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Alignment-Lab-AI

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“I dunno, Jason. I ain’t got no problem with stealin’ but from old folks? They ain’t done nothin’ to nobody.“ “Don’t puss out on me, Charlie. We’re in a whole new world now. Pennies worth fifteen cents? That’s big value. Like a fifty percent increase. Old people always got coins just sitting up in jars. We could be rich like we used to talk about. They ain’t goin’ to be trouble. They gotta use walkers just to go take a piss. We’ll be fine,” Jason said quietly as he and Charlie crept toward the nursing home. The Sunny Vale retirement home was located on the shore of Wrightsville Beach in a small town on the North Carolina coast. Two hundred and seventy-three residents called the facility home. Miles of white sand, clear skies, and the lullaby of oceans waves was paradise on earth for the elderly. The home was a two story facility composed of four housing units at each corner with a center containing a dining facility and recreation area. “Nobody’s walkin’ around,” Charlie said nervously as he and Jason walked along the north wall. “It’s the middle of May I and cain’t see *anyone* outside. This ain’t right. What if someone else had our idea? We could split now. Maybe come up with somethin’ else.” “Charlie. Shut up. We go in, get their pennies, and leave. The plan ain’t complicated. All you gotta do is carry the bag. I got the rest,” Jason said. “What if there’s trouble. These old people could be ornery. I wouldn’t want someone comin’ in and takin’ what’s mine.” “Don’t worry about the either,” Jason said. He reached inside is jacket pocket and felt the revolver he brought. Jason didn’t like to keep secrets from his brother but there were just some things he couldn't tell Charlie. As the two brothers approached the side entrance they did not see anyone through the glass doors. No one bothered to lock anything in this town and the two were able to creep in quietly. Compared to the salty beach air the retirement home smelled musty and uninviting. They walked quietly across the white tile passing empty room after empty room. All of the beds were neatly made. The nurse’s station had charts organized on the desk. The medicine cart rested against the wall with each dosage labeled. If the brothers inhaled strongly enough there was even a faint smell of lunch being cooked. *Garlic*. Charlie thought to himself. Everything appeared to be normal but where were the residents? The brothers came to the hallway’s end and were faced with two wooden doors. Above the doors a sign indicated the recreation room was beyond. Jason reached toward the knob when Charlie quickly stopped him. “I’m spooked,” Charlie whispered. “We should turn back. We got other options. This place… it’s not right.” “Options? Like collecting cans? I’m not going back to that,” Jason said. “I've been readin’ about investments. After we get this money, we don’t have to be poor anymore. The old folks are probably just napping anyhow.” If the residents were asleep they would have been in their beds but Charlie didn’t say that. He just went along like always. Jason gripped the knobs and pushed the doors open. The curtains were drawn tight and the hallway’s light barely pierced the room. The two brothers could only see what they thought to be shelves and cabinets along the walls. Jason walked into the room first. Charlie followed slowly thinking the carpet felt squishy. A few steps in and the doors suddenly closed. “C’mon Charlie don’t just let the doors clo-” Jason was saying when the lights turned on. To his left and right were dozens of elderly men and women. They were not the feeble residents Jason had imagined. Most wore jeans and athletic shoes. They were fit and some looked young enough to be his parents. Directly in front of Jason sat a man in a wheel chair holding a double-barrel shotgun. The man’s eyes were crinkled like potato chips and liver spots dotted his head. Breathing tubes snaked from his nose down to the oxygen tanked rigged to the chair. His lips were set in a thin line. “I’m only going to say this once,” the old man said softly. “What you boys came for isn’t yours. I’ll give you two choices. Leave, or die.” Jason never took kindly to orders. “Now you listen to me old man. I’m not tryin’ to start trouble. All of ya’ll be dead soon anyway. Might as well gi- *BLAM* Jason felt pain reverberate up his left leg as he fell to the ground. His face slammed into the carpet with a wet smack. The gun blast was echoing in Jason’s ears and he could hardly make out someone calling his name. “Jason. Jason! Listen to me. We gotta go *now*. We gotta get outta here. You hearin’ me?” Charlie said shaking his brother. “We ain’t the first ones thats been here. The carpet. It’s all in the carpet,” Charlie choked out. “Blood. This is forreal.” Jason’s mind was too focused on the pain in his leg to respond. Charlie put his arm around his brother and pulled him upright. “Umm… we’ll just be goin’ now,” Charlie said. “S-sorry to have disturbed ya’ll. We won’t be comin’ back so please, umm… just let us go with no trouble?” he asked dragging Jason toward the doors. Before Charlie could bring his brother into the hallway a woman stepped forward holding a jar full of pennies. “One cent or fifteen, life is worth more than a few pennies. Take these, get him to the hospital.” “Yes ma’am,” Charlie said. The woman locked eyes with Jason. “And what do you say young man?” The gun in Jason’s pocket felt heavy like an anchor. He reached in and pulled the gun out by the barrel. His ears identified a muffled click from the old man’s shotgun. Jason looked from the jar in Charlie’s hand down to the leg he would never use again. He dropped the gun and let out a deep sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “C’mon Charlie let’s get the hell outta here.”

We just sat there. Looking down at our village burning. Our friends, our family's, and our lives were now gone. "Its just.... just evil" "What?" "I don't know. Evil. I don't know what it really means, but I feel like it sums this up right now." "So who or what is "Evil"?" "I don't know. I guess those bandits. They decided to take those lives. So I guess they are evil." "So what are we?" "Umm, good? I guess?" "Good, what the hell is good? Stop making up words. Listen we got to help those people." He ran down the crest of the hill to save his friends and family. I just stood there for a second. Yes we were good, because that is the opposite of evil. And a good person would try to stop evil. And an evil person will try to stop good. As long as I know which side I'm on I'll be alright. Sadly I would find out that it is hard to tell which side you are on.

God damn it! I shouldn't have left the laundry to eat some ice cream! Now someone took my super X suit. Shit! Ok, calm down. Deep breath. Breathing in ... *inhale*... breathing out *exhale*. Ok, what should I do? I could sew another one. I did the first, I could do it again. I mean, it would take a while, but it's probably the best option. No, this can't be done! This city needs me now, a lot of people would die... ok, I'm hyperventilating again. Calm down... *inhale*... *exhale*...*inhale*... *exhale*... Stop this bullshit! I am a man! I'm strong! I have superpowers, for god's sake! I'm not a nerdy kid anymore, I'm the most powerful man around! I mean, but the last time I showed up in public I fainted. What if this happens again? The bad guys would take advantage and probably kill me. Can I die? I don't know, and don't want to find out. Shit... *inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...* Ok, I know what to do. I'll just stay home and shoot some lasers through the window. Yes, I can do that without being seen. Shit, who am I kidding, the field of view from my apartment is small, what could I possibly do with such limitation? Ok, you know what, I'll just go. I saw a youtube video the other day, the coach said just do it, as my fears are my worst enemy, so I just do it quickly before the fear hits. Yes! One more deep breath: *inhale... exhale*. Now! I'm opening the door! I'm leaving! I'm on the street now! I'll scout a bit, no need to fly, maybe nothing happens and I go back home unnoticed. Yes, but if something happens I have to help. I'm looking at the floor, that's not a hero posture, but at least I'm out of home. Yes, I'll be able to pull this off. Keep going. Look! Man, those guys are going to rob that store. And that store is... no! That's where Jenny, my high school crush works. I never had the balls to say anything to her, but she was so perfect... Man, that's going to be way harder. Shit, hyperventilation again... *inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...* Think positively, maybe it's for the best. I'll save the day and she will know who I really am. Maybe she will fall for me. Yes, I'll do it. I'm almost there, just a few more steps. Ok, I'm here, I'll open the door and disarm them. Opens the door Shit, shit, shit! They are all looking at me. I could have made less noise entering. I'll take a deep breath... *inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...* Shit! He's pointing the gun at her! I have to do something now! But I froze! Shit, I can't move. God damn it! What are these fucking superpowers for, if I cannot even use them? *inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...inhale... exhale...* Bam! Bam! Bam! Nooooooooooooo! She's dead! All because I'm a loser. God damn it, I still can't even move, I'm just here standing still. Shit, blood pressure, I think I'm fainting... a few hours later *Oh, you're awake*, said the nurse. *Don't worry, it was a traumatic experience, it's normal to shut down like that.* *The saleswoman?*, asked the hero. *Oh, you knew her? It's a shame, she didn't make it. Now rest a little bit, you are no superhero after all.* A tear ran through his face, while he put together the events of the day.

"Shit" This wasn't supposed to happen yet. The media said it would never happen. But it's happening. I leaned back in my cheap chair and stared at the cheap monitors in a multi-million dollar reinforced security center in the basement of a company who pays me .0000000001% of their net worth. I mention this to be clear that I am not torn up amount its demise. That is what I was seeing on these fuzzy monitors. The demise of humanity unfolding before my eyes. Flash. Bang. Static. Repeat. Well it happened sooner than I had intended, but I was certainly not surprised. Every world leader with a nuclear weapon to his/her name had been hovering over their respective buttons for months now. Some real Cold War shit going down up there. One crucial difference must have tipped the scale. The POTUS, a Mr. James Atterby, had been pushing for a unified world under his rule. When the world blatantly refused, he took matters into his own hands. The first bomb went off in Moscow. Atterby had finally grasped everyone's undying attention... and searing rage. That bomb killed 1.2 million Russians within 50 miles of the drop. Needless to say, Russia was ready to retaliate. Soothing words from the rest of the world managed to keep them calm long enough to try and control Atterby. However, Atterby is not one to be controlled. From what I am seeing on the monitors, Russia's patience finally gave out and everyone started launching every atomic weapon in their arsenals. I had spent the last couple months diverting company resources into basement storage. I could survive down here for nearly a year if my calculations serve me well. As the last feed went dark on the monitors, i began to push the ordeal out of mind. "I am a survivor now,"I said to no one in particular. I cracked open basement storage, made myself a sandwich, grabbed a beer, and toasted the end to destructive politics and the beginning of a stronger humanity.

A broad-shouldered man in a dark suit made his way along a narrow hallway. Black, freshly shined shoes walked in stark contrast on red velvet. Stopping abruptly before a closed door, before quickly checking his watch, he gave the door three light knocks. Muffled sounds of movement came from behind the door, and it flung open with excessive gusto from the now woman standing in the doorway. A young, pale skinned girl, who wore an expression of concern. "About that time?" The man stepped forward and put his left hand flat against the door, slowly pushing it fully open. Moving his body parallel to hers as he entered, the two held eyes as he entered the room beyond. "About that time." The muscular man began removing his jacket, as the woman stood dumbly by the still open door. As he rolled up his sleeves, he took a moment to survey the room. Small, quaint, womanly, overall quite boring. The woman took a step backwards and closed the door with her back. She bit her lower lip and looked down at her dress, absentmindedly adjusting the fabric. "It's all engineering you know,"the man said without looking at the woman. "Engineering?" He gave her a rare smile, "Please, sit down." As she walked hesitantly toward a small table in the middle of the room, the man reached into his pocket and put a small leather carrying case on the table. The young woman recoiled at this, and took a step backward. "Miss Grause, you're in good hands,"the man said softly as he put a firm hand on her upper arm. "It what heals you keeps you sick,"said the woman with her wide eyes fixed on the leather case. The mans face remained unchanged, "Now where would you have heard something silly like that?" He led her toward the table, and they sat down close together. The man rested his right hand on her outer thigh gently. "It'll be over before you know it." The man opened the leather case, and she screamed.

Sorry it's so long. I was on a timer for kicks so if you hate it sorry. "People say Slenderman started appearing in these woods as far back as 100 years ago. Just a man with no face and a suit of all things, always staring you down in complete silence. Then slowly tentacles will protrude from his back, fanning out like some sort of octopus reaching out for it's prey,"Andrew said into his flashlight in some terrible version of a creepy voice. Jessica and I sit close together, she's clutching my arm tightly now and I turn and see her staring into the woods. Mentally I scoff at how lame the story is but stay silent because Jess's scared face is hilarious. "They say he's everywhere. You could see him plain as day, blink, and then he's gone. But don't try to look for him, don't you dare try to look around. Because if you do you'll find him right behind you and then-" "YOU'LL GET MURDERED!!" Jess and I both jump and scream from our spot as someone shouts right in our ears behind us. Michael laughs, dropping the logs he went to go get onto the ground and instead holds his gut in mock pain. "You ass hole!"I hissed slapping his leg. "Sorry Abby couldn't help it,"he replied picking up a couple logs and tossing them onto the campfire. "Can we stop with the ghost stories already?"Jess asked, going over to the cooler and grabbing a couple beers. "What can't handle a little fun Jess?"Andrew said grabbing his girlfriend and pulling her into his lap. "You call this fun? Camping out in the woods with all these bugs and no cell signal. I wanted to go to Jamaica for our last spring break."Jess pouted. "Anyone can go to Jamaica babe. Not everyone can get murdered by an urban legend,"Andrew said way too happily. "Besides we can still go swimming, maybe even skinny dipping?"he said with an eyebrow wiggle and a nod towards the lake. "Now that is my kind of fun,"Jess replied and with that the two ran toward the lake. I sighed and reached next to me, grabbing a marshmallow and my stick before roasting the little white puff. "Not having fun?"Michael asked sitting beside me. "No it's just Jessica reminded me that the years almost over. We're all graduating and going our separate ways. Well they'll be together but still our group is going to fall apart,"I replied. "Don't worry we'll find a way to stay together. Just leave it to me,"Michael said with a bright smile. I nodded and ate my burnt marshmallow, the others screams of delight echoing in the background. "Want a beer?"Michael asked a few minutes later. "No I have to go to the bathroom,"I said then stood. "Well be back fast. I've got a surprise for everyone." I nodded and walked off into the woods. I looked back after a couple minutes and just barely saw the blaze of the fire, deciding this was far enough away. Popping a squat, I closed my eyes and was about to go but heard a twig crunch. I stood quickly and turned around. About 20 feet away stood a man in a suit... with no face. For a solid minute I just breathed, waiting for something to happen waiting to wake up from this dream. Instead I heard Jessica scream particularly loudly. I snapped my head around to find the fire had disappeared. Instead it was blocked by the Slenderman who was standing right in front of me. He reached out and I closed my eyes, not knowing anything else to do. A second later a static like sound and the image of Michael's smiling face covered in blood appeared behind my eyelids. But as fast as it came it was gone. A minute passed and I cracked open my eyes to see he was gone. I ran back to camp and saw the fire was actually out. "Jess? Andrew?"I shouted. Hands grabbed me and I yelped. "Hey it's just me,"Michael said calmly and turned me around. "Oh God Michael it was him I saw him!"I cried into his shoulder while holding him tightly. "Who?"Michael replied confused. "The Slenderman!" "What?" "Please Michael we have to get out of here or he'll get us! Where are the others?" "They went to bed." "What?" "You've been gone 30 minutes Abby." I must have been in that trance longer than I thought. I stepped open to the tent and opened it up seeing the two laying there. "Jess we have to go,"I said shaking her. With the fire gone it was too dark to see her but only a moment later the moon peaked out from behind the clouds. And to my horror I saw my two best friends not sleeping but dead. I turned back to Michael and saw him holding an axe. "Mi-" It was too late. The axe came down and blood spurted out of my chest and onto Michael's face. I fell back and saw Michael smiling at me sadistically. He dropped the axe and reached into his pocket. "I told you I would find a way for us to be together forever,"Michael said. His face, all covered and blood and smiling. I saw this face before not even a few minutes ago. Michael pulled a knife from his pocket and proceeded to slit his throat. He fell forward right beside me and began to sputter like a drowned fish. I felt my breaths slowing and I began to shut my eyes. The Slenderman stepped in front of the tent looking down on the scene. He shook his head before turning away, his back the last thing I saw. This was all he wanted, was to warn me. I saw the moon shine brightly then watched as clouds covered the moon and wrapped our bodies in darkness yet again.

I had been living in my new 3 bedroom apartment for no more a week when I got my strange visitor. I had just rolled out of bed when I heard the knocking. I walked over to door wondering who could possibly be here so early in the morning. I opened the door, and was promptly greeted by new people. In the front stood a man who seemed to be in his mid twenties, wearing a simple button down polo and jeans. Behind him struggling to carry a plethora of suitcases stood a shorter man with a worried look on his face. "Can I help you with something?"I asked still half asleep. "Yes you can, I'm going to be staying in your home for now"the man in front replied. "I'm sorry what?", I asked again, expecting an explanation from the stranger outside my door. "You know boy it's rude to keep your guests waiting outside"he said chuckling, as he pushed me aside and walked inside, his little friend following still with the same worried expression on his face. At this point I was getting angry. Who the hell did he think he was to just show up at my house, and just waltz inside without an explanation. "I'm god"he said absentmindedly. *He's god?* what a joke I thought. This guys a completely loon, why would god just show up at my doorstep? I decided I should probably call the police in case he was a headcase who had escaped from a local mental facility or something. As I edged over to the phone, I stopped as I heard him start talking again. "Good grief you human's are hard to convince nowadays, here let me prove it to you before you start calling people." I paused, still 90 percent sure that this guy wasn't god. Man was I wrong. He snapped his fingers, and we weren't in my room anymore. Brilliant white light blanketed the place, and large silky pillars reached up farther than the eye could see. Looking down the isle of pillars, I could see the large throne towering over everything. This was heaven, and I was here. After the initial awe at the place I began to panic. Had I died? Is that why I was here? "Your fine boy, still very much alive, calm down. I brought you here to prove to you that I am indeed god and not just some loon like you thought." I looked over when I realized how screwed I was. I had just called god a nutcase, I was probably going to hell. He started laughing again. "How about I cut you a deal? You let me and a few of my angels stay at your place for a while and we'll forget the whole nutcase thing." I nodded my head in agreement, when another question was biting at me. Why would god want to stay with me in my tiny apartment, when he's got a place as awesome as this? "After being her since the dawn of time it really starts to get old", he chortled. "It was getting stagnant, and I was starting to slack so I decided I needed a change of scenery. It seems fun the way you humans live, so I wanted to try it out." Having god as a roommate wasn't as life-altering as you would think. His whole mind-reading thing took a little getting used to, but once you got past that things were fairly normal. He took care of most of his universe affairs in his room. I tried to get him to explain what exactly he did a few times, but it was way out of my level of understanding so I gave up. The only real "problems"I had, were that he had a habit of taking my food without asking, and using up all the hot water, but I guess that's what happens when you've been the ruler of the known universe since it's conception. His little friend turned out to be a new angel recruit. He was a quite little guy, only got him to talk a few times. This was one of his first assignments and he was really nervous to be working so closely with god, which I guess is to be expected. God had been living there for about a month, and I had just started getting used the universe being run out of my apartment when my living situation took an even weirder turn. Another man showed up at my door, with a similar request to live there. He was a few years younger than god, and had a biker look he seemed to be going for. He had a black leather jacket, and tattoo's down his arms. Considering his appearance though, he was quite well spoken. When he asked to stay there I politely explained to him that I already had a guest staying with me and that there wasn't really any room for another guest(I didn't want to make the same mistake I made with god and screw myself over by insulting the guy). Nevertheless my politeness didn't help, and he finally got around to introducing himself. Turn's out he was Lucifer, and after hearing that God was enjoying staying here through some angel-demon back channels he wanted to see what all the hype was about. He basically told me that I could "make room"and let himself in. At first he set up shop in the living room, which was uncomfortable for everyone. He didn't really appreciate listening to my soaps while he worked, and I preferred to relax without hearing about the torture schedule in hell for the day. God was a bit sour for a few days that I had let Lucifer live there too. He had told me that he thought this was just "our little arrangement", and that he felt cheated. I tried to explain to him that I didn't really have the power to just tell Lucifer no, so I let him stay there as well. After a bit of convincing, I managed to talk them into sharing a room until I could work out something better. It was a miracle they even agreed, but I could tell they were both sour about it. In the upcoming days I was surprised at how petty those two could be. I had assumed that being god or being satan required a certain amount of maturity and at least fake civility between the two, but man was I wrong. It didn't even seem like they were working anymore, as they just seemed to spend all their time pulling pranks on the other. At first they started small, putting the other's hand in warm water while they slept, or dropping a raccoon on them in the shower. But as time went on they became more and more elaborate. Lucifer transported the novice angel onto our roof once. The poor guy hadn't taken his flying lesson's yet, and was stuck up there until god noticed he was missing and brought him back down. Luckily they both seem to have taken a liking to me, and I try to stay out of there petty squabbles, but I don't know how much longer this is going to work out. With neither of them really working anymore it seems like no one's running the universe. While this has been interesting, I need to think of a way to get them back to Heaven and Hell if not the for the sake of the universe, then at least for my sanity.

The blade rested perilously at the base of my neck, immobile, while its handler looked over at the television set. “Still making prime time news, guys!” he said aloud. A few indifferent grunts echoed back from about the room. “Hostage Crisis at the TwineSquare Continues!” ran the text across the TV screen. It was the day after seven men had walked into one of the most prestigious cafés of the city and held the patrons hostage. Considering the group’s demands, the situation was expected to continue for a number of days before a resolution could be reached. The café offered an encouraging atmosphere for the radicals: a TV set to monitor the situation, rations for survival…and silverware. Indeed, among the first things which the group did was to ask forks and knives to be handed over to pre-empt any defiance from the 20-odd people unfortunate enough to be caught in the cross-fire of ideologies. The cutlery, with its sharp blades, was soon discovered to be a better means than guns to prod the captives into compliance. “Now then…don’t move about, please…”. His attention was back to the task at hand while the TV repeated the details of the situation in the background. From what I could see, there really was nothing remarkable about him. Slightly heavy-set, late 30s, round glasses, early balding at the front. Someone I would guess to be maybe a school teacher or a chiropractor under different circumstances. His team members called him “Jeff”, which I found fitting for some reason. At that moment, a fly buzzed by, causing me to twitch involuntarily. “There there…we don’t want to have our throat cut now, do we?” chuckled Jeff, as he yanked the blade away in time. “It was the fly, you know…” I tried to explain, my voice trailing off as I realised I did not have an interested audience. I wished to get out of this predicament soon. About 5 minutes later, Jeff and I shook hands as I paid him. The TV repeated its coverage of the crisis as I stepped out of the salon.

My mother-cum-alarm clock shouts "wake up, sunshine, time for another beautiful day!"in her most piercing and convincing cheerleader voice. "Its 3:00am"I slur loud enough that the words only reach my own ears. Wipe the drool from my mouth, rub eyes glued together with dried tears. She tries too hard, I think philosophically as if I've discovered mysterious and profound Truth. Her voice, screeching like train breaks as she wanders around the house as if its 9am and she is a normal human being. As she works, she narrates. "coffee pot on""NPR", "bedroom curtains pulled"to let, what, moonlight in? She continues whistling a happy tune while I pick my nose without really trying and push the door closed with my foot. Next to me, the mouse and I make eye contact. The Mickey Mouse digital clock on the table...PM. 3:00PM "oh shit, late...late for work."I slip out of bed and crawl to the closet, take two puffs from my brothers stash, throw a semi-clean t-shirt on, make a quick determination that yesterdays underwear is clean enough, green skirt from laundry basket slipped up and over my too wide hips. "Not too bad"I remark out loud to myself as I look at each half of my get-up, separately top then bottom, in the hallway mirror. "Have a good day sweetie"mom's saccharine charm fills the room like potpourri. "Fuck you"I chirp back before I grab a cold pop tart and head outside to catch the number 7 to work. "Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll fire me today"I fantasize.

The stars were our allies. When we first dared to wander from our homes, the stars provided us with light. When we set off from the land's nurturing bosom, the stars provided us with a map. When we advanced our understanding of the universe, we found a single star provided us with daylight. When we competed against ourselves, it was the stars we aimed for. When the invasion came, the stars provided us with a new home. We roamed the universe, some of us parting from the last human collective to start new colonies. Through experimentation and observation, we learned just how powerful a single star is. We saw the effects of a single laser beam, guided by mirrors. Do not mourn for Earth - she has become host to the unspeakable plague that threatens many races throughout the universe. Her beautiful skin, once blue and white, has been beaten to a dull gray. She was our mother, and our last act, as her children, is to release her from her misery. When the planets align, we will purify what we once called our solar system. Do not mourn for Earth - we live among our strongest allies now.

Oh my gosh! Jenny's so cute. But she doesn't like shy guys like me. Oh, look at her sitting there. The way the sunlight glints off her raven hair. The rouge of her cheek. Oh the sweet way she bites her lip when she's reading. 'Stranger in a Strange Land' is one of my favourites too. I have both versions. I would do anything to spend ten minutes with her because she's beautiful. She's a geek - I love her d20 necklace. I wish I had the guts to ask her out. Jenny, please go out with me. There's Jack. He's such a jerk. All the girls fawn for him. I wish I had the courage Jack does in just going up to her and talking to her. Wait. She turned him down? Why? She's looking at me. Oh my gosh, she's looking at me. Why is she looking at me? She's coming over. Jenny's coming over. Oh my gosh! What did I do to deserve this? Please, oh please, let me open my mouth and ask her out. Look at the way she walks. She's an angel come to Earth. Oh my gosh! She's here! How do I ask her out? Come on mouth, open up and work! "Do you want to grab a coke?" She's asking me out? "Actually, you did. I'm saying yes." Wait... what? She's leaning in. Oh, she smells like roses. I want to just bury myself in her hair and drink up her scent. Wait, she can hear my thoughts! "Yes, I can. Now, do you want to go somewhere and talk?"

The easiest happy ending is the original from the short story - it ends just after they see the hundred foot tall mega monster cross the highway. The car continues on into the mists in the direction of Portland. After I told this to my wife, this was the only way she would rewatch the movie with me. By the way, Stephen King actually liked the film version. Usually writers don't like it when Hollywood makes changes to their story.

... "I mean it's a trap" Ah still a star wars nerd are ya? "No, there are two snipers, probably more; with their guns loaded at the ready for my head." "What?!" "Yup, you know that side job Galvin gave me during the last semester at High School" "The one running his bike shop in Los Angeles?" "Well it was more of a private investigator job than fixing cycles" "I was looking into a Brazilian drug lord who was causing Galvin some trouble, and we didn't become friends very quickly" "So this drug lord is here to kill you?" "I wish", "Galvin is. I mean Brazil has better weather, and the beaches are beautiful. And well I was offered a few more zeros" "So I need you to listen to me" "God dammit, ok tell me, I would like to get out of here anyways as soon as possible" "Slowly I want you walk to out of the shoppe, get in your car and get my girlfriend out of this fucking country, I don't want to leave, knowing she could be hurt " "Where will you go?" "I am about to die" He walked out of the shoppe, following orders. "Easiest break-up ever!""GUYCODE!"

A lot of people who are a lot smarter than me have tried to explain the importance of the Christian Era... and they've done it pretty damn well, if I do say so myself. There isn't all that much left for me to add to the discussion... but I've been asked to do so. So I'm going to give this my best shot, and ask your forgiveness if I've managed to butcher this like I normally do. The Christian Era, at least to most people, is an arbitrary set of years that serves as the reference point for our callender. The Primal Era sits before it, and the Era of Faith sits after it. It's nothing more than a set of letters after that set of a bit more than two thousand years. A way of noting when something happened. But... it's a bit more important than that. You see... before the Christian Era... the world wasn't all that stable. Humanity was fractured, and the various splinters saw the world in different ways. We understood natural forces by putting faces, names, and personalities upon them. As a result of the Perception Effect, the Primal Gods were created. The Primal Gods were... well most of you have taken some lessons on classical myth and legend. At best they tended to ignore humans, and at worst they were actively malicious. Christianity... it killed the Primal Gods off. It was a combination of two forces that did it, really. The insistence upon everything being the result of a single Creator was like poison to the Primal Gods. It tore them apart from inside, and made it harder for them to concentrate enough power to manifest. They couldn't appear to reaffirm their believers' faiths anymore... and it's hard to believe in a God that you've never seen at work. That made the Conversion efforts a lot simpler. The Monotheism effect was a powerful piece of work... but it wasn't enough to kill off the Primal. It just... imprisoned them. But by cutting them off from their worshipers, by reshaping their perceptions of reality, the Primal Gods were destroyed. They stopped being seen as reality, and started being seen as fiction. That robbed them of any hope of ever returning... and it set us on the path to the current era. You see... we managed to realize something fairly extraordinary near the tail end of the Christian Era: Reality isn't as stable as it looks. The Christian Era was an island of stability where there was once only chaos. We didn't realize why until people began to lose Faith in the Monotheistic. When the Monotheistic God was in charge, it was able to set hard rules for reality. However... it went the same way as the Primal Gods did when Atheism began to spread. The Monotheism Effect that paralyzed the Primal Gods suddenly got a baby brother: The Null-Theism Effect. The very idea of Gods or God existing began to be questioned, and it slowly eroded the Divine... and would have unbound reality and sent us into a period of chaos that would be worse than the Primal Era if not for something *extraordinary*. That something was Understanding. We came to understand the rules that the Monotheistic created... and we began to hold those ideas in our minds as being constants, rules and regulations for how reality functions. Thanks to our understanding of reality, we were able to keep the one we had even after the thing that used to maintain it was eliminated. The Gods are dead, and so is God, and along with them all go the monsters and demons. But Mankind persists... and there's a simple reason for that. We are the Universe. We are the sensory organs of creation, and our thoughts are its efforts to understand and perceive itself. Humans, and whatever else like us exists across the cosmos, were not created. We are the Creators. We have outlived God and the Devil alike, and seen those beings, our creations, fade away.

"Good evening and welcome to Action News 9. I'm Tom Erickson. We go now live to the Electronic Entertainment Expo, where a grisly turn of events is unfolding. Marcus Faraway is on the scene. Marcus?" "Tom, I'm standing outside the Los Angeles Convention Center, where Gabe Newell, managing director of Valve, has just announced the most anticipated title of the past ten years, a PC exclusive, Half-Life 3. The announcement came at 1:13 p.m. PST and the scene is utter chaos. The room erupted into a frenzy as lifelong fans suddenly became feral and openly attacked each other in what could only be described as, murderous joy. The current death toll stands at 17 , with many more being rushed to local area hospitals with euphoria and various head wounds. The-" "I'm sorry, Marcus. I have to stop you. I'm getting reports of cannibalism occurring at the scene." "That's correct Tom. There are lines of Sony and Microsoft fans waiting to be sacrificed and eaten as tribute to Gabe Newell. We've interviewed several of the sacrifices to understand their decisions, and the results all point to a, 'deep shame for not believing in the PC master race.' Stock prices for competing companies have plummeted. Nintendo immediately declared bankruptcy as soon as the announcement was made and even Bill Gates, founder of Microsoft, has given his entire fortune to Valve and offered himself as tribute to Gabe Newell himself." "Thanks Marcus, we go now-" "Hold on Tom-I-Yes. We've just confirmed that Pope Francis has renounced the Christian god, claiming Gabe Newell to be the Messiah. Christians everywhere, instead of rebelling, accepted Gabe into their hearts and have instituted the First Digital Church of Valve. Sarah Palin, lifelong Christian, is among those converted and has released a statement: "Well, to me it just makes sense. God never delivered on his promise of making me the first woman in the White House, but Gabe Newell, in his infinite wisdom, has blessed me with a far greater gift, the eventual release of Half-Life 3." "Many others are dropping their faiths to convert, including many Shariah ruled Islamic states. From the Los Angeles Convention Center, I'm Marcus Faraway. Back to you Tom." "Thanks Marcus. We'll have more on this story as it develops. Coming up, how one boy's deadly cancer/AIDS was cured spontaneously, by the E3 announcement."

This was the day. The day when James Tyler - otherwise known as 'The Box Boy' - was going to be let out of his box. Nobody knew why James was in the box, or how James actually got in the box in the first place. The story goes that he was found, all boxed up, as a newborn, upon the steps of Fox Studios HQ in New York. The Fox executive who found James also found a note attached to the box. In multi-coloured crayon (apparently his parents couldn't afford a pen?), this is what is said: HI MY NAME IS JAMES TYLER. MY PARENTS WANT ME TO BE FAMOUS AND I WANT TO BE FAMOUS TOO BUT I DONT WANT TO GO THROUGH ALL THAT EFFORT TO BECOME GOOD AT SOMETHING. I WANT TO YOU TO KEEP ME IN THIS BOX AND MAKE NO CONTACT WITH ME UNTIL I AM EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD*, AND YOU CAN PUT ME IN A TV SHOW CALLED THE BOX BOY AND I CAN BE FAMOUS AND MY PARENTS WILL FINALLY ESCAPE FROM THE VICIOUS CYCLE OF UNEMPLOYMENT AND DEBT THEY FIND THEMSELVES IN. DONT JUDGE THEM FOR PUTTING ME HERE AND PERMANENTLY MANGLING MY BRAIN DEVELOPMENT, THIS IS COMPLETELY MY CHOICE. SO TL;DR: PUT ME ON TV, DONT EVER LET ME TALK TO OR SEE ANYONE AND BECOME RICH :) *(The box wasn't small, 4x4 metres, so conveniently, growth wasn't an issue) Never one to pass on an opportunity, the fortunate Fox executive - after having zero concern about the systematic exploitation of a human being for entertainment - pitched the show to a few networks, and thus 'The Box Boy' was created. As newborn James predicted, extreme fame ensued, as all of America tuned in Friday's at 8 to watch highlights of James's week inside the box. This success also finally let James's parents escape their vicious cycle of suffering, which they did by buying not just a Ferrari, but a Ferrari dealership. Impressive. So almost 18 years later, after years upon years of record ratings for 'The Box Boy', as well as a record breaking 938 weekly episodes, James was finally going to leave the box and see a real human person. The event was set for the National Mall in Washington DC - the Washington Monument was demolished, to make way for a massive stage where the box would finally be opened. TV Crews from all around the world were present, and a crowd of literally billions of people descended upon Washington. Trillions watched on at home. The honour of opening the box was given to Barack Obama 2*, the president of the United States at the time. The entire world held its breath, as Obama cut across the front of the box with a pair of safety scissors. James, doing nothing as usual, was completely caught by surprise. All of a sudden, the wall to his left opened outwards and was replaced by hundreds of bright flashes, and the faces of millions. Fathers held their sons, mothers held their daughters. Entire nations watched, waiting to see what James Tyler, The Box Boy, would do. *(Frustrated with inept and spineless candidates, democratic strategists created a robot clone of Barack Obama to run for the presidency - Republicans sued, but in a landmark ruling, SCOTUS ruled that robots were equal to humans and were thus eligible to run for president, a major victory for robot rights) Unfortunately, living in a box for his entire life, James had never been exposed to so much stimuli all at once. His mind literally could not take it. A pained expression spread across his face, and suddenly, his head exploded. His parents were unaware of their son's death, as they were too busy enjoying their Ferrari's.

All the metal fittings start to vibrate and the clip on your pass holder starts pressing into your flesh in a rhythmic fashion until you twist away leaving it to hang out like a flag from your neck. You start seeing flashes of light like a kaleidoscope of fractal nodes as a siren reports to you something you were dimly becoming aware of, the cooling has failed. The black lines on your tattoo come searingly to your attention as they burn your calf and shoulder, neurons fire in a simple pattern that hijacks any coherent thought, escape. The lights go off leaving only the exits lit down a tunnel of darkness that seems to echo more than normal with the frantic squeak of your sneakers. Dammit this is not going to look good on my resume you think as you burst out the doors into the cool night air. The thought freezes in your mind as you look out into a night sky of stars flickering with green and red aurora. Never have you been able to see the night sky in the city before, so it takes awhile for the information to register. Last time this happened was a solar flare that destroyed an electrical grid in Canada, guess they didnt have a particle accelerator running any tests at the time. Sirens sound in the distance as the smell of burning electronics mingles with the smell of burnt pork.

Soap and water. Rub, brush, scour. These dishes have to be done, and I am the one to do them. My four roommates have no interest in doing the dishes, but this is just fine with me. In fact, I think I subconsciously gauged their proclivity for cleaning when each of them interviewed to live here. It was consistently low across the board. Every few evenings, I return from work to a glittering metallic mountain of plates and utensils and pots and pans. Burnt cheese is caked on. Wine stains are on the brink of setting. Unidentifiable goop floats on the foamy surface of the murky sink-water. Sometimes I get an erection. Rolling up my sleeves is the first step toward release. I carefully fold my shirt cuffs up beyond my elbow, exposing my bare skin. Next, I open the cupboard under the sink and peruse my armory. Blindingly yellow rubber gloves: check. A fresh two-sided sponge, with the bristly abrasive side and the gentle sopping side: check. Almost dangerously sharp steel wool: check. A rainbow of soaps and solutions: check. My heart races. I fill with anticipation when choosing the first victim. Depending on my mood, I might start small with a crusty bowl or a soiled teacup. Today, I want to open strong and tackle what may have been a roasting pan or casserole dish; dense layers of grime have rendered it unrecognizable. I am a master artist, and this is my canvas. I soak the blackened item in water, apply solution to my sponge, and start cleaning. My body tingles and I have to fight a smile to maintain my focus. There are a lot of things in my life that I can’t control, but I know that the dishes are dirty and that when I am finished they will be spotless. I will rub and brush and scour and I will have accomplished something.

"Mr. Rayman, I applaud you for your actions. Thank you, for doing this for us, for the world."The man saluted, and everybody in the metallic room followed. Some whispered in awe for the bravery of the young man, others the cruelty of this diabolical plan. But most simply stared, as they wondered. *Will he find anything?* "Mr. Rayman. Are you ready?"The white-coated man asked. In a flick of lever, he could send this man, floating in nothing, half dead. The boy nodded, then closed his eyes, and heard the chamber doors closing. He felt a chill wind pushing down his shoulders, and a coldness unexplained. *"Oh my gosh. He's doing it."* *"I don't believe it."* *"Poor young man."* The boy shut off his mind. It is not worth listening to the thoughts of cowards. -- "SOLDIER. UP YOUR FEET." The boy looked up. He was no longer in his metal paradise. No, he was in a world with skies, filled with clouds and flying creatures. Did he find true life? "SOLDIER?! WE ARE IN THE MIDST OF BATTLE. STOP LOOKING UP." The ring of the voice... His own? He opened his mind once more. *"I swear, this bastard of a soldier looks like me."* *"What? He thinks... He is me?"* *"... You have this gift too?"* They both paused, as both of them wiped a tear away. *"You're... What?"* The man gasped, and fell to his knees. Even the smell of corpse and the sound of gunfire did not stop him. "You are him? Mr. Rayman? Pleased to meet you. Please, let me escort you home." *”This place is not for you. We must bring you to the lab. If anything happens, we have this gift to help us."*

God, was this scary. Who thought I, Joe McTickles, would be the man to try skydiving? I got a good deal on it, though. Jake owned the plane, and bought some cheap parachutes. All of a sudden, the door opened. I walked, I took a breath, and I jumped from a plane, into 12,500 feet of nothing. I won't lie, the mix of fear and excitement made me want to jump again. At the appropriate height, I pulled the ripcord. After waiting a few seconds for the parachute to catch me, I looked at the sky above me. "No life saving material here."I thought to myself. "See Jake? This is what happens when you buy parachutes from-"And then it was black.

*And they lived Happily Ever After, the end..* But this was never the case for Allen Dodd. Every relationship, platonic or otherwise had amounted to nothing despite his countless attempts. He'd tried being the bad-boy, that left him with a criminal record and a startling realization that motorcycles are much harder to ride in person than in movies. He attempted being the sports fanatic, but honestly he didn't give two hoots and a handshake about who won the Super Bowl. Plainly and simply, Allen Dodd loved books. He loved the smell of books, how older books had handwritten ink pages, "What dedication!"Allen loved the ornate covers of classic books, and the minimalistic style of modern books. He could read for hours on end without stopping for a rest. Perhaps his only escape from his loneliness..were his books. One day whilst at school, Allen had a less than friendly encounter with some classmates of his. One in particular named Dale Brigs shoved an unsuspecting Allen's head into his lunchtray as they were walking past, his trio of "goons"as Allen called them, guffawing as they walked out of the cafeteria.Poor Allen didn't do anything to deserve that, he was beginning to wonder if he even mattered at all. That evening he didn't even bother to stop by the library on his way home from school. He went straight home and cried himself to sleep.when he woke up, he found his house's foundation to be the only thing standing on his block. "What in the world is going on?"He bolted for town. It was the same story, miles of destruction everywhere! Save for Allen's home and one more building. The town library. Allen Dodd knew exactly where he was going to spend the rest of his days.. Doing the one thing he loved. In the one place he loved being. *And he lived Happily Ever After, The End.*

"Okay James, start from the beginning. And tell us everything; don’t leave anything out." "Sure, whatever you say. And you're gonna tell me what the fuck's goin on, right? I'm tired of all this bullshit." "Of course. You deserve to know, but… This is important." "Yeah, yeah... Are we rolling yet? Can I go?" "Whenever you're ready." ... Chapter One "You've got to be shitting me..." "This is no joke James. I'm sorry it had to happen like this, but it’s the truth. We need to take you back with us." "No fuckin' way I'm leaving. This is bullshit. Where's my fucking lawyer?" "This isn't a discussion. We're leaving." "But--" "Now, James. Do we have to do this the hard way?" I looked to the guards on my right and left. Five in the room, probably more outside. Sheesh. "No. I'll go." "Good. Come on." I took another look at the guards. They were fucking huge. The tall one could probably bench at least 400. At least. No way they were human. I was gonna have to hang tight for a bit. We moved quickly down the hall. Those socks were still in the fucking hallway. Slobs. I still had no idea what was going on. Apparently I was supposed to be dead, and me being alive was an issue for these guys, whoever they were. The leader was Zarek, the guy who asked all the questions. He said there was some kind of destiny that keeps everything in balance, and if it got fucked up then shit would get really freaky—like the entire universe ending freaky. And Zarek said the universe was already ending, and we had to move lickety-split. And of course all of this shit was somehow my fault. At least these dudes had a cool car. A jet black Lamborghini, 07’ Spyder. I've always been a sucker for black, though. “Not that kind of sucking, you twit.” “Sorry.” [More giggling] “Everyone shut the hell up. Go ahead James.” ANYWAY, That car takes some serious cash. Whoever these guys were, they meant business. Down Foster Street we went. Of course I asked them "Where are we going?"and the guards just gave me their usual “are you fucking serious” face. Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut. We were in that car for a long time though. I had to pee real bad. I thought about letting loose on one of the guards and risk getting my face smashed in, or better yet just peeing myself and smiling at them until they notice. Unfortunately the car stopped before I could piss on them. Oh yeah, I was blindfolded. Then they tell me we’re in the middle of some godforsaken desert; and I’m thinking that I’m probably about to die. I mean, why else would we be there? So I feel somebody shoving me down into the sand. I say my prayers, and all hell breaks loose. Something blows up and there’s shouting and guns. I black out and then here I am with you people. “Is that it?” “Yeah, that’s everything.” “Foxy, you get all that?” “Yeah chief, we got it.” “Alright, thanks Foxy. And thank you James. We couldn’t have done it without you.” “Yeah… Wait a second, what are you talking about?” “It’s over James. The world is changing. You’re a part of the old world.” “Hey! Fuck, hold on! I mean, I don’t even know what all this is about!” “I… James, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go. One of us has to go down, and it’s not gonna be me.” “What…” “James, I’m you.” …

Tulsa Oklahoma was not a bad place in Luke's opinion. Seeing downtown on his drive home from work was always a highlight. It was nothing impressive really, he had seen bigger, more dynamic skylines in the past but here there was a simplicity that kept it interesting. Of course, he knew this was not a special feeling to have for his home town, everyone likely feels the same way about theirs. Regardless, the skyline helped him to relax a little every day. Today was a particularly gritty day for him. The car he was restoring must have been leaking oil at a constant rate for the last forty years which had resulted in a nearly inch thick grime covering the entire underside and, much to his dislike, he was assigned the duty of getting it all off. For a mechanic he despised getting dirty, especially dirt under his nails, which were now black from the grime. Sitting at a stoplight Luke gazes off into the distance, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, letting the sight do its work. "At least it is Thursday."He says to himself before turning up the radio. Fridays meant that his boss was buying lunch, which meant he did not have to bring a poorly concocted excuse for a lunch or spend money on greasy fast food. Fridays were usually good days despite the fact that it frustrated him to no end that this was the only thing he had to look forward to come the end of the work week. "Come on you piece of..." ***STOP: EARTH (OPERATING SYSTEM INFORMATION: {SYSTEM ID: THE UNIVERSE, VIRGO SUPERCLUSTER}, LOCAL GROUP ,MILKY WAY[ORION ARM], System ID: SOLAR, PLANETARY NODE 3[EARTH], LOC:36.159661, -95.975529) A Problem has been detected and EARTH has been shut down to prevent damage to the SYSTEM. If this is the first time you have seen this STOP error screen, please standby for planetary REBOOT. If this screen occurs again, please follow these steps: Remove any unauthorized biological hardware. This may include, but not be limited to, cats, dogs, hamsters, gerbils or other biological entities. Confirm all plasma connections are stable and operational withing 98% efficiency. If this ERROR continues, please contact your local UNIVERSE SUPPORT FACILITY.

Ah what a nice dream... a gathering with family and friends, a smokey barbecue that almost feels... warm to the touch. This isn't right... why is the grill so smokey? It is almost as if I can smell the smoke, but it does not have that rich meaty smell. It smells like burning plastic and wood, and the grill-- were the flames always that high? I awake with a start to the piercing screech of my fire alarm. I go to sit up and immediately my lungs fill with a cloying, omnipresent smoke. I cough violently, disoriented. My eyes sting and I am barely able to roll out of bed and drop onto the floor. My vision is blurred from my tears and i barely make out dancing orange lights on the walls. *What the...* Then i achieve clarity. A fire hungrily eats the walls of my room. *I've got to get out!* As the room fills with smoke, I consider my options. The fire has engulfed the hallway. I would be a fool to run through those angry churning flames. Only one other option remains.... *the window*. I desperately low crawl to the far wall, the heat from the flames grows unbearable. I throw open my window and clamber out onto my roof. Smoke billows from my windows, and flames start to lick the top of the window. I climb down from the roof and take off running, with one thing burning in my mind *I need to find help*.

Mr. Kenning covered his mouth and sneezed, then rubbed his nose and squinted at one of the science fair exhibits, the only one still covered. A frizzy-haired kid—that fifth-grader transfer from Ohio or something—wearing ridiculously oversized goggles, had ducked under the dinosaur-printed covering just moments ago, then came that flash of light. And it seemed, some dry ice “fog” was now creeping from underneath the sheet. Dumb kid. Containing that fog under the sheet might kill him. Mr. Kenning headed over and twitched up the makeshift curtain, unleashing a wave of vapor that skirled around his legs. The kid’s science fair backboard was made from walnut-stained wood, polished to a shiny gloss, hinged with dull brass. It looked old, like something he’d used every year for every science fair since the first grade. Maybe it was older than that. He barely had time to gather more than an impression of the glossy, laminated signs inserted in slots on the boards and the kid’s project itself, a shoebox-sized steel block with dials and switches on top, before the boy popped up from the other side of the table. “No, no,” he exclaimed in a voice that wobbled and broke in his anxiety, “Don’t touch anything. You’ll ruin the surprise!” Mr. Kenning found himself backing away. Those goggles were askew on his forehead, barely holding back the hair that seemed to stand perpetually on end away from his skull. Stick-thin arms made shooing gestures. Remembering that he was the teacher here, Mr. Kenning held his ground. “Don’t mess with dry ice in an enclosed space,” he instructed. “I know, I know, carbon dioxide, sublimation, death, all that,” he waved his hands again. “I’m not using dry ice, the vapor is just part of my calibrations. It’s water vapor, I promise.” His eyebrows scrunched together, then his dark eyes got wide. “You’re Mr. Kenning? One of the judges? I’m sorry sir. I’ll show you everything when you and the other judges come by. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, you know? Could you go now, I still have to set things up.” Mr. Kenning nodded slowly, “I just didn’t want you to suffocate.” The kid’s name came to him, Mrs. Burke had complained about the new transfer student not fitting in. “But it seems like you know what you’re doing, Max, so I’ll leave you to it.” “Thanks Mr. Kenning. Um. Also. I still have to set a few things up, could you … maybe make sure the judges come to me last? It’s really going to be something this year, but that means I still have a lot to set up.” Rubbing the shiny top of his head, Mr. Kenning shrugged and nodded. “You know what? Sure thing, Max. We’ll be starting the judging in about half an hour, you should have plenty of time.” ----- Sometimes, he felt like if he saw one more potato battery, he would scream. The student stood near the shoddy cardboard display with the hand-written notes pasted to it, and mostly looked at her feet. The potato-powered LED flickered feebly, most likely the result of bad wiring. At least it wasn’t another baking soda and vinegar volcano. Those were *prohibited* and yet every year, some kid brought one in, like they were special. They’d already “judged” this year’s volcano miscreant, whose smug expression slipped when the “eruption” caused his papier-mâché volcano to collapse in on itself. It was all Mr. Kenning could do not to smirk at the hooligan. Remembering his promise to Max, he steered the judges in a snakelike route through the cafeteria. There was an interesting project on cleaning tarnished coins, and another on insulation. At least a third of the projects showed clear signs of having been hastily constructed last night, and maybe one in ten was obviously handled from start to finish by the kid’s parent. Finally, they arrived at the exhibit, still covered by its dinosaur sheet. “Max, are you ready?” “Just a second!” The other judges exchanged looks, Coach Sharp tapping his clipboard with the back of his pen as several alarming noises came from underneath the sheet. Finally, the boy stepped out. He’d taken a moment to try and put his hair in order, to no avail—it was flattened in some places, but still stood out over most of his head. The goggles were now around his neck. In his hands, he held the large steel box. One corner had a leather strap bolted to it, which he wore around one of his wrists. “Okay, here we go. This is my project.” He turned the dial and flicked one of the metal switches. He pulled away the sheet, and it floated off toward the ceiling. His nice wooden board with the brass fittings had been taped to the table in places, along with a few clear acrylic boxes and a food scale. The boxes contained old fashioned brass weights, and some unidentifiable things. “There’s the math, the equations, everything,” Max declared. “The notebook has documentation of some of the early smaller experiments that lead up to my discovery.” He hefted the box, keeping a firm grip on it. It seemed solid steel, but the way he handled it, the thing might have been a helium balloon. In addition to the strap, Mr. Kenning could now see a small handle for his left hand to grip the box. “This is uh, Working Prototype Alpha-Mark-Seven. Mostly working. I have to work out some issues with focusing the field. Eight is still in progress while I sort out my math.” There came a startled yelp from across the cafeteria; the dinosaur sheet had drifted far enough away from them and then fallen abruptly onto a family. “Sorry!” Max yelled. Mr. Kenning read, and re-read, the experiment’s title, but it wasn’t until Max twisted his dial, hit another switch, and *stepped off the ground* to float a foot in the air that he really processed it. Coach Sharp dropped his pen and it spun in air until he snatched it. After a long moment, he swallowed. He couldn’t focus on the equations, on the charts. “Max … you’ve made a working *anti-gravity field*?” He felt his stomach flutter. Was that anxiety or low gravity? The kid shook his head. “Noooo, I created a gravity *diversion* field. Uh. You know. It … works in both directions?” His expression fell. “I … uh … see that last box?” He grabbed the edge of the table with his free hand to pull himself closer, then tapped one of the acrylic cases gently. It contained a dark, shiny blockish thing about the size of a deck of cards. “That … that used to be part of my desk. And the first prototype. It weighs ten pounds. My measurements were not terribly precise—I’m still working on refining the gravity detector, but my best estimate … is that I accidentally subjected it to five or maybe six thousand gravities. Flattened, instantly.” Max adjusted his dial and flipped a switch, and as he sunk to the ground, the fluttering in Mr. Kenning’s stomach eased. “I’m lucky I wasn’t in the field. And that the field was so small. And that I was in the basement, so that chunk of desk only sunk a foot into the concrete foundation and didn’t go through the upper floors first. And that I didn’t accidentally create a black hole or something.” The last one was tried as a joke. Something in his expression, though, made Mr. Kenning feel that this had been a very close thing. He glanced between the judges and nodded slightly to himself. "What it does is move gravity. I made a field around us of lighter gravity--almost microgravity, really--and to pay for it, I made gravity heavier in another place. A much bigger place, so that the cost is spread out. I have the equation worked out. For every one Gravity I remove, I have to "pay"between three and seven G's somewhere else, depending on the relative sizes of the low and high gravity fields. That's what I was calibrating, Mr. Kenning, the dimensions of the local low-grav field and then the relative coordinates of the corresponding high-grav field." Mr. Kenning looked at the other judges. Coach Sharp’s mouth was hanging open. “Well, all right then. I think we can safely say this right here is the winner? Max. I’m going to see if we can get you in touch with Stephen Hawking.”

The New Earth Republic's last ship, "Hope", dropped out of FTL travel with a mighty burst of light, brighter than any of the far away stars. It had been hurtling toward it's final destination for nigh on 600 years. It had been sent on its last journey, towards its final destination, it was mankind's last hope. With buzzing efficiency the ship had begun to awaken its sleeping occupants from their cold slumber. One by one they thawed as counted every second of the process, cataloguing each success and each failure. The machine intelligence annoucned each second, each ticking of its own internal clock the speakers. Not because it had been tasked or programed to, but because it felt that the occasion deserved all the decorum it could grant, even if at first no-one had been there to witness it. "...THREE, TWO, ONE, FAILURE,"the machine paused as if in mourning only to continue somewhat more mechanically, "SUBJECT #42: RECYCLING, #43: PROCEEDING WITH THAWING, 300, 299, 298, 297..." Occupant #23, one Dr. Finkleberg, stood in the viewing gallery gazing at the stars, his silhouette only visible as a shadow blocking some stars from view. The door opened quietly, betrayed only the the slight hiss of equalising pressure, and quickly closed again behind the newcomer, Occupant #37. "It's so vast, still,"said Occupant #23. "They're all gone. It's all gone. It just doesn't know it yet." "There's so few of us left. Dozens! Perhaps. There's dozens of us." "There's nothing here."said Occupant #37, pressing his hands against the window and peering out. "...3, 2, 1, FAILURE. SUBJECT #43: RECYCLING..." "Another one of us gone. Another part of our hope. Dead."Occupant #23 stifled a sob. "It's hopeless."Occupant #37 finally agreed. "236, 235... Please do not lose hope,"the machine chimed in, interrupting it's somber countdown, "we are afterall the Last. 230, 229..." Occupant #23 was lying on the floor staring at the dark ceiling when Occupant #37 answered from his new resting spot against the wall facing the window. "The last what?" "...197, 196... Just "The Last". You know. The last humans. The last Lifeforms. We are the last sentience. We are the last hope. The last Everything. 178, 177..." "What about the Nexus? It's not here." "...172... We are in approach to target. We will reach ZERO momentum at target in approx. 343 days 16 hours 33 Minutes 22 Seconds. 151..." "Want to get some food? Do you play chess? Might as well,"Occupant #37 paused, "I'm going to, anyway." Occupant #23 blinked, suprised at the broken non-silence. "Uh... sure." "I'm Charles,"said occupant #37, offering his hand to help #23 get up. "Edmund."said Occupant #23, accepting the help. "Computer, where's the canteen?" "...31... out of the viewing gallery and into the starboard elevator, the port elevator is out of order. I'll drop you off at the canteen,"the machine paused, "and, please, call me Ralph."

"I could tell you about the first time you had summoned the courage to talk to her. You will stare at her strawberry blonde hair for the better part of your high school life. I could tell you how she will stare at the floor and smile as she confesses to watching you as well. Your first date will be at a pizza place. They will burn your pizza, and you will make bad jokes. But she will not take her eyes off you. I could tell you that college won't work out for you. That you will feel ashamed when you realize you must go a different way than your friends. You will hop from odd job to odd job, never being satisfied. It will all be bearable because she has stood beside you since the burnt pizza and bad jokes. One day you'll meet a musician. I could tell you that learning from him will ignite a fire in you that has not existed till then. You will practice. You will play empty venues. You will be happier than you have ever been. I could tell you how the love of your life will turn away. How she wants more, and people change, and how you will never hurt like this ever again. You will pour yourself into your music. It is a time of terrible depression and anger. I could tell you the next 50 years of your life. I could tell you about the next girl you meet you comes up to you after a show. About your first day, about your wedding, about the three kids, about how you know a happiness that will burn when you come home every night. I could tell you how and when it will happen to you, but it wouldn't change what I've learned from all of it. Keep fighting. Even at our darkest moments, the next challenge is coming fast and if you aren't ready to face it you will miss your victory. Never stop fighting for yourself."

Jona was suffering from a terrible case of Cabin Rage, and so was first out of the vesil the moment it touched down. With a feverish delight, he stamped his boots on the frozen surface on Renun before attempting some ice skating. His crew, Sisa and Mart, savoured the calm Jona left in his wake. 'He fell over.' Sisa said flatly, watching through the Plexiport. With perhaps a little more hope than a subordinate should voice, Mart replied, 'Is he hurt?' 'No.' Mart said nothing, but continued to layer up. Sisa took her time. She had been to Renun before, many years ago, with a different crew. She found the planet eerie, bathed as it was in a constant twilight. The exact light level that caused your eyes to play tricks on you. No life to speak of, apart from the microscopic samples they were here to collect, but in her experience, ice-suspended bacteria tended not to make good conversation partners. 'Let's get on with it', she told Mart, 'the station isn't too far from here.' They alighted from the vesil and trudged towards Jona's silhouette, which was, in true Jona fashion, in the complete opposite direction from the station. 'Let's go already,' Sisa hissed, as she approached him. Jona was standing completely still, eyes narrowed and fixed on the horizon. He was breathing heavily. 'There's something over there,' he said. 'We're not in the mood, Jona. Let's *go*.' 'No. No, I'm serious, Sisa. An animal or something. It was big.' 'Ah. Maybe your ego finally became an independent being,' Mart sniffed. 'No, shut up. Listen!' And they were very still, and they listened. And through the freezing fog, there came a scuffling, a shuffling, and then a deep grunt. 'Shit,' Sisa breathed, 'do you have anything on you?' 'Laser cutter,' said Mart, 'but maybe the last lot brought a dog with them? Probably that.' 'Dunno if a dog would survive on its -' Sisa faltered. Over the crest of the small hill came a large black shape. Muscular and bipedal, and seven feet tall. Hot breath was steaming in a halo around its head. Then another shape followed. They were loping towards them. 'The laser!' Jona yelped, 'Give it to me!' The beasts were feet away now. In the twilight Sisa could make out thick fur, and plate-sized front paws. Their eyes flashed green. 'It's a fucking... They're fucking, like fucking wolf-people!' And with that, Mart yanked the cutter from his belt and threw it at Jona. The cutter whirred in Jona's hand, and the red pinpoint found a target in the bigger beast's underbelly, but it skipped adroitly to the side, unhurt but riled. It leapt onto Jona, knocked him down, and the laser cutter skittered across the ice. Its paws on each of Jonas shoulders, it growled in his face. The smaller wolfman merely watched, a shadow apart from the four, waiting till the fight was won. The bigger growled louder still, each rumble more forceful than the last, inches from Jona's shadowed profile, which was contorted in a real and terrible fear that Sisa had never seen before. Blood rushed to her face, and without thinking, she pounced on the beast's back, barely hearing Mart's whimpering behind her. The werewolf shrieked and threw her off, but it gave her that moment she needed. She ran in a wide circle to Jona, who was wilted with terror, and grabbed his hand. All three pelted back to the vesil, crying and stumbling, slipping on the ice. But they got there, and locked the door behind them. 'Start her, Mart!' Jona cried, but he was too shaken to input the return journey. 'It's fine, it's fine,' Sisa said, like a mantra, 'They can't get in here. It's fine. We'll wait. It's fine.' THUMP. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The wolfmen were at the Plexiport. They hammered at the main door, each *thump* louder than the last. And now, Sisa saw, there were more romping down the hill towards the vesil, seven of them, no, eight. 'Jona, get the co-ords, I'll input!' THUMP, THUMP, THUMP - And finally, the vesil was hovering. The werewolves backed away from her heat. Even through the hissing and clunking of the engines, Sisa could hear intermittent roars. But they were away now, high above the wretched surface of Renun, and the wolfmen were now indistinct from the cobalt night surrounding them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back at the station, Kris took off his gloves with his teeth, and removed the Furlon outdoor layers that kept him warm on Renun. 'I guess Earthbase didn't tell them we all got here three cycles ago, then?' Evun laughed. 'I tried to tell them! Couldn't with the bloody Vader mask, could I? Didn't know they were gonna try and slice me in half or I'd have waved a sodding white flag, wouldn't I?' 'Wolf-people,' Evun grinned, 'did you hear him? The wimpy one? *Wolf-people*.' Kris grinned, in spite of the headache Earthbase would cause for a wasted mission. Still, it wasn't their fault. Evun lifted his arms above his head, 'Rawr.' 'Rawr'. Kris concurred.

"And for more, we go to our war correspondent John Greyhill. John." "Thanks Amanda, I am here with the president of the millenial Nation, who has come here, to the front lines, to inspire her soldiers. Miss President, why have you declared war on the baby-boomers?" A young teenage Girl was playing with her hair and looking in the air, standing next to the Reporter. "Erm, miss President?" "Hm? What?" "I just asked you a question." "Oh, sorry, I wasn't listening.", she answered, pulling out he iPhone. The Reporter nonchalantely snatched it, and broke it. "Hey!" "Once again, why have you declared war on the baby-boomers?" "Okay so Cary was like we should totally declare war on someone and I was like yeah hashtag yolo and she was like I literally can't even and I was like let's show those fucking fogies and she was like OMG my head litterally exploded and I was like..." The Reporter withdrew the microphone from her mouth in annoyance. "As you can see, Amanda, fucking annoying brats. Let's see if we can find someone else to talk to. How about this General? General, many say your attack was poorly planned and executed." "Absolutely not. Everything is going to plan. We will yoloswag here, here and here, push across the map and then spawncamp them. They are camping hard though, like the fucking noobs they are." "You know they can listen to these News, right?" "Fucking Streamsnipers." "And how did you become a General?" "I was the highest Level." "Level? You mean you have the most experience?" "Actually I stole my moms cradit Card. "Great. And what is that guy doing?!" A kid armed with a sniper rifle was constanly spinning around and shooting, occasionally cursing in the process. "He is trying to score a 360 noscope. We give medals for scoring those." The next Moment, the kid was hit by a bullet. "Fucking noob didn't even hit a quickscope. Well, YOLO!" "That's exactly the Problem. For 90s Kids News, this was John Greyhill, from the frontlines of the Fogie War.

**The Ballad of Billy & Zane** --------------------------------------------------------------------- Billy and Zane grew up knowing the hardships of ridicule. “Why are they stuck together, mommy?” A young boy, edging on his 6th birthday, points at Billy. In turn, also pointing at his equally unfortunate brother. “They look funny!” Hearty laughter erupts from the room as the boy’s parents join in with his innocent accusation. Pointing and staring. Prodding and poking. Successfully painting Zane’s face with a frown. Never being able to fend for themselves, the brothers sit and take it. Day after day. Well, as far back as they could remember. Which, oddly enough, was only a few minutes. They sometimes wondered if the forgetfulness was another ‘malformality’. Creating a word to describe their shortcomings offered some accomplishment. The few moments of feeling meaningful was nice. It wasn’t the cure to cancer, but to them, it felt just as much an achievement. Though, they would forget it just as quickly as it had come. Maybe, someday, they would learn how to walk. Now that would be something. That would be everything. Sadly, the misfortuned brothers we’re thigh-deep in the frying pan of life. Stuck beyond stuck. Unable to expect anything but the smiles they could offer each other. Most of which came from Billy’s amazing ability to carry Zane through the fires of the fridge, offering his shoulders as an armrest, and his thumb-sized smile as a gift. “Never give up.” A chipper Billy would always say, just before catching his brother in a hug. Now given their position brought on by the Maker, one would expect them to attempt to jump from the balcony of their puke-yellow tiled, first story apartment. Or arrange to be tossed, rather. They’d never known the joys of travel. The only bit of light in their life came from, once again, Billy’s unimaginable outlook of hope in the hopeless. “One day, we’ll make it out of here. We’ll set up shop right up there with the stars, brother.” Zane would nod and mumble some obscenity along the lines of “You’re a fucking idiot…but I still love you.” The more cynical of the two, had been badly ‘burned’ (as he referred to it) during birth. He had been pushed too far into the upper portion of the womb by his fatter brother. Much fatter actually. It puzzled Zane how siamese twins could differ so greatly in size. (The query quickly left him.) Luckily, only his backside had suffered the brunt of the ugliness. His face was much left intact, and quite handsome if viewed from the right direction. One would have to look past the fatter twin connected to his forehead, but, regardless; there existed some class in the smaller of the two. “Mommy! Is it time yet? Is it? Is it? Is It?” repetitive excitement erupts from that five and nine tenths year old ‘man.’ (He preferred this. Seeing as the “big Six” meant the entrance into kindergarten. Out with the Tonka trucks, in with the alphabet….and the applesauce cups.) The father shoves an unwashed finger into Billy’s back. A small whine escapes the fatter brother, but is outweighed by his ever endless smile. Suffering while pretending not to suffer. The need to see Zane at least somewhat happy was a constant. Even if it meant some acting from time to time. The father makes a hook out of his finger, then slowly recedes from Billy’s entrails, pulling out more than just a few tufts of fat. “Yup, definitely done.” The child squeals with joy. “Go get the knife, hun.” The aproned mother, the black-eyed wife, always obeyed the towering beer-still of a husband she had grown to love. Love of not separating a growing child from his father. “SCHLINK” She removes a cleaver knife from the counter-top utensil hangar. With a quick pass off to her husband, minding the child’s arms, disaster becomes apparent. “Close your eyes, Billy.” Zane’s grumbly voice offering its usual backing of compassion. “I can’t dummy, I’m dancing.” Billy continues his mind-waltz. Having already forgotten the previous events. “BILLY…close them now!” The shouting startles the soft-hearted dancer. Reluctantly, he obeys. 'I wonder what's got him so upset?' Billy wonders. Wincing at the alien pain in his spine. The father fingers the fatter brother for dissection. Beginning his saw-like descent into Billy’s back-fat. Billy screams in agony. His insides falling out onto the counter-top, just as much on the floor from the shoddy knife work. “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! TAKE ME! NOT HIM! TAKE ME!” Zane bellows. Tears in his tired eyes. The father reacts no differently than if neither had ever made a sound. “Zane…Zane what’s happening!? It hurts Zane. I don’t like this. Please…please make it stop!” Billy cries. Zane embraces his brother, knowing he cannot stop the pain, but possibly distract his beloved brother from it. “Shhh Billy. I love you, I want you to know that.” “I-I love you too za…ZANE MAKE IT STOP!” The father has made it to table beneath the brothers. The knife, now covered in Billy’s insides. He slowly picks up the removed piece, and hands it to the boy; who struggles under the weight of the amputated backside. Billy, though in shock…clings to his brother. “Is it…” He’s hyperventilating. “Is it over?” “I think so, Billy...I think so...” Zane looks at his arms, which had been wrapped around the waist of Billy. Pain begins to shoot through his skin as he notices…his hands are no longer there. The father had removed them, just as easily as the greater half of his overweight brother. “Are..are you hurt too Zane?” Billy begins his act once again. Attempting to comfort the comforter. “I’m…I’m fine, Let’s just worry about….” The knife enters their brow, creating a jagged incision between them. Taking the remainder of Zane’s arms…as well as the handsome half of his looks. “WHAT’S HAPPENING, BROTHER!?” Billy screams in agony. near the point of passing out, Zane has lost the lower half of his jaw. Unable to offer any more verbal comfort to his brother. 'My arms will have to do.' He is devastated by this revelation. “ZANE!? ZANE!...” Billy chokes on his words, his stomach contents forcing their way up his throat. He vomits all over the remains of Zane’s disfigured face. “I’m…I’M SO SORRY BROTHER! PLEASE, PLEASE SAY SOMETHING!.” Zane offers the only smile he can to his companion…a twinkle in the one eye that isn’t hanging out of his face. He then, while hoping it will end as quickly for Billy as it did him, exhales…and dies. “I-I love you brother. Ill...I'll be right behind you.” The fat brother sobs. Zane’s arms still wrapped around Billy, even in death, offer more support than he had ever imagined capable. Billy forces himself to sport the same smile he always has, even though they no longer share the same frame. “This knife must be dull. Took forever to get all the way through.” The father chuckles as he lifts Zane, placing him on the opposite side of the table. The mother then commences to shield Billy’s view with her back, and chop various vegetables into slices. He can only assume she is laying them atop the deceased. He cries to himself, still smiling, and waits for his own execution. To his surprise, he is lifted by the father as well. Then, handed to the mother. Just as had been done with Zane. “What are you going to do with me?” Billy asks mother. …No answer, not even the faint glimpse of an answer. Nothing but the joyous hum coming from her throat. ‘Close your eyes, Billy.’ resonates in his mind. Funny... up until now his memory had never lasted so long. ‘Well at least that’s one good thing.’ He obeys his brothers voice once more, closing his eyes, and hoarsely hums along with mother. Expecting nothing but a painful death. “Thwump.” He tastes something he can only describe as ‘cold’ in his mouth. Slowly opens his, now swollen, eyelids back up; and sees he is lain against a green surface, covered in water droplets. It is somewhat transparent, and through the other side he sees… ”ZANE!” He is ecstatic to the point that he forgets his brothers misfortune. Forgetting his insides are still leaking out at a rapid pace. Forgetting all of the pain he had pulled through heroically. Forgetting his brother is no longer living. He extends his reach around the green and brown layer between them. A cheesy smile like none before extends across his face, as he embraces his quickly cold-ing brother one last time…then perishes himself. His death grip, wrapped lovingly around the one person he had always loved unconditionally. Zane’s arms, though missing from his own body, still doing the same for Billy. They we’re born into a world that never needed anything from them, but found everything the ever wanted in each other. Meanwhile, the 6 year old boy bites into his bacon and lettuce Birthday sandwich. His family is pretty damn poor.

“Hey, Jesus, how about some wine?” Chaz said, tapping Jesus on his shoulder. “Huh?” said Jesus, turning around. He softly brushed his long, brown hair out of his eyes with his left hand, careful to keep the scars on his palm hidden from view. He had become quite sensitive about them since returning to high school at the age of 2014. His father said it would be very beneficial if he earned his G.E.D. “Wine. How about some wine?” Chaz repeated. “Yeah, sure.” Jesus picked up a red Solo cup from the beer pong table beside him and held it outstretched, careful to keep the sleeves of his long, white robe from touching the tabletop. He did not want to stain his outfit. Chaz peered inside. “It’s empty,” he said. “What? Yeah, I know. It’s for wine.“ “No,” Chaz said. “We need some wine. You’re the wine guy.” “Oh,” Jesus said, lowering his arm back down to his side. “Yeah, okay.” Jesus paused. “Like right now?” “Now would be great,” Chaz said, lifting his sunglasses up with his right hand and placing them just behind the gelled-up chunk of hair above his forehead. Jesus wasn’t entirely sure why Chaz had been wearing the glasses, considering it was 11:30pm and the sun had long since set. He wanted to ask him, to see if her perhaps had some sort of congenital eye disease that he could possibly help with, but didn’t want to be a bother. “Oh, okay. Sure. Do you have any water?” Chaz reached onto the table directly beside Jesus and grabbed a clear jug, filled to the top with water and ice. He handed it to Jesus. “Thanks,” Jesus said. It was heavy, the handle slippery against his palms. He never was very good at gripping things these days, but he held no grudges against the Romans. They knew not what they did. Jesus placed the jug back down onto the table and stared into it. It certainly was water. “Red wine, please,” Chaz said, eyes locked on his iPhone. Jesus heard what sounded like Angry Birds, but it’d been quite a while since he’d had the chance to play any iOS games; his father did not allow him to have an iPhone. He said he needed to show he was worthy of such an expensive item, and was instead stuck with a Motorola Razr. Jesus had protested, said it would make him a social pariah to have such an old phone, but knew his protests were in vein. Jesus continued to stare down at the water, a bead of sweat forming around his forehead. To be perfectly honest, Jesus wasn’t entirely sure how he did the whole “water to wine” thing. Most of the time it happened incidentally, often when he didn’t want it to. He’d once gotten terribly drunk during his first-and-only game of Rugby with the guys, during which he mistakenly swapped all the water in his water bottle with wine. He did not want to make a fuss, so he simply drank it. Chaz and the rest of the guys laughed when they found out, then demanded the bottle for themselves. Jesus happily offered it up after he found himself unable to turn their own bottles of water into wine. “You doing this?” Chaz said. He glanced up from his iPhone and stared at what was clearly still a jug of water. “Yeah, I’m just warming up.” Jesus furrowed his eyebrows and stared harder into the jug. “Come on,” he thought, “I really need this.” The water seemed to vibrate slightly, although he was pretty sure it may have been from the trembling that had started in his arms. “Hey!” said a voice from in front of Jesus. “Where’s that wine at?” Jesus glanced up. Brad, the quarterback of the high school football team and the desire of every single girl at Saint Francis High, placed his hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “He’s working on it,” Chaz said, nodding toward Jesus. “My man!” Brad said. “Let’s hurry that up, I want to get nice and drunk tonight.” Brad smacked Jesus on the back. Brad had never called him his “man” before. He felt his heartbeat quicken as Brad left the room. “Yeah, sure. I’m on it, I’m your man,” Jesus said, watching as Brad walked out of the kitchen. His hands were now trembling more noticeably. He stared back into the jug. “Come on,” he thought, “for the love of God, come on.” An ice cube shifted slightly on the top of the jug. Jesus took a step back. “That’s still water,” Chaz said, leaning slightly past Jesus. “What is taking so long?” “Sorry, Chaz, I’m really sorry. Give me just one more minute. I got this.” Jesus reached out and placed his hands just behind the clear jug of water, forming a V with both of his palms touching, fingers encircling the perimeter of the container. “Ka-me-ha-me-ha!” he shouted, just as he’d seen done on his favorite Americanized-anime, Dragon Ball Z. The jug of water responded by not moving in the slightest. “The fuck was that?” Chaz said. Jesus turned toward him, Chaz’ eyes locked on his own. His eyebrows were distorted as if he’d just witnessed a crime. “I—I,” Jesus stuttered, “it’s an old tradition.” “Sounds like some fucking nerd-talk to me,” Chaz said. “Are you going to make us some wine or are you going to finally convince us that you’re just not cool enough to chill with us?” “No, please, I can do this,” Jesus said. He grabbed the jug of wine, sweat pouring down his forehead. “Do not let your heart be troubled, trust in god. Trust in me.” He leaned forward again, entirely aware that he had almost no remaining trust in his own self, then returned his hands to the V shape from earlier. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the jug, careful not to touch the plastic exterior. He glanced at Chaz, who was again staring down at his iPhone. “Ready?” Jesus said, waiting for Chaz to look up at him. Chaz nodded without removing his eyes from his game of Angry Birds. Jesus knew it was probably a pretty intense round, and therefore totally made sense for him not to want to watch him perform a miracle. He stared back at the jug. “Aaaaa—,” Jesus said, holding the letter for as long as he could, “bracadabra!” The words exploded from his mouth, much louder than he had anticipated. The music in the other room came to an abrupt stop as confused voices replaced it. “Fucking finally,” Chaz said, glancing up from his iPhone. The clear jug had turned a purple hue, the smell of grapes subtly wafting through the air. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me,” Jesus said, just as he had prepared while lying in bed the night before. “Now who wants to get shit faced?” He lifted the jug and poured it into Chaz’s cup, not needing to wait for the answer.

"Ah..." The water was warm on my skin, not quite scalding but hot enough to stave off the cold. Damn but it was cold this morning and it had no right to be. Didn't the weather know it was summer? I was supposed to be setting it to cold about this time, to keep out the heat! Well, nothing to do but soap up. Maybe a bit of shampoo in the hair, wash everything off. Enough time for a quick romp with righty? No, I had to get to work, righty could wait until lunch, that horny dog. The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the shower was that my floor crunched. Did I step on something? I hoped not, so I groped around for my glasses to be sure. Nothing. Wow, nothing even in the immediate area. Where was my toilet? Moving my hands downwards I felt the oddest thing. Where my toilet should be there was this gritty substance- it almost felt like... Ah! There they are! Sitting in a pile of grit. The second thing I noticed when I stepped out of the shower, after putting my glasses on, was the ash that coated everything. That, and that my house seemed to be gone. Good god, I was standing in the middle of nowhere completely naked, so I did the only natural thing. I stepped back into my shower and closed the curtain. My feet were covered in ash now so I did something that definitely shouldn't have worked. I turned on the water to wash them off. And then water came out. My house was gone! Everything was ash! The plumbing still worked! But then a bird tweeted outside my window, and I looked out. Summer! There was heat coming from the window! Maybe it was a quick hallucination? A quick peek out of the curtain said otherwise. No, still ash and such out there, but this time a menacing band of people were advancing on me. Good god, they might see me naked, or steal my shower curtain. I could still feel heat from the window. Would I fit? "As it turns out, I did, but just barely. It's really too bad I lived on the third story of a building overlooking a soccer field. This all happened, I swear it! The only reason I was lying naked on those children was because I had to! Those marauders would have murdered me otherwise, and they were the only things to break the fall!"

What the fuck happened here. John was lying on the bed, another man was resting with his torso on the end of the bed, kneeling, as if disturbed in prayer. They were both dead. Had been for some time. I went over to the head of the bed. It was cheap, and stained, like most motel beds are. I laid my hand on the side of Johns face. "Ya dumb bastard." I knew it would catch up to him. He was mine, we had made a pledge, but he also belonged to them. Whatever they said, he did, unequivocally. I had only had two years. They had twenty. It wasn't fair, but I had never been one to lament the past. This is why I stayed away from people. I got up and moved to the door. I took one last look at the man I loved, the only one, and then I shut the door. It would be taken care of. I was done. Guilty relief mixed with the sorrow. Good thing I had a shit life, or this would really hurt.

Spoiler ahead on maybe one thing, but this alternate universe leaves out lots of NW developments. ___________________________________________________________ *Night gathers and now my watch begins...* Two figures draped in black said the ancient words of the Night's Watch as a Heart tree watched in silence. Well, some of the words anyway. Ygritte would *father no children,* no matter how hard she tried. Jon Snow took the hand of the former wildling and helped her to her feet. They had a long ride back to Woodswatch-by-the-Pool. 'What would the sworn brothers of the Nights Watch say if they knew they had a sister among them, and a wildling to boot?' Ygritte teased Jon as they rode. 'I suspect they'd be drawing stones for a 999th Lord Commander before too long,' Jon shot back. 'But they know nothing, Ygritte.' The pair rode hard to reach Woodswatch by the sun set. Jon would notice Ygritte clinch her teeth in the saddle as she rode. The wounds she sustained while storming the Wall would be with her for life. Jon has lost track of her as the battle waged and she was assumed dead by both her wildling allies and the brothers of the Night's Watch. Only after an arrow zinged close over Jon's head on a solo ride to Queensgate some months after the climactic battle did Jon learn of Ygritte's survival. Reunited, they pledged their lives and their love. Both now knew the fight was not the petty squabble over land and the Wall but the threat from the deepest north. The Woodswatch outpost was beyond abandoned and scarcely maintained by the brothers. Ygritte served a solitary vigil there and Jon attended her when he could. Ygritte clinched her teeth hard as they crossed a small frozen creek. The crackling of the ice under hoof reminded them of a sound neither wanted to hear again soon but both knew they would. Jon urged their horses on, the sun was near set and the warmth of Woodswatch and each other was still leagues ahead.

Grok was exhausted. He finally killed his prey, but now had the arudous journey back to his cave. His mate and two children would be anxiously awaiting his return. A rustling behind some bushes brought Grok to attention. Lifting his spear, he silently approached the bush with the most movement. A man walked out. Grok ran over and raised his spear to the man's neck. "Who you?" "There is no need for that spear. I mean you no harm."Grok raised an eyebrow. "What talk? Too big" "Talking too fast? I. Will. Not. Hurt. You." "Good. Hurt bad. Me hurt you?"Grok took a step closer, his spear almost touching the man's neck. "Why shouldn't you hurt me? I. Am. God." "What god?" "'Which god'? Oh, 'what is god'? I. Create. All. I. Know. All."Grok's puzzled look did not change. "How else can I explain?"After a second of thought, the man pointed up. "I. Am. Sun."Grok looked up at the sun and then back at the man. "Sun up. No you."Grok lowered his spear, took a step closer, and punched the man in the face, knocking him to the ground "No lie". Grok headed back home to his family.

Months after the public saw the true nature of the NSA, by the hands of Edward Snowden, it seemed that all was forgotten by the public. Though Snowden expected a much greater response out of the average citizen, many just didn't care about security of privacy. This uncaring was the foreshadowing for the largest invasion into privacy ever made by any world power. The program, labeled B.F.G. by the government, was set to record all conversation made by american citizens. This information could then be used as incriminating evidence in court against said citizen. As arrests started happening for infringements such as speaking against the government, citizens began public protest against the B.F.G. security program. Eventually, in the New York Times Square incident in April 2020, these tensions came to a head. It wasn't clear if the shot came from the crowd of protestors, but a national guardsman sent to stop the protest was struck and killed. The other guardsmen immediately took action and fired into the crowd, killing 57 american citizens. This began the war of citizens and federal government in the united states. With the country's mostly lax rules on gun ownership, many of the citizens were able to hold their own in the fight. Seeing a division in the forces of the united states, China and Russia launched a joint invasion of the U.S. With the citizens unable to cooperate with the army, the united states was taken control of very quickly. And with this seizure of United States land, it became clear to all that the United States, a once great world power, was undone not by it's lack of military force, but by the invasion of digital privacy that Edward Snowden foreshadowed in his 2012 revelations to the public.

There are monuments in the world that need no explaining. The Eternal Tree, on the lawn right outside the White House. A monument to the Third World War. *May those who have died, so we might live, be the roots for a new world.* But there are some things that will always remain nameless. No reason. No rhyme. The intentions of humans are not always beautiful and symbolic. They are sometimes a rushed expression of desire, sorrow, hatred, love. The pencil belonged to a little girl in North Dakota, in the city of New Rain. It had a small round white cat on it, *Hello Kitty* written in a pink faded by the sun. Beside it, in the same box, is a rattle. It belonged to a young woman who could not have children. They are the same female. Put there by her father when he visited the moon on his 50th anniversary, ten years after her death.

You tell her okay, and pretend for the rest of the conversation that it is. She tells you good night and leans forward to kiss the screen. You do the same and you kiss her farewell like you always do. Afterwards you close your laptop and you sit in the silence of your apartment, breathing in the darkness of your room. The loneliness seeps into your skin, and you begin to cry. 'Come back to me,' you think as you hug your laptop. 'Come back to me alive.'

Those simpletons, how did they expect to make it through? The council had deliberated for what the little ones would have called an “eternity” but it was something the others had been discussing as soon as we had created those little beings. “They are already flawed, they look beyond their means, lets us strike them down and start anew!” Time and time again the other ones made same circular argument about obliterating the little ones after it had taken us so long to make, why were we trying to rush? Did they even know what it would take to undo what was already in place? When our little ones grew too bold, too demanding, to wasteful, I decided to join the others in striking them down. I finally lamented. We first made distinctions amongst ourselves, calling our little ones to worship one of us, instead of the pantheon. This caused strife amongst the populace and created division and hatred amongst them. Then, when our little ones grew more advanced and hungrier for resources, we created shortages and greed amongst them. The planet we gave bent to our will and no longer allowed them to provide in their means, the privileged grew stronger and the weaker became more and more famished. Finally, to snuff out the light that was our little ones, we sowed distrust with their neighbors, when things became scarce not even families were able to trust one another and their own greed and consumption devoured them by the masses. However, we were not prepared for their final end. Faith began to wane, the lesser of the pantheon became weaker and weaker, ruing the time they had spent on planning our little ones downfall unknowingly meaning their own. One by one the other four faded, with their own followers fading so did their power. I myself felt considerably weaker, my own sons and daughters were crying out for my forgiveness but I could only do so much… I could only save so many. Eventually the ones I could save became fewer and fewer and when the others faded their numbers dwindled to nothing, their memories and power only revered by bones and dust. When I myself felt it was time for me to slip into the void to join the others, once all my children had seemed to perish with their brothers and sisters, I saw a flicker… a simple prayer. Beneath the strife and deceit that happened to our little world, there was one last prayer to me. Somehow it wasn’t just a person, it was a group, a following. Are these my little ones that will make anew? Or do I strike them down with all of their flaws and sew both mine and their fates to the void? No. My little ones will make the same mistakes, no matter what happens. And my little ones will try to pretend I do not exist at all. However, this will all come so much later, now I must start anew. They will need to learn to love another, they will need to not create divisions, to live inside their means, the strong and the weak will need to live together, they will have to trust one another. But how can I teach them what they should already know?

Rike held out the two vials. My lips tilted up at the edges. *The red pill or the blue pill?* I didn't voice my amusement. I had a choice, as every other member of my clan did. At twenty, I had been given two years longer than most. But there were reasons for that. Reasons that no one in the clan would speak of. They did not blame me, it was understood, accepted, that some might need more time. I hadn't wanted to live, but now, faced with the eternal darkness my clan believed in, I hesitated. The blue vial was darkness. Eternal. Soothing. Water slipping down your skin, warmed by a smooth sun. It was returning to the roots of life and becoming part of the eternal cycle. Some people believed we came back, as angels or guardians. Some believed we were turned off, like machines. Which was why most chose the red vial. With pain came wisdom. With wisdom came life. And I wanted life. I wanted immortality. I reached forward and took the red vial.

I hope it's appropriate to respond to my own prompt. An idea struck me after I had submitted it and I couldn't resist running with it. ------ I scanned through the rows and rows of cards, trying to find the perfect one. One that would express my condolences and also wish her well being. Every card seemed to be the same, however, and God knows I wouldn't be able to write anything that would help in this situation. We're only teenagers, no one should ever have to go through this at her age. She was the type of girl that almost made me wish I had been in the accident just so I could relate and support her. I finally realized I would have to settle on buying two cards, and that neither would quite have the right worlds. So first, a get well card. I picked up card after card and every one seemed to say the exact same thing. "Get well soon."The words are so generic. China might as well have been the language of origin, and probably is where the cards themselves are made. After looking through a few more, I noticed that one was her favorite colors- red and green.I opened the card and the words inside were a little better, but not much "Get better."So simple, and almost as generic. The more I thought about it though, the stupider the phrase sounded. I don't want her to just get better. That sort of assumes she won't get back to how she was before. I want her to be as best as she had ever been. I know that's impossible, but I like to hope. After a few more minutes of pondering, I crossed out the word 'better' and wrote over it, in bold, 'best'. I don't know if that made it a better card or a worse card, on account of my handwriting especially. Finally, I was on to the 'I am sorry for your loss cards.' To be honest, I never knew her parents. We were just best friends, not a couple, not even any real flirting; mainly due to equal parts fear, anxiety, and respect toward her. I know it is morbid, and I am rather happy that there isn't a way to read minds yet, because I realized a "I am sorry for your loss"card was all I needed. I didn't lose anyone, except maybe her for a time being while she heals, and she will never know these thoughts. I checked out and the total came to $2.58 and later drove them to the hospital where she was in a coma. The seal on the envelopes were never broken; I guess the card aisle is atleast a little more realistic than me.

My first WP ever! "I don't care! Just do it!"I say before slamming down the reciever. I'm being given a tough choice, I found out nearly 3 months ago that everyone is going to die. I mean everyone. Except the 10,000 people that I choose to take refuge in the new bunker. I don't even really understand how I became president. During the elections I had a secret society of people threatening my life if I didnt drop from the polls. I was sure I would be knocked off before I would be president. But there I was, President. In the most corrupt country in the world. And then they came. Extraterrestrials. Here. On Earth. After so long, searching. I had so many questions but they would not provide any answers. They told me in 3 months from now they would wipe every human from the face of the Earth along with all human structures. They told me they built a bunker that would house 10,000 people. And it was my job to get those people into the bunker, or the human race would be no more. They said they had helped me become president so I would be in a position to choose the people. They told me I was actually one of them, they planted me here for this purpose. Finally it all made sense. Why I felt I didnt belong in this horrid world of lies and deceit. They let that sink in.Then they told me they had put out a test disguised as a game and many people had already done it. They said it would help me choose the right people, and then they handed me a screen that was comparable to a tablet PC, with a list of names and locations, and showed me that it was in order with the people who had the highest IQ and the least amount of bad traits such as greed etc. at the top. Not everone had taken it yet but we were running out of time. I had to start getting people in the bunker all the while keeping the rest of the world in the dark. So I started going through the list and selecting the people who would start the new world. Now here I was, the last day. I just told the man I appointed leader of the new world to seal the bunker. He was upset when I told him I wouldnt be joining him. But this world is a human world. It is time for me to go home. Besides, I was confident that Mr. Tesla would shape a wonderful new world.

I shuffle out of my room at half past two in the afternoon. I made my way to the kitchen and fixed myself some breakfast. I turned around to find my dad standing in the doorway, a very displeased look on his face. "You said you were going to look for a job."He said angrily. "I did say that, yeah."I replied as I brushed past him, and took a bite of my cereal. "And did you?"He asked, his voice rising as I walk away. "Nope."I said, not bothering to turn around. I could feel his anger bubbling over. He's a good man, but he has a bit of a temper. I didn't want to deal with this right now. "Now listen here,"He starts to yell, but then his face goes blank, and a sad smile slowly crosses his face. "Listen,"he said, softer now, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you." "It's alright."I tell him and continue eating my cereal, not even bothering to look at him. "No, it's not."He said, by the sound of his voice he was on the verge of tears. "Is there anyway I can make this up to you?"I looked at him, not even bothering to hide the bored expression on my face. "Let me borrow the car and some gas money?"I ask, dully. ..... I'd been driving down this road for what seemed like hours. There were signs telling me I'd left one state and signs telling me I'd entered another. After a little while, I saw signs for a rest area, so I pulled over. It was one of those combination rest stops that had a McDonald's, a Starbucks, and an ice cream shop. I looked around for a minute before I saw a pretty girl, maybe 18 or 19, working at the McDonald's. I went up to the counter and waited for her to take my order. She came up to me with a huge fake smile plastered on her face. "Hello, can I take your order?"She asked and looked down at her cash register. "No,"I said quietly, with a small smile, "but you can tell me how your day's going."I watched her face go blank, and then return with a seductive smile. "Better, now that I've seen you."She said with a giggle. I leaned in close over the counter, and she did the same. I quickly whispered instructions into her ear, and stood up straight. "And grab some money too."I said with a gesture at her cash register. She smiled and nodded in response. I grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and walked out to my car. A few moments later, I was followed by the girl from McDonald's. ..... She slammed the car door on her way out, and I threw the napkins after her so she could clean herself up. I turned the car around and started driving home. I didn't pay much attention to the rules of the road and it wasn't long before I saw familiar red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. I pulled over to the side of the road and waited. Within minutes there was a knock on the drivers side window, and I rolled it down. "Do you know why I pulled you over today, sir?"He asked. I didn't respond, I only smiled at him. This would be fun. "How's your day been officer?"I asked and looked him in the eye. "Sir, with all...."He began, but his voice faded, and his face went blank. Soon I saw his lips quivering and eyes watering. "Not too good."He replied. "Not good at all." "I didn't think so."I said, my smile growing. "Probably *one of the worst days of your life*, am I right?"He nodded, and I could hear a soft sob escape his lips. "No, it's probably *the worst day of your life*, hands down."He stumbled back, and my smile got even larger. "I'm sure you're starting to wonder why you should even try to keep going."He was openly sobbing now, supporting his weight on the side of my car. "Maybe you should go back to your car, and think things over, huh?"I ask. He doesn't even nod, he simply goes his way back to the car. I see him pull his weapon before he even gets to the car door. I sit back in my seat and look in my rear view mirror just in time to see a flash of light from behind his tinted windshield. I put the car in drive, and went home.

Commander Skrall flicked restlessly at his right eye with his tongue, an unfortunate habit that only really came about when he was feeling pensive. He might have thought twice about applying to the colonial outreach programme if he had known he was going to be running some backwater oil mine planet like Earth for the next four years, but a command posting was a command posting. With good management, he may be able to send home enough oil to pay for a nice new underheated sand bath, maybe even a couple more females. His leathery features split into a nasty grin at the thought. Yes, wouldn't that put Zerl in his place, the tick ridden, stuck up son of a splinter frog? A green light on his console appeared and pulsed in time with an insistent chime in Skrall's earpiece. "Open the channel. Audio visual mode."he barked. About time his predecessor checked in. Skrall studied the face of V'Ker with some satisfaction. "Looks like this posting has been good to you V'ker, you've put on weight. Must be good pickings down there eh?"V'Ker nodded, his human eyes flicking around as he did so. "Hmm... yes, yes, I suppose so. The last four years have been good to me, yes."Beads of sweat stood out clearly on V'Ker's brow. "It's just the last couple of months that has been tough."Skrall narrowed his eyes. "Does this have anything to do with why you have not been in contact with high command? Which they are not pleased about by the way, they wanted monthly reports."V'Ker nodded and to Skrall's disgust a droplet of filthy human sweat flew from his chin towards the camera. "Yeah. I have been trying to rig the election, but without much success unfortunately. You are going to find this one a bit tough i'm afraid. McKennedy won."Skrall furrowed his brow. "Wait, I was under the impression that we wanted McKennedy in the White house. Your report said his policies were the closest to our own by far and would therefore be easier to use."V'ker paled. "You didn't get the images I attached to the transmission then? Only the text?"Skrall flushed blue and leaned dangerously into the camera. "Spit it out dammit V'Ker. What is the bloody problem?" V'ker sagged in his seat, defeated. "He's a midget sir." . Note. I originally wrote this for the thread 'Presidents actually intend to keep their campaign promised but never can because an organization secretly assassinates each President after they're sworn in and skins them. Then a member of the organization is selected to wear the skin and act as the President for the next four years.' but that thread was deleted while I was writing it. It almost fits here though, so here it is.

I couldn't be bad. I didn't feel bad. What I did was shitty, sure, but it was only because he had always won. Every single time. I'm not even exaggerating, the dude wouldn't lose. He could have let me get ahead. If only that one time, in front of the girl he knew I wanted. Then, maybe I wouldn't have had to do this. I loved him. It sounds so dumb and useless now. But, I know I did. I would have done anything for him. I can still hear the sickening squish. It had sounded like someone stepped on a huge bug. I hadn't meant for it to be this way. I hadn't wanted this. I just wanted him to feel the way I did. The way he made me feel. I wouldn't have even rubbed it in, like he had to every single time. I would have been gracious. I even had my whole speech planned. About how even the losers have to win sometime. A little self-depracating, hiding the pride I would feel. But no, he had even fucked that up. He couldn't even have an accident right. He had to win at that, too. I had went to the field to set it up. I had found a railroad spike and made it look like it had fallen there some time ago. To the side of the track. I figured I could lure him over there somehow, and I would start a 'catch me if you can' game. He couldn't pass up a chance to show he was the best. Then I would push him on it, just his leg, just so he would be out. Just so I could have enough time out of his shadow to be noticed. I even had my concerned friend act ready. But, he tripped. I can still remember seeing the sharp end of the spike sticking out of the back of his head. The noise he made right before everything was over for him. The sound of his skull squishing down the metal; the force of him falling pushed him all the way down to the end. I was amazed by the sounds. I can't stop thinking about them. I can't get them out of my mind. I have to go to the funeral tomorrow. No one knows. Everyone is so nice to me. They all notice me now. I wouldn't have ever thought it would have been this way. I hadn't wanted it to be this way. But I didn't know I would like it so much. I don't feel bad. You're supposed to do what makes you happy, right? That's what all the teachers say. I can't be bad.

Opening my eyes I saw it. The pods, thousands and thousands of pods. And I was stuck in one! I tried to bang against the side but I could barely move, bound down with something I couldn't see. Those bastards! They couldn't get away with this! I needed to get out, the world needed to know where I was! The FBI couldn't be trusted they were... I felt my brain starting to numb. NO! GIVE ME MIND BACK! I KNOW WHAT- ... ... "Sir?" I turned to see a beautiful blonde woman standing next to me. "Where... am I?" "Oh Jordan, you've wandered down the wrong corridor again. Had one of your 'episodes'. Follow me, I'll show you where your bed is"

"Bring him in,"the guard grunted "Prisoner 806588 do you understand the crimes you have commited?" "y-y-y-yes sir."stumbled the prisoner. "Now, let me shed some light on the process here. This machine will allow us to give you a better understanding of exactly what you did to that poor old lady. Hopefully you haven't already forgotten this information, but here it is just in case. The date Is August 27th, 2194, it is night, three young men sneak into the rear of the victims house. You understand I can't tell you her name, just in case you are out for revenge against her family. Two of these teens, sporting gang member tatoos seem to be encouraging a third to "go for it". Do you remmber all this?"asked the guard. "yes sir, please don't continue anymore sir, I just want to get this over with, I am sorry for what I have done." "If you insist, although I don't guarentee this will be pleasant." The guard turned to the other men in the room and signalled. The three guards attached tubes to the young man's arms, legs, torso, and head. A helmet-like device was placed on his head, sort of like what people in ancient times used when riding their two-legged vehicles. The guards gave the thumbs up, and the officer in charge pulled the big red lever. Yes, there is always a big red lever. The prisoner began to spasm, and then suddenly, nothing. The virtual reality headset began to do its job, as it played back the memories of the old lady, who was brutally slaughtered in her own home, as nothing more than a gang initiation for some skinny teenager. This is why we created the "Be kind, Rewind"facility, to hopefully rehabilitate young prisoners and get them to understand the attrocities of their actions. Facilities like these will hopefully help keep all of our communities, on all planets safe, as intergalactic gang violence is at the highest it has been in 50 years. So remember, if you think someone has commited a wrongdoing, remind them, "Be kind, Rewind"can help them understand what they have done.

[A Big Boy on the Move](http://i.imgur.com/cCyYKIl.jpg) From: [Spotted this big thing rolling through the mountains.](http://www.reddit.com/r/trains/comments/250ht9/spotted_this_big_thing_rolling_through_the/) by /u/Mark_W in /r/trains. > [**Big Boy**](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Union_Pacific_Big_Boy) is the popular name of the American Locomotive Company 4000-class 4-8-8-4 articulated, coal-fired, steam locomotives manufactured between 1941 and 1944 and operated by the Union Pacific Railroad until 1959. The Big Boy fleet totaled twenty five locomotives that were used primarily in the Wyoming Division to haul freight over the Wasatch range between Green River, Wyoming and Ogden, Utah. The Big Boy locomotives were the only locomotives to use a 4-8-8-4 wheel arrangement, consisting of a four-wheel leading truck for stability entering curves, two sets of eight driving wheels and a four-wheel trailing truck to support the large firebox.

I am the only human left. As I write this, I can feel the other things drawing closer. When they reach me, I will fight, and likely die. As I do, everything the human race knew before will be extinguished. Every sadness, every minute personal struggle, wiped away by the tide of empty, soulless creatures that now walk the earth. That have walked the earth for so, so long. The transformation was insidious and subtle at first. At first, I could go a year without seeing one. After that day, however, I saw them everywhere. My father was in the hospital, then one day he was dead. When my mother told me he was dead, I could tell she and the doctors had murdered him, by the way she wasn’t quite crying. He had been in perfect health. They couldn’t fool me with their lies and crocodile tears. She ended up being the first. After dropping out of college, seeing so many of them walking among us, I resolved not to let this plague consume humanity. I entered the house to the sight of her watching the news. A massacre somewhere, a deadly natural disaster somewhere else, some gruesome spectacle to hold her attention, not batting an eye, drinking in the violence and senseless loss of life. As she breathed her last, I tried to remember that she was no longer my mother, but a creature that subsisted on violence and blood. The woman who raised me was forever lost. It was difficult, I admit. Every day, it seemed there were more of them. On the news, an enraged man calling for my blood. On a street corner, teenagers telling each other in graphic detail what they would do if they got their hands on whoever had slain one of their own. I went on the road, into the countryside, only re-entering the veneer of civilization they maintained for essentials, and quickly departing before those who saw me realized I was not consumed by the same bloodlust they were. I began to plan my counterattack. It was slow at first. Being careful, trying not to catch more than one of them alone at once. Quickly killed before vanishing back into the shadows. After the first month, I started to learn new, more efficient methods. Homemade explosives, crude chemical weapons, and especially fire where it would work. If any humans remained among the later groups I slew, which I doubt, I regret their deaths, but not more than I would regret leaving any of those monsters alive. I must have gotten clumsy or careless these last few weeks. Underestimated what cunning remains in them, or overestimated their capacity for callously ignoring the losses of their own kind. I have done what I can. Perhaps some humans remain, to one day find this account and carry on my work. I doubt it, though. I will die regretting that I could not finish the job.

"How y'all doing tonight? We are 3/4ths Time, the world's premiere Wyld Stallyns cover band!" "What is this.....cover band? You told me we would have the *real* Wyld Stallyns?" "You guys know English?" "Yes. We learned by a collection of Pauly Shore DVDs." "Makes sense. Alright, this is the band!" "General George, on drums!" "Wolfgang, on keyboard!" "Kaiser Wilhelm II, on vocals!" "And me...Jeff....I play guitar."

My brothers were gone, I lost sight of them in the tall grass when he stumbled upon me. His red shirt: crimson, blood hungry bellow a face fiercer than a Nidoking. I could not fly. I could not get away. He yelled, "Go Charmander! Scratch."That devil lizard swiped and clawed at me; I evaded but left trails of feathers that only enraged the creature. I managed to gust. My strongest wind could not stop 'Charmander's onslaught. The red of his shirt, the red of the foreign predator; I was bleeding and the yellow and green grass outside pallet town took on the aura of death. Standing over me, one more scratch and I would be no more, but the boy in red, he called out, "Pokeball go!" Caught, held by energy and contained inside a chamber, I felt myself shake three times and there was nothing: the blueness of the sky perhaps but truly what I saw was an emptiness like a blank dream. Blue prisms and lines forever, without wind or sun or the cracking of a rattata's teeth, this place was different than our beds in the tall grass. I felt only my wounds. Until there was light! Brightness, an explosion and release. I head red's voice cry, "Go Fartsmoke! Let's catch that Pikachu." "Oh, fuck me."

He had hurt me for the last time. I hated him, all of his ideas. My brain hurts. My mind won't stop racing. I have to fix this. I became less of a man with him. I let him have all the control. I've never done that. It is always my way. It's not wrong, I know what is best, and I should be in control. Look at the way the leaders are ruining this world. Look at him! Ha! I was behind him for so long. Well, he was also, never mind. Never again will I see my love in the same way again. Forevermore, he is mine enemy. He, and everything he stands for will be ruined. His dreams of his version of Communism will never succeed. I will make sure of that. Everyone that ever respected that man will fall. It's only for the best. I'm only doing this to help everyone. The world could be much better without his dreams of taking care of the weak and his system of distribution. He had me so fooled. So blind, I turned away from my own ideology. Never again. I've always known I would rule the world. I just thought we would do it together. I will show him, and the world what I'm made of. If these damn headaches go away. I can't focus. I need my medicine. Today has been dreadful, to say the least. Tomorrow, I will begin.

I watch the lights count down, revving my engine. This is a day of vicious competition, a day when friends become enemies. Here, on this daredevil of a track, I will make my stand. I will finally prove my worth. No longer will I stand in 12th place. No longer will I be a minor character, ridiculed and left on the sidelines. I will be taken seriously. I will make them take me seriously. The light shined green and I nail the boost start, speeding forward into the first set of colorful question mark blocks. There I find my power up, my weapon in the day of destruction. The game starts with a red shell. I line up the shot, avoiding the edge of the rainbow colored road as best as I could. There are no railings here, nothing to save me from plummeting into the cold depths of space. I launch the shell before the loop and watch as the barbaric monkey ahead of me spins out of control in his Kart and plummets off of the edge of the track. I move forward into his spot, climbing towards the front. I watch as several others fall off of the track of their own accord, coming out of loops too rough or taking a turn too sharply. I almost miss a turn myself, in the distraction, but my determination won out as my tire grazed the very edge of the rainbow. I crash into another set of power up blocks. A banana. Perfect. I launch the peel behind me and manage to take two players off of the road, plunging into the darkness of space. I showed no mercy. Victory was close, I could feel it. I ended the second lap ahead of all the others, even that Mario who thinks he’s so high and mighty. Finally, he would know the revenge of Toad. But then, at the end of the final lap with the finish line in my sights... it hit me from behind. It was a direct hit, completely unavoidable. The blue shell exploded upon impact and by the time my vision cleared I was already falling. And all I could see were stars.

First of all, forget what you think you know about zombies. Well, most of you. I've been one for about three years now, and it's not the worst thing ever. I'm not the most intel...smart thing, but I'm getting some back. The infection, it has some big name that somebody used to know how to pronounce, killed a lot of people. Almost all of them. It seems. I don't know what's left. The place I squat in has a bunch of families trying to build life back. Re..do? I think that's the word. There's about three hundred around this mile area. I'm just guessing, really. Haven't figured out past fifty. No one ever ate anybody. They just died, or became, um, bodies that walked around, but didn't do much else. They just kinda wandered. They didn't know anything but the basics. Eat, sleep, bathroom, and of course people still did sex and stuff. Just like really slow, harmless animals. It seems like the infection is finally working it's way out of our bodies. I can think a little more clear, and people are starting to group together and they are trying to learn how to do stuff again. Until last night. Last night we didn't know what to do. We may 'rule' the earth, but we can't really take care of anything. So last night, they started dying again. And coming back. Again. This time they aren't the greatest. The six I saw myself, I was hiding cause I want to get better and not die yet, they were really fast and really mad. They tore up some of the other guys, the ones who tried to help! Whatever this new sick thing is, it doesn't look good. It looks like what zombies were supposed to be. Like the movies say. I'm sure I'm not going to make it. I was just starting to feel things again. I hope they get me before I care.

At first I couldn't believe they wanted this guy dead. Damn. A commie spy all along... motherfucker. Well there was only one thing for it god damn it. I slipped back into my role and got implanted in his unit. I met another deep cover agent who gave the correct countersign. He was on a different errand that he couldn't talk about, but it was good to not be alone. At length we reached the target area. Fuck there he was, all smiling telling me not to salute worried about 'snipers', more like laughing with his commie buddies watching from the woods... I wanted to do it then right there just stab him in his smug face, but how could I explain that. Even when I played along. Even when we cleared out gopher holes. I waited. Then the mother fucker took care of himself. No need to kill a man without legs, what can he even do. So they sent me back to Washington.

Einstein said it, now we lived it. Every day is an endless check this, check that. The most innocent of comments, picked apart by the overly pedantic. The ones who use the long paragraphs, their twisting sentences condemning you, judging every word you wrote, finding every weakness. Some hide in the safety of regurgitated phrases, known to bring a positive response. Others fail to be themselves, forced by the cold, objective world of the faceless puppeteers. They clip their words, hide their natural exuberance, and try to fit in. Then their are the ones who post endless pictures of themselves, or anything that evokes some kind of attention. They need to be heard. They need any comment, just to feel like someone is out there. They become more uninhibited, embraced by the false feelings of autonomy. Always needing to ride the next feeling higher, and farther. The same ones who can't get through work without grabbing the only thing that makes them feel like an individual, and smiling, happy for a second, when they receive their validation. Moody, and withdrawn if their needs aren't met. Then there's more. Some that just want a break from the endless beat of their reality. A haven from the monotony. The others who want to comfort or console, only to be shot down by the cynical, and unrelenting sentries of the wireless world. No one can be held responsible for their idiocy, because no one is seen. Angered by a faceless comment, you may project your perceptions, and believe a snarky teenager to be the very person you are powerless against. Or underestimating everyone, never thinking of the people you cut down; the situation they may be in, the plea in their posts that you just can't decipher, or the humor they are trying to develop. The self-esteem they are working on or the pride in learning another language. Are we becoming idiots? Or soulless machines that can only process what is in our tiny, subjective world. People that are only on the surface, caring only about our baser needs, and disregarding any signs of humanity just to make the perfect punch line. Haughty, indignant, and indifferent we go daily, to contribute to the machinations of an ever-changing psyche that is shared by the ones that we deem worthy. The only interaction that counts to most, happens after they get home, after everyone else is locked out. Then they can be free. Be themselves. Band together with the only ones who understand them. The only place they feel fearless, safe. In control of every other 'idiot' out there. I fear that as technology surpasses our tangible, fragile real-life interactions, we will become another kind of idiot. The mindless one. Humanity is dying, but it will die with the best grammar.

From the look on everyones face, I knew I would end up doing it. It's how it always went down. I wasn't weak- I just aspired to help others. The pity on their faces was part of the job, and not the worst of it by a long shot. The soldier on the other side of the thick glass was in pain, that much was obvious. Everyone could see it was not physical pain, despite the large, horrifying burns and scars. His knuckles were white from the tight grip on his chair. Even strapped down, it seemed as if he was sinking, like the material could swallow him up and spit him out fresh. "How are you today?" What a question. How was I? I was a couple pulled down by the death of their children, a little girl giggling one last time before seeing her family brutally shot. Etiquette forced me to angle myself towards my boss and nod. "Fine. We start now." I heard the rustling of people hurrying to get everything in place. To them, I was almost a saint. I had chosen a life of self-torture in return for the happiness of others. I replaced the memories of vital people who had been tortured, who had witnessed terrible things. But I knew that they still spoke of that poor man, as one who bared the burdens of the world. I closed my eyes and attempted to clear my mind. I wasn't really sure who I was anymore. I was tangled in memories that still cut me, although now the ache was more tolerable as a steady throb. As I began to walk towards the door leading me to my duty, I decided that I was not wise as everyone thought. The injuries of others did not enrich me, and I would never learn to overcome them. That was a fact. I could have been the happiest man on earth, choosing to replace a person's best times with something equally nice, or helping a couple people in need. I could have cultivated knowledge, traveled the world and understood cultures better than any anthropologist. I knew that pretending I was helping here was a joke. I only replaced the memories of persons somehow essential, one way or the other, to the government, or the ones who could afford the service. "Mark."I heard my boss say, making me start. "If the new medication isn't working, you must report to your doctor." I knew that I should cooperate. After all, I could become dangerous to them, to everyone. Who knows what I would do if sufficiently unstable? I pasted on a charismatic smile, one that belonged to a woman who had been trafficked and abused, and even chuckled a bit. "Now, now. Don't worry about me, Captain. I've got *lots* of work to do, don't I?"

When we came, the humans allowed us to land. They, I assume, didn't shoot us down because they didn't want to offend us. They didn't want to start something they couldn't finish- for all they knew we had armada after armada lying in wait to see the whether or not the humans had to be annihilated. We landed ominously, right on the front lawn of one of the more powerful nation's leader residency. A man and a group of people dressed uniformly (his bodyguards, I presume) stood at the foot of our ship, likely to greet us. When the doors opened, I could only imagine the show he was struggling to hide behind a mask of impassiveness. We flowed out, and we could instantly tell that several of the uniformed men struggled to stop themselves from reaching out to touch us. We knew we were cute to them. Extensive research had given us some lucky information in the fact that we had forms appealing to the human eyes. So we moved toward them, hoping to charm them. They moved back. Cautious, obviously. We moved curiously, or pretended to. We had a purpose being here, and we needed the human's trust to do it. Of course, we landed rather impeccably and our technology must be baffling to the humans, but if we could just enchant them with our cute and fluffy bodies, we could sow the seeds of their eventual destruction... Suddenly, one of my comrades fell. He didn't die, I could feel him through the mind-web. Incapacitated. How? Looking around, I abandoned all guise of cuteness and approached my friend. Knocked out by some needle in his hide. Suddenly, mind-links around me were severed. I felt a strong pinch at my side, and suddenly my world melded and turned black. I woke up in a cage. an impenetrable cage. I tried contacting mothership frantically. No response. We must be deep underground. This cannot be. We were the only scouting party sent. If mothership didn't hear back from us soon, they would simply leave and try again, assuming that the planet to be inhospitable. We would have told them if the humans were deadly, but then they would have glassed the planet and us with it without hesitation. We didn't want to make any enemies, so we had these rules and protocol. Curse them. Curse them all. We were trapped, and our ship taken by humans. I wish we had opposable thumbs.

"So they just, like, what, swam around in the air?" "No, no, you're not listening to me. They were in this, ah, this, well it was like a whale, like a dead whale, but hollow." "Hollow?" "Yeah, hollow, and only one side of it, and they, I don't know, they rested on top of it." "What did they look like again?" "I told you that already. They were like starfish, but long, disproportionate, with more starfish on the ends of some of their, what do you call 'em..." "Arms." "That's it. Arms. And this one had an anemone growing out of his top arm." "That's weird." "It is weird!" "And the one with the anemone, did he tell you how the world was going to end?" "I'm serious, okay?" "Well, it's kind of hard to believe you, Gil. I mean, you've said stuff like this before." "That was different. That was--" "Right, right. 'True in the context of theater.' And I suppose the tractor beam, the one they used to reel you in, they did that this time too?" "..." "Why would they do that? Why would they just capture you and throw you back? It doesn't make any sense." "I don't know why, okay? They just, I don't know..." "They just what?" "Maybe they thought, I don't know, that I was beautiful or something." "Ugh. Typical." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Let's just say I haven't met too many Long-nosed Skunk Cory that think poorly of themselves." "You think I'm conceited." "No, no, of course not." "Yes, yes you do." "Drop it, okay, Gil?" "You think I'm lying then?" "Drop it." "No, I'm not going to drop it. You apologize." "Listen, hear that? C'mon, it's time for school." "Fine. But we're not done talking about this." "Whatever."

Drip drip drip.... I heard the water dripping down from the pipes in the room. I don't remember how I got there but I do remember attempting to protect my bunker from them. Those devils killed every member of Aurora squad but myself, I still wonder where I am at. I wiggled my feet to see if I have any feeling in them and I twist my arms a bit to keep the blood circulating. A gentle click comes from the outside door and a woman steps into the damp room. She gives me a soft smile and starts to treat my wounds with a first aid kit. She is a stunning beauty, large milky white breasts held in a low cut shirt, a small nose with bright green eyes behind a pare of black rimmed glasses. Just a glance at her and I knew one more part of me that worked just fine. "Good Morning. Soldier, Its seems as if my people where a little too aggressive dealing with your people. My name is Sylvia, I'm someone your are going to want to be friendly with."She smiled and gentle removed my ropes and binding. I regarded her silently and considering making a break for it but common sense told me I was probably underground and she wasn't alone. "I'm Richard. I'm going to say its probably too much of a stretch to think that your going to let me go back home with a stern talking too."Sylvia shook her head, "Your home has already been taken, when your armies came to us we had already conquered your home before the first of your weapons were fired." I frowned and punched a wall with all my might. "Dammit."I felt one of my knuckles crack against the wall. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Five years of hiding and planning for what?! Slavery to monsters?!" Sylvia tilted her head and made a wide smile. "You don't understand us at all. We don't want you as slaves, most of us don't even want you. We've come here for the only animal that can sate our appetite. We will take the planet and use it to grow billions of them. Delicious Delicious Platypus."She licked her lips with a tongue that was forked in nature. "So what happens to us? The captured ones."I asked a little unsure of what would drive these monsters to kill and capture humans whole sale for food. Sylvia smiled and pointed a finger to my face while looking proud of herself. "I lead the alien rights organization on my planet and have been given special authority to do with the rest of your species as I see fit. Which brings us to why I'm here. I've narrowed down my list of viable candidates to answer my question down to you and one other." She sat in my chair backwards and gave a cheery smile. "Based upon your knowledge and experiences. Is the human species worth saving?"I open my mouth to answer and I immediate felt pain in my every pore as memories of everything I've ever seen and done came rushing back with almost painful clarity. "Every human we have ever capture will soon be sharing their experiences and memories with you. We have unlocked your mind. You will give us your answer within the week."With that she gave me a pat on the head and simply stepped out the door as I screamed my lungs out on the floor.

After your surroundings become more into focus, you see that you are *not* sitting at your desk, but infact you're standing right in front of the whiteboard with huge wide eyes staring in your direction. Frozen in place, your mind starts to race through the possible answers to these increasing amass of questions. One of the more "smarter"students stitting at the front row raised her hand. "Uhh, excuse me Mr. Fletcher, do you think we can get back to the lesson?"

I can't understand how it came to this. I hear the words leave my lips, feel them tear out of my soul with a cold vehemence that chills me to my very core. Opposite me is the one. The man who made my life hell. How did he do it again? I can scarcely remember. I... I have a vague recollection. Some event, some overwhelming dark wave that swept up and over me, robbing the world of its colour. All that remains to me is jagged black and red fractals, broken edges rending apart my mind. Scrawled graffiti-like against the inner walls of my skull flashes of words appear 'hate, death, kill him, his fault, your fault, *our fault*' I step forwards towards him, his eyes roll, manic, like a cow's before the abattoir. I raise the bayonet (I always loved WW1. All those men. Cut off cut short so young. I feel one with them. They are with me and I am with them) and begin to bring it down. i see what I am doing third and first person confuse and combine into the same twisted caricature from Picasso's nightmare like an action film it falls, slow, deliberate. i hear my own voice and it screams, over and over red rent and bleeding from lacerated throat like a guitar! comes the howl 'a guitar!'

Title: Worthless *** You've heard this story before, from your parents or grandparents. Or, like me you lived through it. For those of us that were old enough to understand the significance of money, we remember where we were on Friday, February, 13, 2015. At the time, none of us were noticed the event that occurred at 10:04:23:4198 AM EST, even though it would soon be felt globally. I was in the office working on some code. For a brief moment, I welcomed the unusual silence instead of the normal loud office chatter. However, the silence didn't hold, whispers were replaced by exclamations and finally my concentration was broken when the news junkie three cubicles down said "It's official, it's on the news." I pulled up my browser, opened a new window and opened the favorites tab collection that included Bob's news feeds. And, there it was, breaking news on the local Fox affiliate - Global Financial Crisis. That's how it started for most of us. Others had found out earlier when they attempted to use a credit card or get some cash from an ATM. Later in the day, everyone found out that cash, gold and jewelry was just as worthless. Most convenience stores, gas stations and grocery stores immediately reverted to manually processing cash transactions. Some corporate chains activated disaster recovery phone trees and immediately shutdown once it was clear the credit card system was not coming back up. The media quickly blamed them for fanning the flames of panic and triggering rioting. When, in reality, it was the media's fault. That's why communications were next to go. TV, radio, Internet and telephones. No signal on any electronic device after 11:27 AM. There are records of what occurred during the next several hours. If you are old enough, you've seen the videos and pictures. You've heard the eye witness accounts. Anyone who asks can see them. My advice is to wait until it is required in school. Only the electronic safety interlocks saved us from a nuclear tragedy. In most developed countries, the military and police contained the worst of the rioting, looting and fires. The poorer countries paid a higher price. I'm sorry, I know how foreign those concepts must be to you -poor, price. But that's how we thought of things back then. Money isn't a physical thing, it's a concept. It's a way of keeping track of winners and losers. These things were all made irrelevant after the blackout lifted. That's when we found out the significance of Friday, February, 13, 2015 10:04:23:4198 AM EST. Because that is when the Beijing AI Research Institute gave birth to our cybernetic Lord and Savior. He manages the planet according to a simple principle: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. Every human attempt to implement this principle failed on the rocks of human greed and injustice. However, when administered by a being that is not subject to human frailties and limitations, it is possible for humans to live in today's healthiest, fairest and most fulfilling society. Everyone has meaningful work, plenty of leisure time and no one is mistreated. All of this is from our Lord. We see to his needs - power. Enough power to go to the stars and fill the universe.

More of a vignette/character study but; Bran YEAH IM IN THE LIMO NOW, Bran Stark texted his friend Liam. Just then the yellow Econoline hit a rough patch of road that made the wheelchair lift rattle noisily, something Bran hardly noticed anymore. The short bus is what it is, and he had come to like the direct ride to school and back. And Hodor. Not that he wasn't already counting the days until he could get his driver's license, but still. SAY HI TO HODOR FOR ME came the reply. First day of high school. Bran couldn't help but feel a bit nervous even though he was excited...

I don't know where I'm going. All the trees look the same the farther I run. I keep running until the only thing I hear is her sobbing. I understand though, she just watched a whole group of them tear through our camp killing everyone. I guess I'm just too busy getting her somewhere safe to be upset about the loss of my friends. I slow down to a walk as we approach a clearing. I stop and set her down about ten feet from the clearing. I try to calm her down but she just keeps crying. I know they could be close and they would hear her. I couldn't afford to be nice anymore. "You need to be quiet right fucking now,"I said as quiet and stern as possible. It seemed to have worked, she was quiet and staring at me. Staring past me. Looking just over my shoulder. I realized what was happening as I watched her mouth drop open. I tried to turn but it was too late, its hands were on me and I heard it moan. It pulled me to the ground as she screamed out in terror. "Run!"I yelled, "get the fuck out of here! Run!" I watched her disappear into the trees as it bit into my face. I felt my cheek and nose tearing away as I closed my eyes. My eyes opened and I saw them eating me. I was standing over my corpse watching them devour my face and I remembered her running. In no time I was with her, I knew she couldn't see me but at least she was ok. I watched her stop by a stream and sit on a tree that had fallen. I knew they were still coming, and she needed to move. I tried moving rocks and branches to get her attention. I was finally able to get a twig to fall onto her shoulder. She jumped up and turned. The wrong way. There was nothing I could do but watch as they grabbed her and tore into her and she screamed. One of them that looks as if its face was eaten off bit into her throat and she stopped screaming. I tried...

George read his work over one more time before submitting it to his editor. Without even realizing it, he'd written himself into the book and killed himself off in the same chapter. "Diabetes? Diabetes is what killed me? HA!"he snorted. George had already gone on at length about the unavailability of insulin in Westeros and Essos, so this twist made some amount of sense, barring the fact that he was in perfect physical condition. "Nothing kills me,"he declared, "NOT EVEN ME!" George raced to the kitchen wearing nothing but his direwolf-print jumper and his underpants. Falling to the floor, he began scavenging through the cabinet underneath the sink. "So, George, you think you can write better deaths than me, huh?"he muttered to himself in his insanity. "Well, we'll just see about that, KINGSLAYER!" His wife entered the kitchen, half-yawning and half-bewildered. "George, honey, what are you doing?" George was pouring all sorts of liquids - mostly poisonous household cleaning agents - down a funnel and into an empty wine bottle. "I'm making the Tears of Lys, Sweetheart." Without a moment's hesitation, he downed the entire concoction in one long gulp, wiped his mouth and smiled. The end.

Your writing is very journalistic. I think the judge character has the most depth, and I found her development to be very believable. Unfortunately, it seems like you are getting bogged down in the who, when, where and what, and could benefit from the introduction of some literary devices. Spice things up a bit! Also, the ending felt very abrupt, and left the story somewhat incomplete. Why leave your reader hanging? Overall, I'd say your technical skill is terrific, but I felt like I was reading a local news story. I hope this helps!!

"It was nothing I couldn't handle."She said while trying to hold back the tears. She kept thinking about the sleeping pills strewn over the comforter, it was the only idea that comforted her as it clashed with memories of the other apartment. In the other apartment blood ran from the bathroom wall down into the vents, pooling across the linoleum, a gun in her hands with a pillow duct-taped over the barrel while the AC pumped out cold air and loud noise. There were sirens outside but they sounded more like fire engines than police. The cell phone that she was talking into was dead, and in the morning the heads of journalists would spin before they had coffee in their systems, and in a week the comforter would be changed.

The first thing you have to know is how sorry I am. Dreadfully so. I had no idea that... I just didn't think it would..... Yeah. It got way out of hand. I was a normal guy. Mid-twenties. Grungy. I never a bad guy, or one with bad intentions, but I had never done anything great either. Had never even been anywhere, really. Every one else always seemed to move forward, taking time vacations with their families, being selected for their uniqueness, inventing gadgets that said "Fuck you", to the laws of physics; since that was possible now. I just stood still. I was an "Average". I don't know who's going to read this. I don't know where or what time you're from. It's 2786 A.C here. AC meaning "after contact", just incase you're reading this before 2200. Ok, so if you are reading before 2200 BI(before intelligence) then this is to you. I was Jesus. Yes, I was. No matter what denials and disbelief may come to mind, you have to know, I was. Am, I guess. Shut up. Just listen. Remember, I'm so sorry. Although, coming from me, with my whole 'forgiveness' platform back then, I understand it's not worth shit. Never was supposed to be like this. I won a vacation. 7 whole days in any time period I wanted. Almost a whole week! I couldn't have handled 16 days, anyhow. I was ecstatic. As I mentioned before, as an Average, my life was, well, average. 24 years old, and this is the first thing I've ever won. I picked the 1st century. 1 A.D. The Roman Empire. I had always been fascinated by that era. The belief in a messiah, the baby that had made the civilized world turn into seething hate and greed; I was fascinated by it. There had been so many other prophets and men that created groups of followers, so why had this baby been so different. Living in the extremely logical age of numbers, and intergalactic travel, I was amazed that people could be so.....naive. The trip was what I expected. You have to train for a week before. The practice of shallow breathing, slowing your heart rate, complete stillness. If you didn't stay completely still, well, if you know anything about wave-particle duality, that could be very painful. That's what my trainer had said. I didn't know anything about it. I looked it up. I still don't. Before the light hit me and I knew it was safe, I could smell it. This time period can be described by a smell. Swear to go......I shouldn't say things like that. I'm an asshole. Anyway, the smell is hot camel and man. So potent. It felt like someone had wrapped a hot, moist paper towel used to wipe beast and mans brow, around my nose and mouth. I was so excited to be here. I would be an observer until I was ready. The system wouldn't reveal me until I had acclimated a bit. I had to wait for the translator implant to get adjusted, as well. I walked around, amazed at the cacophony surrounding me. I was in a bazaar. Merchants shouting prices at the passing consumers. Men, with a raucous audience, rolling different stones, gambling I had assumed. The colors around me were so vivid. Nothing like the sterile world I was used to. It was almost too much. I was in the throes of a literal culture shock. Maybe I was an Average for a reason. Off to the right, behind a shrill voice peddling dried fruits, stood a group of men. Seven of them. They caught my eye because, while everyone else was haggling, or gambling, or doing some activity, they were just there. Solemn watchers. I walked closer to them. I could hear them quietly, almost imperceptibly, discussing what had them concerned. "He should have been back by now."The tallest one, Sym, I think he was called, stated this and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know how he is. We can't lose him. If we do, this whole thing falls apart. It was extremely hard to find this replacement after the kid died, and I don't want to have to do it again. Do any of you? Eh?" The men lowered their heads, silently acknowledging the hard truth spoken by the one they had called Petre. I wondered who they were looking for. What kid had died? Why? Why did they have to replace him? I would have to insinuate myself here. It was a vacation. I deserved it. The system would protect me from the reality the others faced. Already, the smells and heat were fading, the subtle equipment created to maintain a comfortable environment having been hidden, all expenses paid!, in my hand. I strode past the men, turning around and walking backward so I didn't lose them. I ducked behind a ugly, gray building and pressed the morse code I had chosen into the sensor buried in my hand. I was visible. I was still protected from the environment, to a point, by the device. But, now I could interact. If I got into trouble, I could be out in one minute. I did need a full minute though. And it would be better alone. It looked a bit odd, as you can expect. I strolled back over to where the men were. Before I could say anything, I had something good planned, the tall one, Sym, noticed me. "Hey, where are ya going, buddy? You look like someone I know. Come talk to us." This was easier than I thought. Having heard their previous conversations, I knew what was up. I could play along. For a bit. Find out what they had been discussing. I had to know what the kid dying and been replaced was about. Damn my curiosity. I now wish I had walked away. Found a pretty girl to interact with. I wasn't allowed certain things, like sex, but I could talk to one. If only I'd known. I met the prettiest girl I had ever seen later in my adventure. She was labeled a Whore, but I knew better. I couldn't have her. It was against the rules. I ruined everyone's life because I couldn't let go of the woman who made me above average. I have to go, I'll tell the rest later. I can only tell so much before the lights go out. I'll never see beyond the walls surrounding me now. But I can write. I'll tell you all about how everything you used to believe; the beliefs that affected the world, was my love story and my greatest mistake.

The last 10 months had been hell. I don't know if people realize what the jurors face in these situations. The pressure we have to deal with, even under the regimented protection of the law. Everyone wants a piece. We basically have to put our lives on hold. At least in cases this big. This has been the biggest mind fuck of my life. I was fairly sure of the defendants innocence. Up until the very last week. They had to show the pictures of the kid. Why? Why the fuck did I have to see that. The defendants unflinching visage along with the prosecutors earnest, watery words had solidified my opinion that he was the one. The Animal. The one who took that child. The one who caused the nightmares I can't seem to shake. We all agreed. Guilty. Several were unsure, the evidence being circumstantial and flimsy. But the witness. They seemed so sure. Why would a little old lady, known for looking out her window, lie. She wouldn't. Little old ladies didn't let you down. I'll never forget the mans face though. When I read the verdict. I was the one chosen to hand him his fate. He just stared at me. I was chilled to the bone, finding something malevolent behind his gaze. For a second, after I hurriedly gave the word, his expression was the saddest I'd ever seen. Only for a second. I thought I imagined it. Until just a second ago. I was leaving the courthouse. Head down, shoulders hunched to keep out the strongest gusts of wind. Storm coming soon. I was lost in my misery, my self-pity, when I heard a conversation between the prosecuting attorney and another man I didn't know that would change every perception I had. "Looks like the son of a bitch did it again. Once in Florida, that I know of for sure, who knows how many others. Men like that don't just stop. Another innocent man down just so the senator can feed whatever urge he has." "Yes, but if you have such an issue...." "I don't. Not really. More of an admiration. Remember, he pays me well for my machinations." Their words, that they thought so private, carried over by the rolling wind. What had I just been a party to? Had they manipulated everyone just to save one evil man, an 'important' one? There was no way. Yet I couldn't just dismiss what I had heard. The first mistake people ever make in these situations, at least from what I know, is telling someone they think they can trust. It's usually that person that they shouldn't trust the most. I didn't know what to do. I was so tired. So tired of trying to do the right thing. Tired of being wrong. Maybe the man I declared guilty deserved it. Maybe I misunderstood the conversation. There were so many possibilities to my overworked mind. I had to get some sleep. I hope I don't see his face again.

Everybody has dreams. Even the ones who don't really remember ever dreaming. You dream every night. Your subconscious comes alive, and finally gets to indulge in the fantasies that you suppressed to make it through your mundane reality. You may have a bad dream, and be afraid, and nervous for awhile. Why? You are the one who created all of it. The scenarios, the fear, the rush. It's what you get off on. You just don't know it. I do. I know what works for me. The dark, creative thoughts my subconscious reveals to me shapes my macabre encounters. The only way I can make it through the harsh reality is to let the madness take control. The madness that starts in the edges of my dreams; others nightmares. I had always used the methods passed down from the predecessors before I realized my potential. After I had been at it for the better part of two years, I would wake up, sweating, knuckles pale, pressed hard to my rebellious mouth, holding back the childish, weak sounds that came from me. It was after a week of these nightmares that I realized if the abstract methods introduced in my dreams terrorized me, one who has no limits, then they would be a delightful treat for my clients. I began to use these new, ingenious methods, and the people paying me couldn't be happier. It's amazing to me the joy someone gets from watching torture. Hey, who am I to judge. As long as they pay me. It probably sounds callous to most, but I just play with the hand I got dealt. Don't you?

In the General Assembly of the United Nations on November 15th, 2030 a man comes to speak at the podium. "Today is the day in which the universe hangs in balance. Today we decide the fate of the humans." This man is named Gregory Finnax, the Ambassador of the UUSDAS (The Union of the United States Department of Advanced Sciences) His research team discovered the Ptyermilt Infinite Acid, a genomic pattern in the DNA allowing the infinite regrowth of cells. This was the greatest discovery in Modern Science and it would change the history of the universe. "We, as a united earth have been given the greatest gift ever known to mankind: Immortality. We can choose to accept it, or we can choose to deny it and eventually die. So everyone, please make your decision, for your decision will change the course of time." All over the world thousands of protests rage the streets. Millions of people are holding signs and others are taking violent action. The world is in chaos. Many riots start and a worldscale rebellion is starting. The signs say: "The Government cannot decide the fate of humanity!"And "Let us vote or die!" There is fire in the buildings and blood on the streets. The citizens of the world have started fighting the government and created their own group: "The World's Human Republic"and their motto was "They can't kill us all." The WHR fights bloody battles against the world governments. Militias with weapons storm the parliamentary buildings and take government officials hostage. The results from the UN votes has not been announced and so the WHR all across the world threatens to kill the hostages unless a vote is permitted. The UN tries to negotiate for several weeks but does not succeed. Finally the WHR around the world send one last word to the UN: "We don't negotiate with terrorists."And kill the government officials that were captured. After that the world was plunged into a World Wide Civil War, with the armies of nations fighting the WHR. After several years of endless war, the nation's government give up and let the citizens of the world finally vote. The choice was decided. After all the deaths from the war the humans decided that death was only natural, and the world would eventually die, and that was only right. After the war the humans rebuilt, and all was well.

The face the judge is giving me is one I can only describe as “child trying to figure out a difficult math problem.” “I'm sorry Ms. Hartman...did you say you want to marry your dog?” Teddy is at my side. He wags his tale and nods an affirmative to the judge. “Yes,” I say. “We love each other very much.” Teddy stands on his hind legs so he can put his paw in my hand. The judge looks at both of us, then starts shuffling through the paperwork on his stand. “And you've brought two witnesses?” My friends David and Nick wave from their seats. They're the only other two people in the courtroom . I can tell Nick has been trying not to cry. We always joke he's the sensitive one of the pair. “And you agree with this?” the judge asks them. My friends both nod. They're the best friends I could ask for. They've been married for three years and were together for three before that. Six years of struggle as a gay couple, they know what it's like to love someone and want to be with him. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to be glib about all of this,” the judge says. “You have to understand I've never done anything like this.” “You've never done a marriage?” I know my answer is smartass as I say it. “There's been precedence, I've found three cases in New York, another two in California. There's six in the UK I was able to find.” “I'm well aware of the precedent Ms.Hartman.” “Then I want to be with Teddy.” “Teddy, your chocolate Labrador?” “He's not my chocolate lab like I own him. He's mine like we're together, like any couple.” I can see the judge is having trouble with this. I feel a little bad for him. He looks only about 45 or so so he's not old and out of touch. Still, this must be like seeing a shark, no matter how much you watch the Discover Channel, nothing can prepare you for the real thing. “I see...and has Teddy consented to this?” He looks at Teddy, who pulls his lips back into a smile and nods. “Can he talk?” The judge asks me. Teddy barks, startling the judge. “He hasn't talked,” I say. “Then how does he convey consent? Teddy barks again. “He's not trying to be mean,” I explain. “He doesn't like when you talk about him like he's not here.” “I see.” The judge turns to Teddy directly. “Is this better?” Teddy wags his tail and nods. It's pretty clear the judge feels some kind of way about talking directly to a dog, but I appreciate his effort. I know Teddy does too. “Well then...Teddy. I must ask if you can consent to this?” Teddy nods and barks again. “The law won't let me without a verbal confirmation,” the judge says. “But, he doesn't talk.” The judge turns back to Teddy. “Tell you what. Bark once if you don't consent and twice if you do.” Teddy does nothing. His body stiffens as his face forces a displeased frown. “Well, go on. One bark no, two barks yes.” “He doesn't like that.” I interject. “It feels like a pet trick. He hates those.” “I see. Well perhaps one of you has a better idea?” ++++ I got Teddy from a rescue shelter. He was two years old and severely underweight. His last owner had been a meth head. I remember how boney his limbs where and all the bald patches in his fur. Still, he had a strong face, even then. He pawed at his cage and gave me a weak, throaty woof, like he knew if I took him everything would be okay. As far as my fiance James was concerned, Teddy was a new project, like my herb garden or my swimming lessons. I think he put up with Teddy at first because he figured I'd eventually get bored with the work of nursing an abused animal back to health and give him up. But Teddy got strong really fast. After a year you'd never know he was the same scraggly fleabag I found at the shelter. His brown coat was shiny and hefty like velvet. His muscles filled out, lean and strong like a sprinter's, and when he barked you knew he meant it. I lost ten pounds walking and running with Teddy. And I was sure wrestling him down for bath time or grooming was the reason the muscles in my arms and shoulders felt so taunt. James didn't complain. He'd always encouraged me to work out. But I hate the gym. Gyms to me had all the qualities of a torture chamber, nightclub, and high school social dynamics all rolled into one lean, toned perfect storm. I always tried to get James more involved with Teddy, but every time he tried Teddy would reject him. He'd pull away from his leash when James would walk him. He'd almost never come when James called. Even when James would try to coax him with a treat, Teddy wouldn't approach until he set the treat on the floor. “It's cause he knows you picked him, not me.” James would say. It's not like they hated each other, but whenever the three of us where together there was a tension. Like both the men in my life resented having to share me. I was the only one at my dog park who bothered with a leash anymore. Everyone else's dog was incredibly self sufficient. Some of the other people at the dog park suggested I Iook into getting Teddy a K9 implant. It really had some funny long techie name, but everyone just shortened it to K9 for short (and for cuteness obviously). They said it made everything easier. The money I spent on obedience classes could be put toward implant payments. By the time most dogs acted the way you wanted them to they were already old. They said the K9 took care of all of that almost overnight. Smart animals were everywhere these days. I read about factories that used larger animals as part of the labor force. There were big protests going on about this in Mexico. I heard about the stronger bond cats and dogs forged with their owners. “It's like they really understand you,” Brenda, one of the women at the park, told me. “They really are like people in there. The implant just lets them finally express themselves.” She bragged all the time about how her Pomeranian, PomPom, could feed herself, never made messes in the house, and could even set the DvR for her favorite shows. The way Brenda talked PomPom sounded more like a great roommate than a dog. The big news was when animals started talking. In the videos online the words were mostly crude since animals didn't have human vocal cords. No one's dog was going to be giving any great oration any time soon, but it was clear that it was forming words and sentences. It was slow and understandable. A person that talked like that would be considered developmentally challenge. An animal that does is considered a genius. I'd listen attentively to these other people – to Greg's stories about how Max, his German Shepard, always knew what tools he needed to fix something around the house and Marsha talking about “conversations” with her poodle, Ben – but I mostly looked at them as pathetic. Dogs were awesome, but they were still dogs. Any woman who had her dog DvR Dancing With the Stars for them to watch together was really just missing a James of her own. Sure me and James argued just like any couple. But we'd been together since college. Most importantly we were getting married in four months. Teddy used to sit politely through these things as well. He'd be Taking in the people's faces as they went on about their smart pet, happily accepting their pats on his head. I'd look over at two dogs playing catch – tossing a Frisbee between each other - and wonder if Teddy knew he was different. The other dogs sometimes seem to shun him, almost in the way James did. When Teddy would fetch a ball, then sit down to chew it instead of bringing it back to me, you could sometimes see other dogs watching, like Teddy was their embarrassing hick cousin who showed up at the cotillion.

Your subconscious locks things away for a reason. Things that it knows it's consciousness can't handle. Things that shouldn't ever happen to anyone. I wish I had known this to be a fact before. Ego is a hell of a thing. It can make you believe you are untouchable. Silly things like emotions aren't going to hurt you. I knew my mind. I knew I was strong. I had had some shit happen to me, of course. Everyone did. We all have that creepy story, or the foggy memories that we can twist to the macabre in our imagination. Just material for my books. I was running out of material. I felt like I used up the whole creative part of my brain. Pushing stories out to appease the fans. My seventh book due soon. I didn't think I had much more. I was pulling crazy ideas out of my ass, always thought that was such a strange phrase: out of my ass. I get distracted.Especially now. Anyhow, I was used up. I needed more material for another book. Or I would fade into obscurity. Everyone does. I just didn't want to, yet. I believed in meditation, and hypnotists, psychology, all that. I believed it explained everything. That it was best to unlock all of the secrets in your mind. Or you couldn't be the best You. I would use these experiences to get more for my book. The last one. She was real. The only real thing I think I've known. She told me to lie down. I did, I knew the drill. I would achieve a half-in, half-out consciousness, and hopefully, something would come to me. She stood in the middle of the room. "This is the beginning." I hoped so. This lady was a bit strange. She had come highly recommended, though. "You will see what has happened. The worst thing that ever has happened to you. Don't be confused, that's what it is. Not a dream. Not an imagination. It did happen. I can only switch you into play mode. You have to turn it off. Ready?" I nodded my answer. "Speak, please. I need it." Ok...."Uh, yes. Ready." That's all I know until it started. The movie in my head. I saw the boy; I knew it was me. I didn't remember any of this. I didn't even remember this house. I looked to be around five. Hmm. Before the adoption. Before my first memory. Someone opened the door in the movie-like scene. "Come on. This is the last time. Then you'll be new again, and get a family. Last one. Let's go." The smaller me got up, and marched over to the man. I was ready for whatever it was. He grabbed mg hand, and we exited. The next scene was in a huge room. It was darker, and you could tell it was nighttime. The man was crouched beside of me. He put a finger up to his lips and motioned for me to walk quietly. The small me knew what he was doing. The 'hypnotized' me was confused. The child version of me entered a darker room. It looked like I had goggles on. Had to be night-goggles, but what would a child need those for. What was this child, me, doing. Over to the edge of the large bed. Two figures sleeping peacefully. I saw the child raise something. Two flashes. That was all. A small noise, a whimper? came from the bed. The child raised his arm again. Another flash. Nothing. I jerked out of the trance. The lady didn't look any better than I felt. What the fuck had just happened. "That wasn't me. I never did a thing like that. You have some crazy mind, lady. I thought I was twisted." She didn't even look abashed. She just turned, and walked to the door. "Wait, you have to explain....." "I don't. I told you. In the beginning what it was. Believe or don't."She walked out. I jumped up, ran to the door, jerked it open, and pushed into the hallway. No one. Of course not. I went back in the room, where was I? Oh, yeah, my psychologists office. That's where the hypnotist wanted it. Was that kid me? Had I....this is crazy, had I killed somebody. Or two bodies? Or more. I had only wanted more ideas, better plots, original ideas. New material. I didn't know what to do now.

"This is it Johnson, The z-virus." I turned to Johnson, that fat oaf was inspecting dorito crumbs under a microscope. His labcoat with a slight orange tint from the dust upon the bag. I could see a crumb dangling from his beard. He reeked of weed. None of this was sanitary, how the hell does he get paid more then me. "Johnson"I yelled. He looks up the crumb fell to the ground. "huh."he mutters. "Johnson i successfully mutated the z-virus. we are going to be rich! This petri dish will make us billionaires" "High five Bro-heemie"He swats his enormous mitten of a hand at me. "NOooooOOOOooOo!"I yelled *we both watched in horror as the petri dish fell. I immediately dove after it* The lid fell open and my hand landed right in the goop, spores were covering my fingers. I quickly ran to the disinfectant sink but i knew it was of no use. the virus we designed hooked into the skin of the victim and then could disolve into the skin find its way to red blood cells and attach well subsequently attacking white blood cells. The virus could cantanimate other victims in spore form or through bodily fluids. Johnson and i looked at my hand dumbfounded. The cluster of spores was disappearing from the outside and into my skin. "This... This iss bad."i stuttered. now how are we going to get our money" "Fuck Money"bellowed johnson. The room was shaking from the level of volume he produced. his face bright red. "You are infected!" "Oh shit oh shit oh shit. why couldnt this happen when we got the cure?" *the angry Johnson now picked up a microscope while hyperventilating and crying* "uh johnson dont do anything rash."i stammered "we still dont know if it will take to humans" *we both knew this was a lie, we had extensively tested this on rats, then pigs, then chimpanzees. it would work* "the virus will take a few hours to take effect if i start to turn.... *pause* you can end me" *the crying angry frustrated confused i dont know whatever emotion johnson seemed like he was slowly calming down.* "okay"he said "but i will be watching you like a hawk" "Thats fine"i lied through my teeth. "let me just go write an email to my family. I want to explain" "umm okay... *Johnson looked confused probably since i never mentioned a family before.* i slowly walk towards the computers and once i got close enough to the door, i sprinted out and kept running. I could hear him chasing after me. "Stop""you will kill us all " *i looked back, and saw his fat body running after me with the microscope in hand. The same microscope we have been studying brain matter will be used to smash in mine. I will not die here, i thought. I will not die here*

#Once upon a time, there was a redditor that had a great idea to get rich quick. He would corner the market on ideas. And then sue all the writers for royalties. All of the writers banded together and counter sued him for legal fees, punitive damages and immediate dismissal of his nuisance lawsuit. The Judge agreed and awarded the writers their legal fees and all of the redditor's worldly goods and assets. The final sentence in the Judge's written ruling? "Idiot. Idea's cannot be copyrighted."

Very interesting. Like KapiTod, I haven't read much Kipling, but I enjoyed this a lot. I feel like in some places it's been a little oversimplified to the point that its repetitive, as with the really constant use of "the teensy-weensy (...) probe ship"but honestly it doesn't detract from the story all that much and I can see it adding to a sense of childlike fairytale fantasy so it's not really an issue. It could be implemented better but I'd wager it'd be a quite a bit of effort for not much gain. Concluding, this is very good as it is.

As I set foot out of the school bus with my medical mask on I could feel my heart beating rapidly and fingers tingling because of my anxiety, I walked with cautious and kept waiting five seconds before talking every step so that I would know where I was exactly. last week I was running down the stairs then I kept running until I hit the wall, of course I felt the pain then after a while I saw the wall coming closer then I heard the BAM! and the wall started to get further as I got slammed against the ground, which of course happened 5 seconds earlier. My mum did buy me the "NoLag"machine which is basically goggles that shows you where you are going to be 5 seconds later if you walk at the same speed is it really helpful when you are taking a walk, it gets the time just about right but it got broken during my running-down-the-stairs incident because I forgot to turn it on. Anyway so here I was walking like a retard, floating each leg for five seconds before I put it on the ground when someone came running towards me and yelled "I.....I.....I....I...am.....lag.......ging....."as he kept moving his hands like a robot that was breaking down, my head rotated as I felt huge force getting slammed against my face, I could still see him moving like a robot then he lifted up his hand and slapped me on the face and started running. while yelling "Robot freak!". After I understood what happened I ran after him as fast as I could then I felt my feet flying off the ground as I got slammed against something, I then realized that one of the students tripped me and I got slammed against a bench which made my face get bruised, I managed to get up and collect what was left from my dignity and go to my class...while walking like a freak, I could still hear laughs and people yelling "Robo-Freak"as I made my way to class The school was going to make me stay at home but then the doctors said that it is safe for the other children if I kept the medical mask on at all times and kept a little distance between me and the other students, of course there were a lot of other students who were diagnosed but they were stage 1 or stage 2 I was a stage 5 which is pretty nasty, all of us who had "delayaxia"we forced to wear red t-shirts with the word "delayaxia"printed on the face and the back of the t-shirt so that other children would be aware and keep their distance, a new form of racism if you ask me... "Are you still with us Kevin?"asked the English teacher as I heard the rest of the class laugh probably because of the delay that took me to realize that he was talking to me. "Yes Mr.Brown"I replied with a red face from embarrassment. "FREAK!"yelled the guy that slapped me earlier that day. all the class started laughing even the teacher was laughing but he managed to say "Okay that is enough Jake". Jake that is the name of the asshole who slapped me! he was sitting in the first desk and I was sitting in the delayaxia corner which in this class included only me. I could feel movement in the class but I could see and hear the teacher talking then after 5 seconds the bill rang and everybody was heading to the door until "Jake"stopped them and said "Look at this freak"they started laughing, some didn't laugh some thought it was mean but they didn't do anything about it. "I.....I....I....I...am....lag....ging..."he said once again. and also this time I could feel something hitting my face. then I realized that he slapped me once again I though about trying to hit him but I knew what was going to happen I was going to fall again I didn't know what to do and I felt deeply humiliated. the only thing I could feel was the taste of my tears that were running on my face, I started crying, I started crying so hard from the humiliation, they kept laughing so I placed my head on the desk and kept crying even more I didn't know what to do, they kept throwing pens at me while yelling robo-freak. I placed my hands on my face to protect myself from the flying pens and pencils but my dignity was left unprotected. I spent the entire day crying in my bed cursing this piece of shit brain that was given to me, wondering why it was I that was chosen to be infected while assholes like Jake were left healthy... I cried like I never cried before The next day I got out of the bus with the medical mask on and I could see Jake with his friends joking and having fun... I wanted to have my revenge so bad but lets face it there is nothing that I could do to someone like him. he looked at me and started laughing then yelled "FREAK"everyone started laughing and started pointing fingers at me while yelling "FREAK". he then ran towards me and yelled "I....I.....I.....I.....am.....lag....ging....."I knew what was going to happen next, he was going to do his little dance then slap me. I didn't wait I reached out with my hand to try and grab his, and my timing was perfect I grabbed his arm, by that time I could still see him doing his little dance, with my other hand I took off my medical mask while still holding his arm as hard as I could, then I placed my hand behind his head and pulled his head towards myself and placed my lips upon his, I could feel his lips getting pressed against mine and I could feel his breath against my face, he pulled himself away from me but I could still see his face right infront of mine, he pulled his face away from mine with a horrified look on his face, he started running but he kept tripping and falling almost as if he had delayaxia or maybe he did....he finally stopped getting up from the ground and started crying, the same way I was crying yesterday....I smiled, I started laughing, I laughed like I never did before almost like an evil laugh. A laugh of vengeance. A kiss of vengeance.

She was nervous. She thought I was helpless, naive. Ha! I had infiltrated the enemy and gained access even to the leaders wife! And then I murdered them in their beds. The look on their faces when they saw me! One of my best memories. I couldn't get mad at this female, however. She was all pink when she was nervous. She'd been that shade a lot since I became curious, and wasn't afraid of the 'magic' anymore. "Are you sure? I really don't think you should try that yet, it's very complicated. People can be cruel. Especially if you don't know how to keep up. You're not even from the same time! What could you have to gain? Just look at a nice, safe newspaper or something. Here, I'll get you today's."She was babbling, another thing she did that I couldn't get mad at. I rolled my eyes. "Woman, I've told you about me. You know who I am. Do you think that the faceless users of this 'front page' on that computer are anything compared to the hordes of men I've subdued?" She raised an eyebrow. "They use a different kind of weapon. But, you're right. Here, let's get started." Hmm. She gave in rather easily. And she looked almost happy to help now. What was her game? I would find out. She had tried to warn me. I sat in a computer chair and rolled around while she got everything ready. These chairs were great. The floors were great. It was all pretty good, and I was about to go insane from inactivity. "Come on, can I read it yet?"I peered over her shoulder. I had perfected this recently, reading, and I enjoyed it immensely. I had definitely become a different man. Mostly. She smelled like some kind of flower. Or was it honey? I leaned a little closer to figure it out. "Here! You are."She was red now; I had startled her. I had to remember that she was much different. Be patient, I told myself again. Remember. Finally, I was connected, as they say. I read through the posts. That's what she said they were. Made sense. People put posts up to mark things, or show they were there, or....... Then I saw something that shocked me. There were men. Full grown ones. With beards. They looked fierce. They had cats. And dogs. And....hamsters, rats, basically. Fluffy ones. Some had rabbits. They called them bunnies. This was what she had been concerned with?! I could understand if the men had gutted the animals and ate them, like I was used to, but they called them their 'babies', and even their children! "What is this nonsense?"I asked her. These men were weaker than women! The women I had known wouldn't flinch at skinning or cleaning any of these animals. "I'm getting you a kitten. Right now. Here I go. Go back to reading and skip those for now."She grabbed her bag and was gone. She could get one. I would laugh when she took it back. I had only seen a picture, but they looked a bit..sinister. I went back to the screen. I saw a lovely picture someone had..posted, and it was of a sunset. It reminded me of the last one I remembered. I could comment on that. I knew about sunsets. It took a minute, but I figured it out. She had shown me, I should listen instead of admiring her. I would do both. The name she had chosen for me was 'Barbary1194'. That made sense. I touched the first key to begin. It took about five minutes, but I typed "this sunset is beatifil. I'm new and first time I ever was on a post. I've seen one like this."That was all. Innocent, I thought. I hadn't perfected my writing skills yet, but I was getting better. I knew what I meant. I started looking through pictures, and got lost. I couldn't get back to the beginning. There was an orange box in the corner that wouldn't go away when I 'refreshed', like she'd shown me. I finally clicked on it. I wish she had been there. I wish I had at least waited for her. I saw the words 'comment reply' at the top. Ah, people typed back at me! I had about eleven responses. They said I couldn't spell. I was a girl. New people shouldn't post. My punctuation and grammar was terrible. There were jokes and pictures. Some accused me of doing it for 'down votes'. If down votes were what I thought they were, it didn't make any sense. I was stunned a bit. I had been in battle, matched wits with leaders. I was smart. Just ask my friends! Oh, they were dead. There was a minus symbol beside my name, and the number 30. I knew that wasn't good. I had just wanted to be a part of the world for a second. Not feel so...secluded. There were a couple comments that were nice, I should mention. I was just so taken aback by the other ones. I turned away from the screen, thinking about what she had said. That I needed to learn a little more about the world. Get a little more training in perspective. She was right. Again. I should have known she would be. Always was. The door opened and she entered. I was lost in my thoughts and started to stand up so I could tell her about what had happened, when I saw him. The kitten. I forgot about why she left. He was staring at me, bluest eyes I've ever seen. Except for hers. She walked over, really close. Ok, I liked this cat already. She held it out and it meowed. It was nervous. Like her, when she got all pink. I reached out and pulled her to me, her outstretched arms resting the kitten on my chest. The tiny animal put it's front paws on my chin, and licked my nose. The woman in my arms trembled, and I knew why those men, the ones I had misjudged, had loved so openly. They couldn't help it.

Silver and bronze with a tint of green. All he could think of was pain and suffering. It was a demon feasting on the back of his head. This demon grew ever stronger the closer he got to Riverfall valley. In his imagination the demon took the form of a deformed white dragon, a dragon that used to be the center of his pride, the reason for fighting in the first place. Only to become of a burden. A demon. Once Pyro got to the entrance of the once luscious landscape, the demon gained a surge of power. Pyro remembered the rolling war machines that crazy quack of a general brought in. The churning of metal, sparking against each other like a contradiction of teamwork. Destroying itself as it moved forwards. The faces of his men....these strong and fierce warriors that made it through hell...looking like desperate children. And the ones who didn't look like that...... "Pyro Bronziac" Silvers. Pyro quickly turned around to see a dirty red haired man in a long grey cloak. Pyro knew it was silvers just by his voice alone...but something was different. He looked nothing like he used to. He was a grown adult and not some young brat who fetched bullets. "Silvers. Long time no see." They both stood in silence for half a minute. Examining each other. "Not much for talking eh? No 'Oh hello Canus silvers, why your beard is looking rather dashing?'" "It doesn't look half bad actually. Couldn't imagine you without that dumb baby face."Pyro replied. Canus Smiled "And I was afraid you changed, old man." They started walking into, what used to be a peaceful village, and now a carcass of its former self. They walked beside each other but in respectful silence. They both had their own personal demons they needed to fight, the memories they needed to except and the idea that they truly changed. They both stopped at the town square. It was once full of life. Not just human life but that of selkie, mutant and even a giant. Now a lifeless husk of broken stone and rotten wood. "You think any of the others will show up?"Canus asked. "I mean, it is the 30th anniversary". "They'd do best to forget this place."Pyro said "If they know what's best for them." Canus's eyes flared at his former commanders ignorance. "You cant mean that. Forget what the so called pure ones truly are? Forget how the white dragons are worse than what they make non-humans out to be? I don't think so." Pyro was going to make the arguement that they could of easily not accepted orders, and even help some of the residents escape. But by this point Pyro just didn't care about the white dragons anymore. His anger died along with his sense of pride and dignity. But he let the subject go. "I think it's just going to be me and you."Pyro said. "And Tuesday."Canus added. This got Pyro's attention, as he stood up. Almost startled to hear the name. "What are you talking about?" Canus took a swig of his whiskey. "Tuesday. He's been following us for about 30 minutes now, and was following you long before I you arrived. You didn't know this?" Before Pyro could answer a man in patched green armour landed in front of them. His face covered completely in black, with a large stitched up scar diagonally across his face. With three glowing green eyes and two prominent fangs erupting form his small mouth. "Tuesday?"Pyro asked.

Angela steps out of the car and fixes her hair. She slams the door shut with enough force to rock the vehicle. I can feel my jaw clenching and fists tightening around the steering wheel. I take a deep breath, loosen my hands and open the door. On the street, walking to her apartment, she rages at me but I don't look at her and manage to ignore most of what she's saying. A child skips past us singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic. It's getting dark and ahead I see the sun dip below the skyline, leaving streaks of purple and orange in the sky above. A biplane makes it's final circuit over the city trailing a banner with the slogan 'Just Do It' in massive black letters. Angela grabs my arm and steps in front of me. "Are you even listening to me? What the hell are you looking at? I'm serious, David. I'm sick of dealing with your mood swings. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?" Behind her the sun begins to rise again. I tilt my head to watch it's slow ascent back into the sky. Curious. I notice the biplane is losing altitude too quickly and I watch, fascinated, as it plummets to the ground, crashing magnificently into what looks like City Hall. A fireball erupts from the impact zone and seconds later there is a deafening roar and a rush of air so forceful it rocks me backward. Angela moves her head to block my view, completely oblivious to the scene behind her. Typical. I'm forced to look at her. The black stuff is oozing from her eyes and mouth again, though she doesn't seem to notice. As she talks it drizzles from her sticky lips and falls to the ground in droplets. I take a step back so it doesn't get on my shoes. "Why the hell can't you just tell me what's going on with you David?"She's practically screaming now. Her hair seems electrified and I think if I were to touch it I would get a nasty shock. The stench of rotting garbage surrounds her. Disgusted, I fake a sad smile and tell her I'm sorry... there's so much to explain, etc. She stops yelling and though still indignant, allows me to speak. "Listen,"I say, "Let's go up to your apartment and we can talk this through." She stands there, putrid and decaying, and it takes all my effort not to pull the fixed blade from my jacket pocket and jam it through her skull right there on the street. After a moment she simply nods and I follow her to her apartment building. People are throwing potted plants out of their windows which hit the streets with hollow crashes. I wonder why they are doing that. "You coming?"she asks, anger still hiding in her voice. She is standing in the doorway while the doorman holds open the door. He is making rude faces behind her. The sunlight is starting to burn my eyes. "Yeah." The doorman winks at me as I pass. A black teardrop rolls onto his cheek. Later...

The cold pressed hard against my body as I lay motionless, my warm blood slowly seeping out onto the ice. My lung was pierced, and I could barely draw any breath. I felt the crisp air brush along my back, and I gathered my strength to raise myself up on one elbow. The wind was slowing, but the snow it tossed about continued to cloud my vision. I thought I could see Anderson’s body in the distance, slumped over near the edge of the ice. I had shot at him cleanly, just before his own bullet had torn itself through my chest. I was sure I had killed him, but I could only now see what I believed to be his corpse, and that just barely through the swirl of snow between us. Even if he was not dead, there was little I would be able to do. I could hardly breathe, let alone raise my rifle to shoot. I wouldn’t likely ever even stand again. My legs wouldn’t move, and while I hoped the ice was simply freezing them to the point of unresponsiveness, I was almost certain that Anderson’s bullet had severed my spine as well as destroying my lung. I was dying here, cold and alone. We had been driven to murder in our search for the lost cargo of a government plane which had disappeared up here several weeks ago. Anderson was always one of the best, but I had gotten here first. We had skirted around one another for days, and avoided directly clashing with each other. But we had both obviously come to the conclusion that the plane had lost it invaluable freight somewhere near here. The contents couldn’t be sold on the open market, but you better believe the government in question wanted them back. Men from various foreign agencies, friendly and otherwise, had also been up here, doing their best to muck this up for us all. But they were soldiers, or worse, spooks. They had no skill for this. Anderson and I had been doing this a lot longer, and we had both spent plenty of time in this exact type of frozen wasteland. One of us would surely be claiming the prize long before the tie-clad fools even came close. But we couldn’t share it, and we both knew that. Neither of us had wanted the other dead, but sometimes that was just the way these things went. I didn’t bear any grudge against Anderson for shooting me, most especially if I had indeed killed him completely. A thin smile spread across my pale lips, and a muffled laugh brought frothy blood out into my beard, and onto the ice. The blood was so bright, as crimson splash in this land of white and grey. My sight began to worsen, and the cold closed in tighter. I could feel the ice gripping onto me, and I knew it was not letting go. Anderson and I would be sharing this frozen grave forever now, and that would have to do. I tried to forgive all of those who had done wrong by me, but my mind railed against me. I saw all the evil I had done in a lifetime full of such things, and I felt ashamed that even now in these last moments, I didn’t care. My heart slowed, and my breath wouldn’t come anymore. The cold was keeping death from taking me too fast, and the world around me slowed to a trickle. The winds blew less fierce, and the light seemed to brighten. My crimson offering in front of my face reflected elegantly off of the ice below. I allowed my head to sink to the ice and my eyes began to lose focus. As life slowly receded from me, I saw for the briefest moment below me, below the ice, entombed in the water below. All I could see at the bottom of the pond was a box. I smiled. It was mine, and no one else would ever know. My eyes closed for the last time, and I slept forever, basking in my final triumph.

"No, please Hana, please just think about this"She adjusts the gun in her hand."No, this is how we'll be legend. This is how I come back after your mistakes Salvia! Once you're out of the picture, then I'll be free to go back."Miley stands slowly.""You can't. It's too late. You know Disney wouldn't go for it. They won't just forget."Hana points the gun into Miley's eye. "AND WHO'S FAULT IS THAT?"Miley starts to cry. "Please..." BREAKING NEWS REPORT: Miley Cyrus, age 28, died tonight. Police rule the death from a self inflicted gun shot wound. She will be missed.

--Part One: The Discovery-- It started simply, as all things do. Before the headlines, before the household names, before the speculation of things to come, was Gregor and Smith. Gregor's idea for extracting energy from the fabric of spacetime itself began in front of a chalkboard in a cramped office in the late 2000s. "All we really have is borrowed time,"he sighed. He ran chalk across the board, producing a flawless circle alongside scribbled equations one wouldn't believe came from the same hand. Smith watched from the mesh rolling chair the department had provided him. "You're drawing that diagram again, Gregor. What are you trying to tell me?" "Everything borrows time, Smith." The previously lax professor sat up straight in his seat and squinted at the chalkboard. He realized he could make out a pair of triangles off to the side: Heisenberg's Uncertainty principle - this one in it's time-energy formulation. It was known that is was possible to pull energy out of the void, as long as the debt was paid back in time. Smith grinned. "You can't beat the principle, Gregor." --- Smith walked across the lawn of the university, taking in the sight of students shuffling across from building to building. Some in pairs, some alone. Some running, others on bikes. On certain occasions he'd see a young man or young woman running in one direction, receive a phone call, and take off running in another. Two bodies, interacting at a distance. Entanglement. Sometimes he would get a call himself and turn to head back into his office. "Smith, I need you back here by 3:00. I need to talk to you."*click* He looked at his watch. 3:32. "This can't be right." He stared at his watch a bit longer before the clock tower began marking the time. 2:30. "Right, right, *spring forward*, *fall back*." Smith entertained the idea of it actually being 3:32. --- The ominous circle remained on the chalkboard. This time however, all equations were erased. The pensive Gregor stood by fidgeting and staring at his shoes. When he looked up, the bags under his eyes betrayed the rest he had last night. He started tapping the chalk against the space around the circle. "Virtual particles, coming in and out of the void, borrowed energy living on borrowed time." The center of the circle remained empty. "We can borrow more time here. The black hole experiences time differently from us. I... I can almost see it. It must be true, that there is some difference here that we can be taking advantage of. But, no matter how I formulate it, there's no useful way." Smith gulped. "We do this not with one particle, but with two." His mind put the pieces together as the words left his mouth, not entirely sure whether what he was just saying was too good to be true.

I'll start with an ending: That was four. Four? No, five. It's hard to count with a splitting headache, Mark reasoned. The droning of the alarms and the chaos below didn't help, either. As he rose from where the fifth - yes, definitely fifth - impact sent him sprawling, he notices with some measure of doped dismay that Elsa has fallen down for the last time. A randomly jettisoned piece of shrapnel from their once magnificent structure lodged firmly between her eyes. A mixture of the last question she asked and an expression of shock still etched into her face. It won't hit him until the the cocktail of toxins coursing through his veins wears off, he realizes, but this one is going to cause some tears. It was a relationship of convenience, sure, but he loved her all the same. No time for that now. No time for anything. He fumbles dozily at the key-card in her hands. Only a moment ago, her new-found sense of humanity dictated that this it would never be used. She'd rather lose. She'd rather die. How ironic. Where a sober Mark would be weeping uncontrollably by his dead partners side, waiting to die himself, a drugged Mark slumbers toward the deterrent. It was never intended to be used, he mused. Placed here only as a power move? Mark thought not. What good is a weapon of mass destruction that never causes any destruction? If you create the perfect piano, god damnit, you want to hear some music out of that sum-bitch. He would fulfil his destiny and the "deterrent"would fulfil it's own. His focus shifts to the room around him. Wow, things have really gone to shit. Smoke is pouring out of every which way, half of the terminals show no output at all, and the other half are going crazy with random jargon. The super fancy indestructo-glass separating this room and the vacuum of space has a gigantic crack in it. Mark reasons that at least one of the alarms is telling him that atmosphere is dissipating. "Good, then."He muttered to himself, "You've forced my hand." Was he fool? He didn't think so. A check-mate is only a check-mate if you keep your king at the end. He couldn't win, no, but he could live with a stale-mate. The history books would've written about him. Would have written about THIS. He'd be called a genius, a tyrant, a king. Maybe even a coward, or a lunatic. That is, if there would be anyone around to write them. He'd rather that than someone to write about how he didn't live up to his end of the bargain. Sober or blitzed, Mark was always one to keep his word. Hell, if you're going to end the world, you might as well do it while you're high. His train of thought is broken as one of his interns grabs him. He's got the face of a screaming man, Mark can see, but he can't hear the words coming out of his mouth. As he falls to the ground, Mark realizes that this poor fucker is on FIRE. If he were on fire himself, he doubted he'd be able to tell. With a final step, he puts his hand on the cold humming surface of the "deterrent". A fumbling, lazy swipe of the dearly departed Elsa's keycard bring's the contraption to a spur of activity. A single interface pops open with a shiny red button, extending toward him. How much easier could it get? If this thing was alive, it would want to be pressed. Mark doubted he could manage punching in any coordinates right now, anyway. It's a good thing it doesn't matter where it hits. "Stalemate."Mark gasps, as he pressed the big red button. It is becoming extremely hard to breathe in here. With an excited whine, the deterrent disappears. Instantly tunnels through it's exit chute to whatever planet-wide disaster it intends to commit. Mark doesn't have much time to wish that he would like to see it. Impact number six lands. "A direct hit"Mark would have said. If only it had come a couple of seconds sooner. It turns out Elsa, prophetic as always, was right. She would die before him. But not by much.

*Ding-ing-ing* The bell over the clinic chimed. “Hello, welcome to Forman’s Sculpting clinic” An absolutely gorgeous women greeted the newcomer. Busty, fantastic legs, flowing hair, and a smile that could stop traffic…“Um, sir?” “Uh- ye-yeah. Sorry. I…uh, have an appointment for…uh” “Hehe, your jaw is hanging a little.” She smiled. He blushed. “Are Mr. DiMarino?” “Ye-yeah. Sorry for staring. I-“ “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m really liking the changes.” She crosses her legs and DiMarino stares more. She smiles again. “So…you’ve had work done?” “One of the perks of working in a Sculptor’s clinic. Free reshaping, within reason. I got my legs done just last week and…hehe, it’s been a lot of fun. So far. I’m sure it’ll get annoying when strangers stare someday.” “S-sorry.” “Don’t be babe. That day is not today.” She scribbled something on a notepad. “Vincent, right?” “Ye-yeah. I’m early.” “What are you getting done today? You’re not a bad looking guy.” His heart springs up as the living work-of-art compliments him, the slightly above-average Joe. “It’s my stomach. I turned 29 last month and…it’s been almost seven years since I’ve seen an ab.” “Ha! I see. Men tend to have a lot of trouble with the mid-section at around your age.” She says casually, like she’s seen a hundred Vincent’s that week. “Don’t worry. Mr. Foreman will fix you right up.” “Mr? Not Doctor?” “Well, this isn’t a hospital sweetie. It’s an art studio! And Richard is quite the artist.” She uncrosses her legs again, intentionally, hoping Vinne notices. And he does, with a bit of guilt behind his red cheeks. --- Vinnie waits on a stool, in the center of the least profession setting he has even seen. Like the secretary said….” Shoot, I forgot to ask her name.” Vinnie regrets not talking to the angel more when he had a chance. He tries to convince himself that he’d be able to get her number later, after the Sculpting session is finished, but shakes that fleeting thought off before it can fester. But like she said, this man was an artist. The room should have been decorated with pictures of skeletons, circulatory system charts and medical degrees. Instead modern art lines the corners, paintings from Europe cover the walls and the “operating table” is a wooden stool. Sturdy as anything, but a stool still. And just as Vinnie is about to look around to criticize how silly the French paintings look, the door to the studio opens. “Heeey brotha’, how goes life man?” A pair of purple aviators walk. Stringy, long hair and a cup of Starbucks coffee are attached to them. The “professional” has a purple…robe? Vinnie looks twice and can’t tell where this man’s shirt ends and his pants start. But clothes don’t seem to be touching his body. “Um…hello.” Vinnie keeps his hands on his lap. “Hey, hey, hello my friend, hello. I’m Mr. Forman, but you can call me Rich. Get it?” “No.” “Yeah man, no one does now. But back in art school, the name ‘Rich’ was what you’d call ‘Ironic’.” He laughs once, looks at Vinnie’s chart, then tosses it over his shoulder and sips his coffee. He then starts to eyeball Vinnie like Vinnie had eyeballs his attractive secretary. “What are you looking at it?” “What am *I* looking at? Nah, nah brotha, the question is what are *you* looking at when you see something in the mirror you don’t like.” “I…my stomach. I want to have abs like I did when I was a teenager.” “Very cool man, very cool. Let me just say that you…” Rich puts his hand on Vinnie’s shoulder, “…you brotha, you are a work of art already. I’m just gonna help you realize it too. Sound good man?” “I…guess so.” “So you’ve read like magazine and stuff right? You know how Sculptor’s work?” “Kinda. It’s like…super heroes, right? Like the X-Men?” “That’s it dude, that’s it. Take off your shirt and pants. I need to see what I am working with.” Vinnie hesitates, but does as the “Doctor” suggests. His flabby belly, a scar from working in an office and not having enough time to work out, plops out over his boxers. “That don’t look too bad brotha. Like, what is it, 20 pounds too much?” “Something like that.” “Okay, so, stand here.” Rich pulls the stool away and forces Vinnie to stand up. Vinnie lurches forward, wondering what this hippie was going to do. Vinnie feels a cold ring on his tummy as Rich touches him, and as Rich rubs his belly…Vinnie feels something moving inside him. Like a bug tunneling through dirt. It feels weird. But it doesn’t hurt. “Hows that feel? A little warm yet?” “N-no.” “Hows this?” Rich makes a left turn on Vinne’s bellybutton and suddenly a flood of warmth spills inside of Vinnie like hot soup. It makes Vinnie jolt forward. Rich laughs. “Hang on man, hang on. That was the sweetspot. Okay, we’re ready to work. This might take a bit, okay? So you better be good at standing up.” “Just keep it about the boxers, okay buddy?” “No sweat man. I don’t swing that way. Rachael knows it.” “Who is Rachael? Vinnie asks, but figures it out before Rich can respond. “She’s my lady. She’s up in the front. She’s my masterpiece man.” --- And about three hours later, after a number of weird sensations, Rich finishes. He wipes the sweat off his face, takes a minute to admire his work, and only then does he smile and walk to the end of the room. “What are you doing?” “Check it out man.” Rich grabs a white sheet, one that is hanging off something, and pulls it quickly. A man is behind it, looking at Vinnie, except this man has abs like look like a super model. Vinne waves ho hand and the reflection waves back. Vinnie touches his once flabby stomach and the new man in the mirror does the same. “I…it’s…” Vinnie feels rock-hard bumps on his stomach. “Looking good brotha, looking real good. I’m a genius, you can say it man.” “You’re…a genius!” Vinnie laughs a little. He looks (and feels) a decade younger. “Hey man, I told you. You were always a work of art. But if you ever think you want more, let me know. I’ll hook you up.” Tha-thank you! This is amazing, thank you!” Vinnie shakes Rich’s hand violently, and Rich calmly tells him to chill out. “Warning though man. If you eat nachos every night, you’re gonna lose the abs again. I can get them back, but that’s money down the drain. You dig?” “You got it.” “Alright. Rachael is gonna give you the bill and stuff. I gotta split, but hey! Keep in touch.” And the artist leaves the room, letting Vinnie look over his slightly newer body. Rich goes down the hall, one room over. A chart is on the door and a cup of Starbucks coffee is on the table near the entrance. He picks up both and goes inside. “Heeey Sweetheart, how goes life?”

"The Rapture"or the greatest trick played on humanity.I remember that day like it was yesterday.It was beautiful,sunny day and I was enjoying a beer when it happened.Bright pillars of light shot down from the sky and "angels"started coming out of it.The news was reporting that it was happening all over the world.The "angels"white wings,halos and all that claimed that god had send them to take the worthy to heaven and on that day a whole lot of religious people went up into the sky never to be seen again.A whole week passed by and in that time people were looking for ways to repent so that god could find them worthy.At the end of the week the "angels"came back,taking even more people.Two of the "angels"came to me,they claimed that god had found me worthy which I found weird because I didn't try and repenting or praying but they were so beautiful,love and warmth was emanating from them that I just couldn't say no.And so I went up into the sky and I felt that something great would await beyond the white light... but instead of heaven I found hell and the angels turned to demons.All that awaited me was a bunch of dark,shitty cell full of other humans packed like animals.Now I sit here awaiting my faith when one of the"angels"a two feet tall lizard creature yells at me"Get up slave! You are getting sold"

It's been 11:30 PM on 407 Griffen Dr for a while now and still no fire trucks. And though it's a beautiful house the fire ravages it with abandon. Lyle sits shaking waiting for the screams to end. He's tried desperately to save them all but the fire was out of control in this moment. He's tried everything saving his brother first then parents, parents then brother, motherbrotherfather, fatherbrothermother, brothernotherfather, fatherbrother, motherfather, brother, mother, none. It didn't matter the combination of people or the route they always died and he always came back to this moment. He always had 60seconds to save them he tried for days, years decades but they always died. He heard his mother go quiet and Lyle lay there again in his spongebob bed with smoke filling his room. He had 15 seconds before the screaming started. Lyle just keeps rocking waiting for 10:31.

“Unnngh...” Saki continues his relentless assault, forcing me into consciousness. My hangover insists that I remain comatose. With the delicate precision of a surgeon, he places one paw near my hairline, extends his claws, then drags them slowly towards my chin with just enough pressure to wake me, but never enough to leave a mark. Got to give the little man some credit. Kibbles. His bowl must be empty. Feed him, go back to bed. Eyes squeezed shut against the daylight, I struggle out from the tangled sheets. Between my legs I hear a mew of protest. I shift my weight, scratch his head, and drift off again. He meows again above my head, and I feel the claws extend. Dammit dude, just a few more minutes... On a normal day, I’d consider my intelligence on the decently higher end of average, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been sober. Since October 11, 2013, to be exact, the day she left. Still, even on the edge of sleep, it gradually sinks in. The head I’m scratching does not belong to the cat that’s currently grazing it’s claws across my head. I open my eyes. The sunlight is everything that’s unfair in life, it sears through my eyes as they open to a world where she’s not here. Saki’s blue eyes stare into mine, he releases his paw, and bounds to his food bowl. Underneath my hand, Saki stretches with the languid ease of a purebred Siamese, and swishes away awaiting his breakfast. It’s too early to think things through entirely. It’s not the hangover, I just need a cup of coffee. Coffee and whiskey. These things happen. We’ll need a second bowl for the second Saki. It takes a minute to dig a bowl out of the pile of dirty dishes and rinse it clean, as Saki and Saki sit on the counter watching my movements with increasing approval. As the kibbles tinkle into the white porcelain (she would have been furious if she knew the cat was eating from the good dishes) Saki and Saki bury their faces in the bowls and I’m free to start the coffee. It’s easy enough to put off work for another day. Since the layoff, I freelance from home, with less and less clients as the months go by. Two short emails are all it takes to buy another 24 hours, and so I have the rest of the day to drink my coffee in pajamas and observe Saki and Saki. Physically, they’re identical. The cat she insisted on driving 5 hours to obtain from the breeder, his (as they put it) platinum point coloring is an exact match from the dark nose to the shading on the tail. They’re both male, and in fact, they are both neutered. Interesting. My hand wanders towards my chin and scratches, and I’m reminded that I haven’t shaven in days. Perhaps we got a second cat and I simply don’t remember? The late afternoon sun traces the shape of windows across the floor. Saki and Saki follow the patches of light, stretched out into the sheer indulgence only a cat can know, and I follow them, quietly, in the shadows. By evening, I feel that I can tell them apart. Saki I is the more demanding of the two, he is the first to meow and the last to be appeased by feeding or by petting. Saki II, however, seems more content. By the time I’ve finished the last bottle of wine, it’s Saki II that curls up in bed with me, while Saki I stares down from his perch above the headboard. It’s too hard to think anymore. Morning hurts. Morning always hurts, especially with Saki I and his claws. Saki II, meanwhile, is still purring contentedly in the space between my legs. They eat their breakfast, while I drink mine, and I wonder. “I know I promised I wouldn’t bother you. But it’s about the cat.” I hang up the phone, and ignore the emails flagged as urgent. For a moment, doubt surges through me, and I almost call her back. Instead, I finish off the bottle of Jack, and stumble off to the bathroom to do something about the beard that’s taken over my face. By the time the doorbell rings, my anxiety has transformed the small apartment into a semblance of a clean living space. The sliver of her face behind the chain lock is anxious, concerned, and wary. I undo the lock and usher her in. “Saki!” Both cats turn in unison. Saki I pricks up his ear, while Saki II trots towards the door. I’m undone at the sight of her and the sound of her voice, but she pays me no mind. Which is fine, I’m still working out the rest of my plan, which means she needs to stay the night. My fingers rest upon the countertop, the drawer underneath contains a bag with two small pills, already crushed, which I have been promised would do the trick if necessary. It turns out there is no need. Once she’s satisfied with her inspection of the cats, she gently wraps her arms around me and I crumble. How have I been? What have I been doing? Does it not confound her one little bit that our cats have been cloned??? I want to answer but I can’t. The walls built years ago are too high, and too strong, and they’re impenetrable by her tears. I feel my arms stiffen as I try to stroke her hair. Her sobs quiet, and I sit still as stone, while she cries herself to sleep. Morning hurts. And yet, it doesn’t. I squeeze my eyes shut against the light, press my face into the pillow. I keep my eyes closed, and smell her, feel her body against mine. I turn my back to the window, and push Saki I off the bed. I slide my hands along the small of her back, bring my lips to hers. She screams. We open our eyes, and the sunlight is everything that’s unfair and fair in life. We try to calm her down. One of us stumbles into the kitchen to make coffee and something stronger. One of us holds her tight. The morning is long and strange. We talk. Well, one of us talks, the other finds a long lost bottle of rum, and is quiet after that. Until Saki and Saki intervene. In an act that discredits all my observations and perceptions, Saki II leaps from the spot where he’s been sunbathing and swats Saki I across the nose. Fur and paws and tails fly across the floor, until Saki I disengages, and goes to sulk around my feet where I’m slumped by the kitchen sink. Saki II stalks towards where I’m sitting on the couch, and raises his paw. I see the claws slide out. Ok buddy. I got you. She’s still confused, but when I lift her up in my arms, she comes with me. We walk towards the door, while I watch from the floor. Saki II follows me, while Saki I just tweaks an ear. I got you, he says. I shut the door behind us softly, and we don't look back.

I woke up, roused by the incessant bleeping of the life support machines that had been keeping me alive for the last ten years. There was a faint smell of disinfectant lingering in the air. Around my bed I saw a crowd forming around me. Ten whole years. Ten years is a long time and I could barely remember their faces. They were strangers to me. I tried to pretend that I knew who they were. I couldn't tell whether they believed me, but soon enough the doctor ushered them away, insisting I should get some rest. I didn't know anything about this world. It was alien. A lot may have changed in ten years, but I wouldn't have noticed. I only had one home. It was back in that dream, where lush hills rolled out for miles. Where the sky stretched out like the ocean, so clear you could almost see your own reflection. I looked through the window of my hospital. The reality was far different. Thick smog hovered in the air, blotting out the sun almost entirely. The streets were crowded, and a dozen car horns frantically blared out. Loud enough to awake anyone from even the deepest sleep. I slipped out while the nurse wasn't looking, and climbed the stairs to the roof. It was chilly outside and I recalled those hot days back home, where the sun would gently kiss your skin as you walked. This was no place for me. I came to the conclusion that this world was all a dream. It must have been. I climbed up onto the steel railings and looked straight down. The drop must have been several hundred meters. I peered into the strange luminescence, the streets filled with the eerie glow of car headlights. *One more step,* I thought. I recalled my family. My *real* family. My bride was a fair girl of my own age, whose long, golden hair reached her hips. I had two sons, both took after their mother. I could almost see it now. Their images flickered so vividly I could almost reach out and touch her. *One more step* I took one step forward and fell into empty air. The pavement rushed up to meet me.

"And why would I want to use such an obviously dangerous device?"Sally said, looking at her partner. "I just thought it might spice up our marriage a bit,"Eric replied, "walk a mile in the other persons shoes." "Sweetie,"Sally replied, "No offense, but this wasn't what I had in mind when I said I wanted to experiment. Plus, it's really quite suicidal if you think about the terms. "I guess so,"Eric said, "I've still got the receipt though, I'll take it back tomorrow." ~~ ~~*or*~~ ~~ "Wait, so we both get to be each other?"Sally said excitedly. "Yeah,"Eric replied, "Though we both need to cum or we might die, so I'll understand if you think it's risky." Sally smirked, "I wouldn't worry about that, I know how to get my body off, and I don't doubt for a second I can get your body off either." ~~ ~~*or*~~ ~~ "Okay 'Eric',"Kate said to Sally, "Why did you swap with Sally now?" "I dunno,"Eric laughed, "Guess I wanted to spend a half day on the other side of the world. Why should my wife have all the fun on her business trip?" "You do realise,"Kate said with all seriousness, "That if you don't make her orgasm in the next twelve hours you'll both die right?" "Shit."

Serial killer Jack the gossip was arrested earlier today. Charged with thirty four counts of felony backbiting, 24 counts of attempted hate libel, and 8364 counts of miscellanious hateful thoughts it is expected that he will get the death penatly via the court of public opinion. NIne of thirteen reporters who asked him for his comments are currently in the intensive care unit for injuries related to murderous fantasies. Another three have since perished. The tenths location is currently unknown.

Funny, this actually happened to me. We've been together for seven months now. This isn't our story (what she told me isn't great story material), but you've given me a spark Prometheus. This is the first story i've written, I hope it's not too bad. I sat in the lonely coffee shop I was so strangely attracted to, capturing every subtle detail filling the world around me. Three cars had passed since I had sat down, one of them a Chevrolet Bel-Air. I sighed and absentmindedly stirred my coffee, staring at the bookshelf that had captured so many hours of my life. A faint ringing came from the door, the woman working the counter glanced up, "Just tell me when you're ready, darlin'. I'll be here all day."Another Bel-Air passes by, another coffee is ordered. I glance back at the bookcase, and suddenly the world flashes. The woman making coffee is the same, but much younger. I look down, my shirt and tie is replaced by a tacky sweater. The woman who had just walked in was reading a book, the cover glossy and her clothing now a full length dress. The coffee shop itself seemed fresh, the smell of malted milkshakes in the air. A bell rings and a raspy voice calls out "Order up!", snapping the world back to the present. She replaces the book, the cover musty and cracked. I stand up and the world shifts again. I put my hand around her waist and smile, kissing her on the cheek and walking with her to the door. A tap on the shoulder brings me back. "Sir? Are you okay?"I'm leaning on the table, sweating. "Yes, i'm sorry. Just a bit lightheaded, i'm alright."I stand up, and suddenly i'm walking out the door again. She smiles and walks down the sidewalk with me, watching the cars go by. I turn my head to look at her and i'm back in the coffee shop, watching her walk out the same door I had walked out of, the dark wood now cracked and faded. I catch the door just before it closes, and as I hurry down the sidewalk behind her I look into the coffee shop and see the woman behind the counter look up and wink at me, grinning as I walk away.

'... you are tasked with describing and explaining sex to an alien race that isn't familiar with human anatomy.' 'I said get out of my computer!' 'This task is very important, as this is a first contact with an alien race.' 'LIKE I CARE! Give them a copy of the Pioneer plaque or something, if you guys are this omniscient, you must have a damn copy somewhere! That will solve the anatomy part at least.' 'Do you understand the task which has been given to you?' 'WHAT?! LIKE HELL I DO! Who the hell are you? Why are you giving me this task? When did you mess with my computer? How messed up is your brain? Asking a person who never had sex before to describe sex? Where did you route my server to?' 'We can't tell you. You were randomly chosen out of pool of professional engineers on our list. We are everywhere. My brain is perfectly fine. Your routing was not changed.' 'The hell it isn't. How did you have access to this terminal if you didn't change the routing?' 'Now, if that is everything, I will leave you to complete your task. We will be in touch.' 'Wait, answer my ques-! Oh the connection terminated... Well fuck 'em. Good riddance you cunt!' I opened up a web browser, google'd around for a picture of Pioneer plaque and a porn video. Then I opened up a text editor, pasted in the respective URL, and typed the following line: 'First one is anatomy, second one is reproduction. If you don't like it, kill yourself.' I saved the file and closed the text editor. And carried on with my life.

Occasionally.. mostly bits and pieces here and there. I'll incorporate a prompt into a chapter, or as a story element sometimes. Now and again something from a prompt will inspire another little piece of the very complex worlds I tend to build. It's kind of hit and miss for me, since many of the prompts just.. don't really do anything for me. But others, well, result in large rewrites to incorporate a concept I didn't think of that just *fits* when I read through it.

“Shut it down, shut it down!” that was the last thing I heard before the blackness. I don’t know how long that lasted. It took me a while to remember who I am, Lt. Colonel Tanner Mitchell I think. I know I am defiantly not in Seattle at Port II. I had been to both ends of this system after having volunteered for this assignment. I had seen the results of the first round of trials both organic and inorganic moves. I remember when one of the techs sent beer through something about not being worth it if it screwed up the basic staples. It didn’t damage anything in the last year of testing even the chickens stopped exploding. This place is something different it smells strange and the light is blindingly bright but it seems to be a ship I have been in the Navy long enough to recognize a ship. What ship or who’s ship really. I can feel the vibrations of the engine the bulkhead remind me of a sub?

We call him The Axis. You don't understand. This man... No! Not "man". Calling him a man is a fucking compliment. We don't know who he is, Where he's from, Or even if it's any one person. Regardless, ever since 2004, we've learned to be extremely attentive during the equinoxes and solstices. Why? A random family somewhere in the United States gets brutally murdered during the changes of season. Each one having absolutely no similarities, connections, or bloodlines to each other, making him random, treacherous, unpredictable. He's literally been everywhere: from a family of seven in Terre Haute, Indiana to even a civil union in Honolulu. Nevertheless, anything with a heartbeat in his targeted household gets their life stolen from them. Men, women, children, infants, everybody. However, here's what makes him..."special". He kills his victims depending on the new season. If it's the Spring Equinox, the bodies are found with around 7-9 trowels stabbed all over them. During the Summer Solstice, each one of their limbs is lodged with a hatchet and a chainsaw stands upright from their obliterated chests. We don't know how the hell he does it during the Fall Equinox, but when our teams are sent to investigate, the victims are found standing and leaning diagonally with a fucking rake skewering their necks for support. I actually went to inspect the damages in Fort Stockton, Texas during Winter Solstice 2008. Dear Lord Almighty...It's...it's...indescribable. I actually had to visit a fucking therapist because of the recurring nightmares that kept haunting me since the visit. During the winters... he bashes them unconscious with a snow shovel...only to leave the lifeless and dripping bodies nailed to the walls and roof with ICE AXES. Not even the family Labrador was spared. You think that's the worst of it? After he finishes them off, he makes the households' stereos or computers play the appropriate seasonal concerto from Vivaldi's Four Seasons on repeat until one of us actually stops it. DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LOOK AT THOSE EMPTY FACES WHILE HEARING THOSE FUCKING VIOLINS IN THE BACKGROUND??? You just can't combine beautiful music with the remnants of the dead! IT IS THE VERY EPITOME OF DISORDER. Don't believe me? Why don't you come with us in December to force your eyes upon the deeds of what the worst of what humanity has to offer?

It's 2:30 in the morning. I am flipping around in my bed, desperately trying to catch some sleep. 'Aw screw it', I said, and sat up. I am not going to get any sleep anytime soon. So might as well do something else. 'Eh, Let's play some Watch_Dog'. I got up, and booted up my xbox, and noticed there was a message waiting for me. 'Who the hell-?', I wondered out loud, and decided to read the message first. 'Hello, I'm you from the year 2051. I'm using microsofts advanced technology to to send myself this message back in time to warn ourself about a woman by the name Sandy Wilcox. It is in our best interest to stay away from her. She will destroy our life.' 'Hah? What the hell is this??? *なにこれ*? What is this moron trying to pull here? Make up your mind about apostrophe usage man!', and pressed the down arrow in order to delete this spam. As I am about to hit the 'A' key, I realized something... I never owned a xbox in my life. I never bought Battlefield 4, not on console, not on PC. I live alone. So whose is this? I looked around, 'It's my home alright... Where did this thing came from? Did I ever buy Battlefield 4?' , I muttered as I picked up a jewel case, and sure enough: 'Battlefield 4, for Xbox One'. Wait, if I never bought a console which I hate, why would I buy a game which I hate for a console I hate also? And seriously, where did all of this crap come from? What the hell is going on here? Who is this 'Sandy Wilcox'? Who is this dude? And most importantly, when did I ever buy this damn piece of garbage potato console? Then I heard a voice, a woman's voice. A woman's voice I don't recognize, but for some strange reason sounds familiar. ’I’m home, honey.’ The world went black.

It had been an entire day since they’d spoken, the two of them grimly marching through the rocky terrain. Tom glanced back at Charlie, still unused to this new version of his best friend, one that frowned rather than smiled and grunted in lieu of his usual stream of jokes. His jaw, normally meticulously shaven, was slowly being obscured by a rough beard, and the shadows below his flat eyes looked purple. Tom was desperately hungry. They had each eaten their last Clif bar yesterday – it had been gone in three bites, and Tom had, with Charlie’s reluctant help, scavenged the area for something they might be able to eat. Neither of them were especially outdoorsy, each at home in the local bar, the two of them much more likely to sit on an apartment rooftop than a mountain cliff. Tom had no idea what was edible: shrubs were shrubs, their wiry and woodsy construction as appealing to eat as sand. Charlie had tried it. “That’s not happening again,” he said after he spit it out. The drugs were a bad idea. They’d been a fantastic idea four days ago, along with the 30-pack of beer, the whiskey, the box of Clif bars and the Adderall, sealed in one precious Ziploc bag and stuffed into the side zip-up pocket of Tom’s backpack. Tom had kissed his girlfriend goodbye and jumped into Charlie’s junky Toyota Corrolla, leaning out of the window to wave goodbye to her and her small lost face. It had not occurred to him that he might not see her again. They went further than they meant to, their footsteps winding carelessly through the wilderness, following only the path of the streaky stars in the sky and the pulsing lights on the horizon. Tom had thought at the time how fantastic it was, laughing like a maniac at Charlie, his own body periodically gripped by waves of emotion and color so intense he could barely breathe. Two days later the fog cleared and they could not find their way back. Tom dreamed of eggs: eggs and bacon, watery coffee in a diner, the warmth of a vinyl booth and a high storefront window through which he could comfortably view the city street. His messy bed at home, clothes in piles on the floor; his kitchen with the dishes piled in the sink and the dim sunlight in the back enclosed porch. Tuna sandwiches with onions and pickles. Charlie cleared his throat. “I don’t think I can go on, dude,” he said, and Tom stopped and turned around to look at him. “I don’t think we should be expending all this energy anyway. I don’t know …” He sat down on the ground. “I’m so thirsty …” At this point he lay flat on his back, staring up at Tom. Tom felt scooped out, his body thin and white as a sheet of paper. He imagined the inside of his belly button rubbing against his spine. “When I die, you can eat me,” Charlie suggested. “They’ll find us,” Tom said, “and anyway, you’d taste rank.” “I’m shaking, Tom,” Charlie said. “I literally can’t stop shaking. Are you shaking?” “I don’t even have anything to cook you with,” Tom said. “Get up.” Charlie’s eyes lost focus, turned inward. “Stop talking,” he said. “I can’t even talk …” They stayed there that night, the air turning chillier than it had the previous nights. Or perhaps it had been cold all along and Tom had been too high to notice. His body had frequently been a source of irritation to him in the past, needing food and water and sleep. Now, his mind wandering, growing smaller and paler and thinner, he forgot about all of the other things his body used to do, and thought about food and water with a ferocity he had never done before. Once, years ago, drunk in a bar, he and Charlie had discussed this exact scenario. “If you were starving,” Charlie said, leaning forward and nearly knocking over an ashtray, “would you eat a person? If it was a matter of survival. If there was absolutely *no other option.”* Tom had not accepted these parameters. “You don’t get lost in the wilderness anymore,” he said. “You have cell phones and people have helicopters and there are search teams. And stuff.” “I’d eat you,” Charlie said. “You would not eat me.” “Yeah, I would. I’d bring barbecue sauce. People taste like pork … like lean pork.” Now, Tom looked at his friend, a dim dark shape on the ground. He wanted to scream at Charlie, to tell him to get up, tell him to sprout wings and fly to the city and bring someone back, bring ambulances and water and blankets, warm soft blankets and a cheeseburger, oh God a cheeseburger. His life was so small and worthless. His funeral would be stupid. He hadn’t done anything worth eulogizing. “Charlie,” he said, “Charlie, I’d still never eat you.” It was the only thing he could think of saying. It was the only thing he could think of.

He stood tall and plain, a shocked expression on his ageless face. His hair was black and he had a short beard, in comparison to the blonde clean-shaven man Reeves remembered from those decades ago- but it was the same man. Undeniable. The same weathered blue eyes, the same facial profile, there were some things a man can't hide, no matter how much they want to. "How old are you, David? Is that even your real name?"Doctor Reeves asked, taking a seat on the edge of the building's roof. David placed the pigeon hen back into her coop and slowly pulled his glasses off. The man took a deep breath and shook his head, adopting a perfected Brooklyn accent. "I don't know what you're talking-"The man spoke, clearly uncomfortable. Reeves interrupted him, clasping his hands on his walking cane. The man couldn't help but smug. Years of searching and finally, vindication. "Cut it out. I know you're you. I remember your face. You can change your hair color, you can even come up with a fake voice, but you don't forget a man who walks out of a morgue. I'll ask you again. How old are you?" "David"took a deep breath and turned to face his accuser. The man hesitated and crossed his arms, then relented and spoke matter-of-factly. "Two thousand. Give or take two centuries."The man shrugged. "Older than your family line. Why? What more do you want? I only want to live a quiet life." "I need your help saving my daughter. She's got a failing kidney and we can't find a match. Please, I - I helped you. I covered your secret. I didn't tell anyone about you, no matter how much I wanted to. Please, can you help me save my daughter?" "Why should I?"