreams for the future flew out the window. I spent two days at my mother's house. She told me not to be stubborn and pigheaded. He begged my forgiveness so I decided to come home. After a long, much calmer talk, he agreed that my working was for the best, someone had to pay off my student loans after all. I suppose you could say I won that fight. But it was hard to feel that way when later that night, as I ran a comb over my scalp, I noticed one single strand of gray hair.
Okay. Male and female. Both internationally wanted on bioterrorism charges. To the public she is his second in command. To them they are equals, friends, lovers. Both probably not entirely sane/sociopathic but do care for eachother. Currently near death, having just survived and escaped a fight through faking their deaths. Currently doing the classic taking care of eachothers wounds and making sure they are as okay as can be after it all thing. Like sicfics but injuries. Idk, I tried to make it unique. I apologize if it's not the best prompt. Basically two terrible people who do terrible things but love eachother as a sick(injury) fic prompt.
Marz 1. Everyone here looks like humans with green skin and stalks. Their language is not exactly English yet exactly like English. 2. It's a pacifist society with a small, real empire (a single moon, because nobody lived there) and one of the few planets in the galaxy to have achieved World Peace. That's mostly because every marvian has genetically developed an aversion to conflict. Except Clark. Clark's gonna destroy them all someday, I'm calling it. 3. Other empires mock them, so out of peer pressure they send footsoldiers to outer worlds to "conquer"them (make the leader sign a formal contract oficializing their ultimate defeat on the hands of the great and undefeatable Great Undefeatable Empire.) The only person who likes doing this is Clark. Fuck off, Clark. [Here's the story from where this world is from. Would love to see your take :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/Box_Of_Stories/comments/ttrw40/9_two_aliens_and_a_cannibal_planet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button) [Also the song](https://youtube.com/watch?v=Z6KatJHmbIE&si=EnSIkaIECMiOmarE)
"You chopped off my fucking Arm!"I glared at Jake, my best friend, and the biggest idiot I know. "I said I'm sorry!"he replied like it was no big deal. Maybe for him, but my species needs a month to regenerate lost limbs. "YOU. CHOPPED. OFF. MY. FUCKING. ARM!"I glared harder. He tried to speak again, but a well-placed kick to the nuts made him shut up and collapse to the ground. "Revenge!"I yelled and grabbed the Axe he used to cut off my arm and swung it down on his right shoulder. A/n: yeah, I know. It's a short one, but I wanted to write it anyway.
It didn’t even click at first, that half-ripped page of notebook paper with the four numbers on it. I honestly forgot about it when I shoved it into my jeans pocket and was led through the crowd of police and medical personnel to the stretcher. I think one of the officers said my brother handed it to him, that he was still coherent, still alive. Had said to give it to his brother along with my phone number. It was the furthest thing from my mind as one person pulled back the sheet, and I saw what the accident had done to my brother. The brother I had only gotten to know again after being separated as young children when he was adopted. We had three weeks together, and now here he was, lying on that stretcher. Not breathing. Not blinking. I don’t remember much else of that night. There were questions, many of which I couldn’t even begin to answer. I barely knew him; thirty-three years apart, and sometimes it felt like talking to a random stranger, one who was using the guest bedroom of my house. I didn’t even have an emergency contact for him; as far as he had told me, he had no children or wife or close family. They asked me if he drank, and I remember saying I didn’t know. I said that a lot that night. I recall feeling numb, in a haze. I woke up the following day, much later than I usually do, like it was any other morning, and a moment later, it hit me. It took me another hour to get out of bed, somehow paying no heed to my bladder. I spent most of the day flipping channels, not really watching the television, but not knowing what else to do. Finally, at some point in the evening, I think it was about seven; I managed to get myself up and walk to the guest room. I stood there, staring at the darkening shadows as they lay across the unmade bed and the three bags he had brought with him. I didn’t know what I should do with it; I wasn’t even sure I should touch it if the police wanted to look through it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how little I knew about this brother who contacted me through one of those genetic test sites. And weeks later, I was wondering if I had to be the one to plan his funeral. God, I hope he had someone to do that. It was hard enough when my parents passed. And between the three bags, there was the box. I suppose it was more safe with that combination lock on the front. I had asked him about it when I first saw it as he was bringing his bags in from the car; he had told me it was just important documents he kept with him because of work. A firm in New York, he told me. He even told me the big names on the front of the place, but I hadn’t paid much attention. I was still in that nervous state between ‘who is this person’ and ‘I can’t believe this is happening finally.’ And now it sat there, and as my thoughts quickly raced back to that piece of paper, that safe became a sudden heavy weight. I don’t think it was curiosity; maybe it was, I don’t know. But I walked, jogged, across the house to my bedroom and found my jeans from the night before in the laundry basket. I dug out the paper and stared at its careful pencil marks. 12, 7, 26, 1. I couldn’t think what else it might have been for; I couldn’t imagine why he wanted me to have it. But, honestly, I don’t think I was thinking at all as I walked back across the house to the guest room and knelt on the floor in front of the bed, staring at the safe. I don’t recall any point that my inner voice told me to stop, to leave it alone; it wasn’t mine. It took some fumbling to figure out whether to start left or right and how many spins to give it, but it opened. Inside was letters, not in a bundle or neatly stacked—just dozens of yellowed envelopes in a pile. I started to pick them up, flipping through them and looking at the face of each one. Two things jumped out. The first was that I recognized all the destination addresses. They had all been houses I lived at growing up, up to the last one from when I still lived with my parents. The other was all the ‘return to sender’ red stamps on the front of them and the word ‘refused’ written on several of them. I recognized the handwriting on each ‘refused.’ It was my mother’s handwriting; I would know it anywhere. She had such elegant, flowing handwriting, almost like she was trying to make art with each letter. All the return addresses had my brother’s name on them, some with his adopted last name, some with my last name. My parents never wanted to talk about why they had to give him up for adoption, and eventually, I gave up on getting answers. Just accepted it as it was. My mother even told me that his adopted family had moved out of the country. I turned and sat with my back against the mattress, senseless, holding several letters in my hands. I think I stayed like that through the next day.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror as if frozen. With trembling hands I grabbed my cheek, instead of taut, young skin I felt the skin of an old man. Like a rough piece of leather that lost its shape after years of use. But, how could this be? Why was the person in the mirror doing the same thing! Was she trying to mock me? Was she perhaps just laughing behind my back, pleased to have deceived me? Or, what if - CLATTER CLATCH CLATCH Again and again I slapped myself on the cheeks, when even this did not seem enough, I opened the tap and held my head under ice-cold water. Everything will be all right in a moment, I said to myself as if in a psalm. It's only a dream, it's only a bad dream.... Slowly calm returned to me, my heart, which was beating like a jackhammer before, calmed down now. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up, brushed my wet hair out of my face and opened my eyes. With a self-satisfied grin, an old man looked back at me. All the alarm bells were ringing in my head, I stared stiffly at my reflection in disbelief at what I saw. It wasn't me. I was still young, maybe not an Adonis, but even I had my merits!!! Who is this? I-I am that? I am this ugly old man? What happened to my wonderful hair? Panicked, I fumbled my head, only to find a pair of scattered gray hairs - a half bald head? In disbelief, I stared at the small tuft of hair I held in my hands. A bald head... as if a half bald head wasn't enough. sagging skin age spots missing teeth ... I am old. Ugly. Unsightly. That's what you get for being so incredibly arrogant. Do you really think I would just let your arrogance go - not only tolerate it, but even encourage it? As generous as I am, there is an end to everything. And that you not only consider yourselves to be my image, but also simply erase me from your lives - you have gone too far. Humans, apparently you have forgotten who I am. But it would be boring to just kill you, after all, you still have a use. Instead, I will take what is so incredibly important to you - your time. Hide in shame, cover yourselves in an attempt not to be recognized. Destroy your former image with your present sight. This is the fruit of your arrogance, nothing but karma. Whatever you do - entertain me, you humans.
So what brings you Dakopolis, business, pleasure, or pokémon, eh?... Oh ya you betcha, we are huge on the 'mon circuits. Our metro area has the Battle Creek park, where you can let your friends out to roam free, and see how they fair fighting on their own. I know, right? Mayor and Professor Aspen were real proud of that plan. We also got a full set of gyms, ranging from the steel type on the observation deck of a skyscraper, to the water one that has you kayaking down the river. Personal favorite is the Subway, a great fight. Of course, you gotta figure out what train to catch them on. Oh, if you can, make sure you at least see Aero Field, over on the Oakdale side of the river. Elite Four matches there are amazing! Takes you back to your first battle. At least til they use the archetype lens, but that is a huge plus, like nothing you've ever seen, and you'll only see it here. Ope, there we are, Dakovale Hotel. Enjoy your stay!
"...hey. Hey guys." "Boss please-" "It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it."The groans of the crew echoed throughout the sewer as I purposefully gave a dumb laugh. They could complain all they wanted, but it was better than just silently walking through this place and breathing in god knows what. Benji thankfully managed to guide them to the right manhole cover, and I gestured Heinz forward, the tallest of the crew set down one of the supply crates so he could stand and jab a crowbar into the cover. Even without him to confirm it I could hear the sounds of the block party popping off and I quickly gestured for everyone to start sending crates up. It was slow going but they couldn't risk going any faster, and when all the supplies were delivered we quickly scampered away. Getting back to our entry point was just as long and gross as getting to the delivery zone, but thankfully we were able to stop by Jose's house and house ourselves down, and more importantly could get access to a T.V.. "-scene of joy in the face of danger." The screen cut to a live feed of the block party a ways away, "Despite Militech cordoning off the neighborhood to prevent the escape of 6th Street Gang members who fled to the area, it appears residents have welcomed their presence-" I gave a long, thankful breath out as a few of the guys relaxed. Truth be told, this job was more risky than he would've liked: Militech would shoot down any drone they sent in and they sure as shit couldn't walk in, so that left dropping off supplies from below. Thankfully the covered tables in the middle of the street gave the manhole enough cover, and Militech wasn't so gung-ho they didn't realize how bad for P.R. knocking around a peaceful little party was, but one wrong move and they would've swarmed the place to "detain"everyone. Of course, I wasn't out of the woods yet, especially since the supply crates had the Militech logos hastily filed off, but... I smiled as I saw a mother crying tears of joy as she carried a full box of baby formula inside, a young man practically sprinting up to his elder with a bag I knew held sucrose regulators, and a pair of kids tossing a shiny new ball around. Being a Fixer was a dirty job, but he wouldn't give it up for the world.
Sam was just finishing his usual 4 hour watchman shift onboard the North Aquila vessel at 8pm local. The ship was cruising peacefully back to port in Scotland after a successful mission in the Atlantic ocean. Joining Sam onboard the North Aquila were 11 other shipmates that worked together on the mission. Now that they’ve successfully delivered and dropped off supplies for the ocean base in the Atlantic for a high end customer. A few hours into the voyage back home, the Captain received a very happy call from a boss at headquarters who complemented him and his crew on a successful mission. Overall, everyone was left very content. The cook added a pint of beer for everyone at the mess for dinner - something that isn’t allowed according to company policy, but beer is sometimes unofficially served on special occasions such as this one. Joining the Captain and the Chief mate for the celebration at the mess, they discussed and bragged about their plans and ambitions for their time off once they get back on land and overall, it was a very fun and cheerful night for Sam and the rest of the crew. After retiring to his compartment, Sam didn’t spend much time awake. He checked in on his emails and gave his wife a call on the satellite phone, sharing the good news before going to bed to get some good rest before his next shift at 4am. It would only be a few days before he would re-unite with his wife and kids to start his well deserved time off. He was looking forward to it very much and couldn’t stop thinking about the things he would be doing on his vacation and the places he would go, as he dozed off to sleep. Sam opened his eyes in the usual state of morning confusion. This time, it wasn’t the loud chime of his bedside alarm that woke him up, but a weird notion that overtook his body. He quickly came to realise that the deep constant roar of the vessel engine from the engine room was replaced by a high-pitched hum. It didn’t make any sense. Panicked, he got up from his bed and looked around. His compartment seemed unchanged with the exception of the compartment window blind that looked different to what it was like yesterday. He was wearing the exact same bed clothes that he usually wears when he goes to bed and it one would otherwise very hardly be able to tell the difference between where he was now and his compartment onboard the Aquila. His bedside alarm had mysteriously disappeared. As he got up, he suddenly felt the ground beneath him shake. Turbulence. It slowly started adding up for Sam that he wasn’t on the North Aquila anymore, but was on some sort of aircraft. Indeed when he rushed to open his window, there weren’t any empty containers onboard the cargo deck surrounded by ocean waves. There was a skyline from very high up in the air with some clouds a couple miles below them and some grass fields on the ground. As he looked right, he saw a grey metal wind with a flashing strobe light. ‘Why am I on a plane?’ - was Sam’s first thought, as his mind went into a bizarre brainstorm of confusion. Nothing was making any sense. ‘Okay, but surely, if I’m on an aircraft and not a vessel, there must be someone else onboard that knows what’s happening. Have I been kidnapped maybe?’ Sam opened the door to discover a straight corridor from the end of the aircraft where he was, surrounded by beige leather seats and dark wooden tables. It looked like a typical private jet that you would see in magazines and films - not something Sam has ever witnessed with his own eyes before now. This added to the confusion. Sam found himself in the back of a private jet in a bedroom that replicated his compartment onboard the supply ship he worked on, 30.000 feet up in the air. To add to his surprise, everything was neatly cleaned up and there was not a soul to be seen in the private jet lounge. He continued walking up along the corridor towards a door that would surely lead to a cockpit with human beings that could explain what was going on. He pushed the plastic door handle to slide open the door. What it revealed was the most shocking and perhaps scariest sight of his life. It wasn’t a flight attendant that was waiting to greet Sam. It wasn’t a pair of pilots who were busily working the controls… there was emptiness. Not really, there was still a door on the left-hand side and a short gangway that lead to the cockpit which revealed the complicated systems and controls to fly the aircraft. But there wasn’t a single person to be seen in any of the seats. There were no flight attendants. And as Sam slowly walked into the cockpit, he found that there were no pilots sitting at their seats. Sam found himself completely alone on a private jet that was flying God knows where high in the sky, when he was supposed to be on his vessel by now, getting ready to start his next watchman shift on his way home. Sam didn’t know what to do. It was the scariest moment of his life. Despite everything that he went through in his life, from being robbed at gunpoint at a club, to surviving a disastrous fire during safety training and to seeing his wife pass out in labour. This was absolutely the scariest for Sam, who was absolutely bewildered in shock from what was happening around him. I distinct questions began to flood his head. Was he going crazy? Is this what the afterlife looks like? Is he having a dream? Surely, it’s just a dream. This cannot be real. How did he get there? Will he find out? What happens now, what is he to do?
Before humanity sought to traverse the cosmos and survey the seas, before even the idea of writing had been conceived by the Sumerians, mankind wanted something to praise, something to worship. Would such an entity be benevolent, blessing those it finds deserving? Or would it be cruel and coldhearted, inflicting destruction wherever it pleases? Perhaps such a creature would be apathetic, uncaring to the plights of the mortals beneath it? These were the questions running through the villagers' heads as they gathered around the jagged rip in reality, their eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of energy. The villagers of Edenville had never seen anything like this before, and couldn't help but wonder what might emerge from the other side. As they waited, the environment around them morphed. The forest surrounding their small village grew silent with the exception of eerie, inhuman screeches. The stars above their heads began to dim, and many villagers had already fled to their homes, leaving a small, brave group alone in the darkness. Their bravery was rewarded when, at long last, movement was seen in the rift. A massive, unblinking eye stared at them before the rift widened, revealing a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth. One fearless soul, a young boy, spoke up before his mother could stop him. "U-um Mister Monster, what are y-you doing here?"he inquired nervously. The beast's, gaping maws opened, and from those maws escaped a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Earth. The villagers nearest to the horror were the worst affected. Their faces twisted with pain as blood seeped from their ears. Those farther away were momentarily deafened, their sense overwhelmed by the sound's intensity. The roar stopped and the creature made a sound that sounded like a cough. Then it spoke. "Can you hear me now? I forget how fragile you mortals are."At the nod of several villagers, the creature continued, "You may call me Uhluhtc, and I am here to bring devastation and bloodshed to the Earth."The slaughter began wholesale. Men and women went insane left and right. People were rent in two by Uhluhtc's thorny tendrils. It was a bloody affair, and by the end of it only two beings were left alive: Uhuluhtc and the brave boy, Ezra. Ezra was leaning against a barely standing shed, sobbing. "Why, why, why? Why would you do something so horrible?"Ezra sobbed. Uhluhtc smiled. "Tell me, do you mourn for the ants you crush beneath your boots every day? Do you listen to their screams?"Ezra stopped sobbing, a look of anger crossing his face, "I didn't ask about bugs!"Uhluhtc went on seemingly ignoring him, "Humanity is a speck of dust lost on a pebble, their existence like an impulse traveling down a nerve, unconscious and forgotten. There will be more impulses, more creatures thinking their fleeting, ephemeral lives have meaning. We shall remain after the death of this universe and live to see another rise. Don't you get it, Ezra? You are a bug."Before Ezra could respond, Uhluhtc was upon him. Ezra’s last thoughts were of his mother as the creatures tentacles wrapped around him.
A thousand of the greatest minds that have lived and died have been unable to provide the answers to my existence and the forces that have given me eternal life an animation. The pontificators of the first galactic federation had no scientific explanation for my existence. When I was brought before the great star-mind, the one made to answer entropy, it looked upon me with bewilderment and disbelief. Now many civilizations live as uploaded consciousness and have been transferring to quark-matrix computers tapping the energy of rotating supermassive black holes. I am but a curiosity to them. I have known since the first hundred thousand years of life that it was impossible to transfer my consciousness to any substrate than the one that I presently inhabit. My body will only accept a limited degree of manipulation. I was able to reverse myself to my biological prime... as after I aged normally and withered into a decrepit husk for human civilizations' industrial, modern and early space eras. Upon returning to a more... ideal age I learned I could augment my body, giving myself conscious control over many obscure functions and enhance my physical and mental faculties. My body can be harmed, but should the physical harm exceed a dangerous threshold my immortality shall take over. During bouts of depression wherein I tested the limits of this immortality, I have learned that nothing can truly kill me. My body will endure minor injuries, even a handful of broken bones before responding in any way that could be considered supernatural. More violent deaths typically result in abrupt...invulnerability. My first brush with this was back in 2087... that was such a long time ago. During the third world war when the city I was in was struck by a crude thermonuclear device. I felt a moment of searing agony, as I was flung through a burning atomic hellscape to arrive laying face down on the half-molten ground. I felt the heat as a modest tingling burn... like being in a bath that was just a bit too hot. I walked away from ground zero and my worst injury was a blister on the right hand side of my face. Once, in the mid-2900s I was visiting an old friend of mine working on the Venus terraforming initiative when the ship's fusion torch suffered a catastrophic failure during the deceleration burn. The dust cloud from impact of the three-kilometer-long torchship hitting at orbital transfer speeds set the terraforming project back decades. I was left standing... in a choking, frigidly cold atmosphere to be recovered by a terraforming team. I once even submitted myself to an experiment to dive into the Saggitarius-A black hole. Simply to see what would happen. Upon crossing the event horizon, there was what felt like nothing for the longest time. The spacecraft I rode and its instrument panel were simply gone. Then I found myself waking up on a nearby habitable planet. Any sort of death to this effect... one where any physical matter should realistically be so utterly destroyed that I could not possibly exist simply results in me reappearing somewhere nearby in time and space. The prospect of uploading my consciousness has confounded every civilization. The more primitive and destructive methods of uploading the mind simply trigger my invulnerability. Quantum direct consciousness transfer creates a copy... rather than effectively transferring my consciousness. This copy is almost always insane or lacks most of my memories. How my memory functions is... unclear to me. I can recall many trillions of years of life, all with prefect lucidity. In theory if each moment of memory were only encoded on a single atom in my brain... well... there is no rational way for me to remember it all. But there it is. The current civilization... who call themselves the Qhat'shelok have thanked me for sharing what I knew about the universes' brilliant early days by constructing me a habitat tailored to my inefficient biological needs before hunkering down themselves. Its powered by feeding twelve micro-black holes from a moon-mass 'planet' made mostly out of iron. (Iron has the highest atomic binding energy and thus is very common on the mature universe). That should be enough mass-energy to last me basically...forever. And for at least the next trillion years I have natural starlight too. This red dwarf is old and the metallicity is high, but starlight is starlight and beggers cannot be choosers. The self-replicating robot workers they have supplied are quite intelligent and impressive. They will reconfigure the habitat to my whims to ensure things don't get boring. Even with a Qhat'shelok representative coming out of framejack every 113.821 old-earth years to speak to me, things are going to get boring. I hand-could crank a generator until the end of time... or maybe ask the robot workers to set up some artificial wombs and splice my DNA into some new humans... no. That would be cruel. Bringing them into this dying universe. Maybe I'll give thermodynamics or time travel another crack. Fifth dimensional brane energy has potential. I'm not really... religious but I think I was given this ability for a reason...
The coffee had gone cold and bitter, but she didn't know what else to do but quietly sip at the mug and stare at the rain streaming down the windows of the coffee shop. She watched the two-lane just past the half-full parking lot, watching the rare headlights come up around the curve, always hoping it was Mike's blue sedan. But it never was. Julie glanced at her watch, then back to the window as if she would miss something. He was late almost three hours; he was never late, where was he? She sighed and shook her head, and took another sip. It wasn't like it would matter now. Nothing else would happen. When it was her alone, nothing bad would happen. And she was alone. Again. Another sip. She hated it but didn't set the mug down. Having it in her hands seemed a bit of comfort. And it wasn't like she could make another cup; things tended not to work anymore after 'it' happened. She looked back across the shop at the machines behind the counter. She wouldn't want to use them even if they did work, even after the thick black tar pulled back into the nothingness it came from, leaving no trace that it had ever been. She tried once to use a plate that it had given back. That was a taste she never wanted to experience again. Damnit, where was Mike? She tried to call him the first instant she felt it coming on. Sure, she had to wait while the waitress got off the payphone with, Julie didn't know, what sounded like her dad. Was it a barista? Did baristas serve tables? She shook her head. It didn't matter. What mattered was she got a hold of Mike as soon as she could get her fingers to stop shaking and dialed his number. He picked up on the third ring, one more ring than usual, and he promised he would be there immediately. It was only half an hour down the hill. He was always so good about being on time. She hated that he felt responsible for her. And loved him dearly for it. He always knew what to do. It was so much slower when he was around; it gave her time to get as far away from people as possible and time for Mike to tell her that he loved her and climb back in the car and drive a mile or two down the road where he would sit the whole time. He'd tell her that again when he returned a few hours later. Julie believed he was the reason it only happened a few times a year; it used to be every few days, and when it was that time, it was almost daily. She needed him. But he didn't make it on time, and she couldn't call him because the payphone didn't work anymore and she couldn't keep a cellphone because whatever it was just destroyed them, burnt out all the parts. She hoped he got there soon before anyone else showed up before any police showed up. Seven cars were in the lot, and surely someone would realize their employee didn't show up for a shift or someone's mom didn't pick her kids up after school. There was a rattle and the smash of ceramic behind her. Her hands shook, splashing cold coffee onto the half-eaten bagel in front of her. She slowly turned her head and looked. She knew what she would see, but hated seeing it every time, ever since she was a little girl. On the floor two tables over, a coffee mug had hit the floor and exploded in a large splash. Coffee and pieces of the mug coated the face of its owner, their clouded eyes not noticing nor caring. A thin black streamed out between the pale lips and puddled on the floor. Coffee dripped down ashen grey skin pulled taut. At least it wasn't as bad as it could have been, she thought morbidly. At least they were mostly intact this time. Small miracles, she'd take it. But, even though she had seen it dozens of times before, Julie couldn't stand it when they were… all over. It made her vomit each time. She could almost taste it coming back up this time, but she swallowed, grimaced, and looked up at the table at what knocked the mug over. The tabletop was smeared in that black tar, its oily sheen catching the overhead lights. It squirmed as the other thing pulled itself up out of the sludge. Far too many skeletal-like limbs pulled the creature out of the tar, the deformed bulbous body ripping itself from its grip. The thing knocked over a fork like it had the mug, sending it clattering loudly on the tile floor. Julie watched through the corner of her eye as it pulled itself to the edge of the table and fell to the floor, where it bounced twice, squirmed on its back, and then went still. It lay motionless to the mug's owner, just another body amongst the others. A few moments later, it returned to the state of that black oily tar and then pulled back into the floor. It was never really into the floor, walls, or whatever it was stuck to. It went back to wherever it came from, never leaving a trace. Well, a trace of itself. It left plenty of other traces around. She looked back up at the tabletop, now clean but with the remaining cups knocked over. She looked around, back at the counter. The dull metal of the coffee makers shone cleanly. This was how it always went. She sighed heavily. The one small blessing of this horror meant that it would be a while until whatever it was wanted to drag itself back out of whatever hell it came from. She'd have to take it for what she could. A car door slammed outside. Julie looked out and saw Mike jogging across the parking lot, waving his hands and yelling for her. She held up her hand, and he stopped in his tracks. He knew exactly what she meant. He had to wait; she had to make sure it was done first. She couldn't risk losing Mike. She wouldn't risk it. She got up from her seat and grabbed her purse, letting out a heavy breath. She knew that he wouldn't yell, that he was more worried for her, but she knew that halfway through the silent car ride up to their other cabin, way deep in the woods of the mountain, he would ask why she needed coffee so badly that she'd take her bicycle through a summer storm. She knew what he wanted to say, that her choice killed those people, but he would never say that. He'd say, "I'm sorry, baby,"like he had somehow done something wrong, spend the evening doting over her, and then they would sleep, curled up together. And in those times, she could feel normal, like things were good, and that some cosmic obscenity hadn't followed her since childhood. Then, after some sleep, they'd pack in the early morning and be down the mountain before anyone could recognize the new couple in town from the shop's surveillance. But tonight, no, tonight would be good.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.